Chapter 9 The Monster I Made #2
The murmur that lingered in the back of Marina’s mind throughout her life was louder now. A truth that she knew, if she were ever to accept, would collapse the purpose she built her life upon.
Father’s death, his final words, the gouging of her regrets, they all lifted the veil she’d chosen to hide behind, no longer able to ignore what lay in front of her.
“I have my own plan,” she said.
“My darling, of course you do.” Mother’s shoulders lowered with relief, and her demeanor softened. “Go on. Tell me what you intend to do to those who have wronged us.”
Marina internally prepared herself for what was to come, staring at Mother for a long beat.
This was the tragic frustration of having parents who did not deal with their own burdens.
If only they had truly loved one another—loved what they had built together—Marina’s life would’ve been different, and she would not be standing there, forced to choose between one or the other.
Because in the end, choosing to uphold Father’s vow would be a betrayal to Mother.
Marina let out a breath, loosening the rigid muscles in her shoulders. “My plan does not involve saving you, Mother. Your fate depends on the triplets. Not me.”
Mother’s milky gaze became opaque. The hope that blazed in her eyes moments prior began shrinking, like a dying mass of stars.
The air between them stiffened.
Failure pinched in Marina’s chest, and she slightly cringed, warring with the part of her that demanded she fix it.
“There is no way for me to save you from the web of your own destructive choices,” Marina continued. “You are cursed to Kaimana forever and there is nothing that I—”
“Insolent daughter!” Mother shouted, teeth bared. She ripped her hands back from the bars, the chain of her manacles clinking together.
Marina flinched.
Devastation, outrage, disapproval—all of it flashed across Mother’s face. A sinking reality that she could not escape. “After everything I have done for you, this is how you repay me? Abandoning me?”
Bile slithered up Marina’s throat. “I made a promise to Father that I must uphold.” She pressed her tongue against the backs of her teeth to restrain her emotions.
A long, uncomfortable silence fell between them.
Mother searched her face, dumbfoundedly glaring. Behind it, a look of recognition rearranged her expression, and a dry laugh scuffed out of her. “Oh, Marina…”
Marina’s pulse sprinted in the base of her throat, her insides coiling. “I will see it through. It’s the least I can do to atone for what I’ve done.” She curled her fingers into fists at her sides and constricted her eyes on Mother, bracing herself.
“I thought I smothered that softness in you long ago.” Mother wore a sickening smile, slowly shaking her head.
Fury pricked at Marina’s skin. She inclined her head, constricting her gaze around Mother. “Because it weakened me, or because it reminded you of him?”
Mother grabbed the bars again, snapping forward. “You are choosing to honor a father who never loved you over a mother who gave you everything. He sired you, nothing more.”
Marina took a fearless step closer, holding Mother’s deathful stare through the bars. “Ironic, considering I felt nothing but love in his final moments. Tell me, Mother, why did he keep his distance from me all my life? Was it because he did not care for me, or did you demand that of him?”
“You are just as weak-hearted as he was! If I would have allowed him to nurture you as he did with Naia and Finnian, you would’ve turned out just as defective!”
“I am strong!” Marina shouted over her, venom burning her tongue. “Just as they are, with Father’s love!”
“You are more powerful than them because of me.” Mother slapped her hands over her chest, fuming.
The loud clinking of her chains punctuated her movement.
“Had I not sent those gods to take you, night after night, your nightrazers would’ve never been born!
You are the monster I made. The goddess that all fear! You are my legacy, Marina.”
Marina’s face fell with horror.
Not once have I ever asked you to be like me or your mother.
Nausea burned in her stomach, the sickness hot in her blood.
She lifted a trembling hand to cover her parted lips, unable to feel her own touch on them.
For years after Evander’s assault, other gods followed with the same motive: to invade her body in the late, sunless hours of the palace.
In the seclusion of her bedchamber, Marina was never safe from their hungry pull.
And each one who tried was cut down by the beasts of her shadow.
