Chapter 7 Tenebris
TENEbrIS
Marina
The shadows spit out Marina into the familiar twilight. Stars glittered above her like moonstone in a black sea. The crisp air hugged her skin, an atmosphere divergent from Kaimana’s mugginess.
She walked to the railing of the terrace and peered out into the village of Tenebris, buried deep within a remote mountain range in the Mortal Land, founded by those who worshipped her.
The view was a breath of respite. From the mist enshrouding the village, it appeared to be floating on an ocean of onyx clouds. The only glow of light came from a warm, cider-like layer from the lampposts and the melted starlight glow of the moon.
Tenebris was a place the sunlight could never touch—a prayer from her worshipers that she had answered. It took her nearly a decade to build, shortly after she rose up as a High Goddess.
Marina lived on the outskirts of the village in secret, never revealing herself to the mortals. Living among them had never been her plan, but she relished in the isolation of Tenebris, shielded in its darkness. It felt as if she were hidden away from the rest of the loud, angry world.
In the quiet distance, she could hear the waterfall rushing off the nearest mountain, filling the stream that ran through the village.
Fixated on the soothing sound, she inhaled a breath through her nose and forced her shoulders to relax. Though, her heart raced in her chest, the adrenaline of what she’d just done surging like magma in her veins.
There were three types of Olethros.
The Bound, which assembled in a humanoid form, with black robes and an animalistic skull mask—a smaller version of Acacius’s. They acted only as his servants, preparing him meals or tending to his garden and his chores.
The Heralds could also be mistaken for humans in sable robes, though they wore thick veils instead and bore crowns made of jagged branches, as if they’d risen up from the forest floor. They spread Chaos and Ruin from Acacius unto the world, emissaries of his power.
And the Daemons, a variant that very few souls had ever witnessed, which formed as bestial creatures rumored to be the devourers of everything still.
During their feast, Marina had done well to avoid gawking at the Bound Olethros stationed behind Acacius.
Up that close, she couldn’t help but analyze it in fascination—its hunched posture, the fur pelt on the collar of its cloak, the blackened talons of its bony fingers, the thin skin pulled around each ash-gray knuckle, and the three small skulls dangling like a totem from its waist. She’d never seen a single one of the three forms before in person, only read about them in books or overheard others describing them in fear.
Declaring a war on Acacius, the High God of Chaos and Ruin, was madness.
She pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaustion muddling her mind.
The night before, she’d sat with Viviana and Mansi and injected each berry with the poisonous mixture that she’d bought at the Black Market in Hollow City. The apothecary in Isolde that she’d told Acacius about had been a lie, a way to keep wasting his time.
What was she thinking?
You made a promise.
She needed Acacius to be distracted with his petty revenge scheme, no matter how little she cared about it. Though, these days it felt like she didn’t care about much at all.
Marina lifted her head to peer out at the single magnolia tree sprouted on the cliffside near her home.
Centuries ago, when she claimed this spot for herself, it appeared as a measly, foot-tall plant in a circle of greenery. Back then, she disregarded its presence. Then, it grew taller, blossomed, and it became unbearable, because she knew very well whose hand caressed it to grow.
The sight of it now squeezed her chest.
My darling magnolia.
Even in death, it appeared Father was still with her.
A lump formed in her throat.
She turned away from the ledge and entered through the sliding glass door into her home.
Sandalwood and amber greeted her, fragrances embedded in the velour material of her furniture from burning candles and incense.
She traveled through the dining room and the kitchen, sniping the bottle of merlot from the counter on her way by. Using her teeth to rip the cork out, she entered the bathroom.
Father’s gaze during his final moments plagued her thoughts. The way he acknowledged her with forgiveness and grace as he bled from his eyes.
Her pulse fluttered like a feather in the wind, her veins burning with panic all over again.
Why couldn’t he have been furious with her instead? Loathing her for ending his life would’ve been easier than this.
Marina filled her clawfoot tub with steaming water.
Bubbles rimmed the edges, and the soap breathed a hibiscus and pineapple perfume into the air.
It reminded her of the flowers in Mother’s garden and how Father spent hours bending stems and blossoms to his will, like an artisan perfecting his craft.
Marina’s stomach hardened, and she unzipped her dress from the back and shimmied the material down her hips.
She stepped inside the scalding water and lounged back against the tub. It was no surprise that her muscles were too locked up to relax. Despite that fact, she enjoyed the comfort that the water brought her and lifted the wine to her mouth, a sturdy grip on the neck of the bottle.
She threw back a large gulp. The alcohol swam down her esophagus and kindled in her stomach. Warmth mingled with her blood. She fed the sensation with another large swig, again and again, until the bottle was empty and heat blotted under her cheeks.
She discarded the bottle on the floor and slunk further into the water, submerging her shoulders and the back of her head. Her limbs floated, and her drenched hair tickled the back of her waist.
If she were to slip under and swallow the water until her lungs were saturated, how long would it take for her to drown? To linger in that place between life and death, just for a moment—to disappear. The idea was nice. To release from her skin and leave behind the wounds and scars.
The shame, remorse, anguish, it was all too much to carry. Acacius, Father’s death, her hand in it, Mother’s imprisonment, the vow.
Marina thought back on that moment in the Land of the Dead, her vision blurred with tears, chest light, and Finnian, his expression twisted in rage, the syringe in his hand, charging for her.
She should’ve let him kill her then.
Death would’ve been a gracious punishment for my sins.
She closed her eyes, falling further into her abyss.
I hate myself.
She inhaled through her nose, sucking water up her nasal passage. It hit the back of her throat and burned.
I don’t want to be me anymore.
The contraction of muscle in her diaphragm felt like a tear, ripping straight through her ribcage. For the rest of her life, she would have to live with this pain.
She immersed herself completely under water.
Let me die.
Water flooded into her ears.
I am not strong enough to continue.
She opened her mouth and pulled water down her throat. The muscles in her chest quivered as her lungs seized.
I am so tired.
A twinge zapped down her spine, activating her senses to the sinister aura invading the room.
Fuck, he’s here.
She popped open her eyes and sprang up, the water splashing over her face and down her arms. Clenching the sides of her throat to suffocate her cough, she felt the tension in her chest, ridding the water from her lungs and evaporating it, as if she’d never swallowed it.
A silhouette knitted in the corner of the bathroom.
Marina’s body went rigid, prepared to teleport out of her bathwater.
Clothes first, then fight?
Her pulse roared in her ears as Malik stepped out from billowing tufts of his divine power.
Marina’s fists unclenched in the water, slightly relieved. Though, she wasn’t sure if she was more grateful or irritated that it was her psychotic little brother instead of Acacius.
Malik sauntered across the tile, his silver strands slicked back out of his face. Speckles of red stained his white button-up shirt. The long hem of his trench coat lapped at his ankles.
He did a slow spin in his step, taking in the room. “Having a nice little bath, are we?”
Marina kept her expression blank, pretending to be unbothered by his intrusion. She separated her mind and body from the anxiety flipping in her stomach. If she showed a flit of weakness, Malik would pounce like the predator he was.
He usually stayed out of her way, just as she did with him. His unannounced appearance, in her home of all places, was abnormal. Especially considering that he loathed the Mortal Land, for their kind broke far too easily, often boring him.
“It’s been a long day, Malik.” She rested her head back on the tub’s edge, retracting her attention from him.
He was like a child that way. Hardly pay him the time of day, and he would grow uninterested—or throw a tantrum.
Either way, her tolerance with the triplets was exceedingly low. “What do you want?”
He crouched next to the bathtub and propped his arms up on the edge, flicking the bubbles with his fingers. “It’s been a while, Sister.” He lay his cheek on his arm, looking at her sideways with his cat-like eyes penetrating the side of her face. “Care to explain why that is?”
Marina stared straight ahead at the grout in between the tiles, her stomach crawling under his gaze. “Do not answer my question with one of your own.”
Malik pushed her wet hair behind her shoulder, baring the side of her neck.
“Of all of our siblings, you have the fairest skin.” His knuckles grazed over her pulse.
“Makes your arteries easy to spot. One slice here”—his fingernail edged into the sensitive area of her throat—“and you would bleed out in seconds.”
She swallowed the rising acid back down, clenching her abdomen to suppress her shudder.
Gods, he’d always been a fucking creep.