Her protectors were born from fear and rage and from the wisdom of Acacius’s words.
Create a monster who can.
Time and time again, Mother held to her words and did not punish another god for their attempt to take from Marina. Nor did she offer comfort, for it was just the way of their world.
And then one day, years later, the assaults stopped.
Marina assumed it was from her growing reputation for beheading the gods, but…
“Do not look at me like that,” Mother sneered, pointing her long finger in Marina’s face. “You would not be the goddess you are today without me. You are powerful because of me, Marina. The least you can do is free me from my dreadful curse, so I can take back what is rightfully mine!”
Marina staggered back on her heels, her skin cold.
The synapses rushed from her brain in an attempt to cut off all connection before the anguish reached her heart.
In its place, her chest went numb, just as it did during the days that followed Evander.
No sadness, no anger. Only the stripping of what once was.
A loss of safety she could never get back.
Marina recalled this: Three years old, running in a fit of screams and sobs from a sea snake slithering across the riverbank for her ankles until Mother appeared and plucked her up.
A thick crescent of her divine power shot from her palm, and a cut ran down the middle of the snake’s slender body, like a knife carving it from its head to its tail.
Marina’s heart had beaten wildly in her chest, her tear-sodden face pressed against the gleaming chrysocolla pendant on Mother’s sternum. Her honey-lavender perfume and the weight of her hand on the back of Marina’s head was all the comfort she needed.
“It is okay.” Mother gently rocked back and forth in small lapses, her cheek resting on the side of Marina’s hair. “I have you. Always.”
Tears burned Marina’s eyes as she gaped at the mother before her now.
“You only saw Naia as a way to end your curse. Never as a daughter. Was I the same? Just another pawn in your bidding?” All the heinous deeds Marina had committed over the years.
The rules placed on her by Mother: never speak to Naia, stay away from Father.
They envy strong goddesses. Power is pride, softness is weakness.
“You couldn’t mold Naia. She always fought you. Same with Finnian. But I—?” Marina choked on the syllable. She tried to force it back down, but it clawed like a swollen grape up her throat.
Oh gods.
She’d walked beside her mother, followed her path, and it had led her here—full of so much regret.
Marina remembered the feeling of being wrapped in her mother’s arms, the dome of the sea cascading in front of them. She trembled in fear of the massive open water that whorled around them like a planet on its axis.
Mother gave her a reassuring squeeze. “My love, it cannot hurt you.”
Marina shielded her face. “It is bigger than me, though.”
“Yes, but that does not make it more powerful than you.”
“It could swallow me up.”
Mother laughed, nuzzling her nose into the side of Marina’s hair. “You are a part of me, just as I am of you. We are resilient, Marina. Nothing can conquer us so easily.”
“I don’t have your power. Or your looks, Mother. Perhaps your best parts missed me.”
Mother playfully tugged the silver strand framing Marina’s face. “This is your proof. Though it may be small, you will always be made from me.” Her opalescent gaze glistened proudly.
Marina’s love overflowed from the chambers of her soul, saturating the wellspring inside of her. Roots took hold, permanent in their grasp.
Always.
Marina blinked at her mother now, the aperture of her memories closing in caustic finality.
They were all lies.
She could see them for what they were now.
That day on the riverbank, running away from the snake. Shadows suffocated the bright sunlight, and Mother’s warm hold turned icy against her skin.
I have you. Always.
No.
She meant: You’re mine. Always. And I will squash this weakness in you.
Under the sea sky, Marina trembled in fear of it crushing down on her.
You inherited the best of me.
Marina hugged herself, the illusion of her mother’s love shattering.
You inherited more of me than your father.
She didn’t know what to do with the fragments.
“Children are fascinating that way,” Mother said, lowering her bound wrist from the bar of her cell. “You were always willing to betray yourself if it meant receiving my affection. Unlike Naia and Finnian, your greatest fear was being unloved. It still is.”
The last of Finnian’s words slipped back into her mind then: Mother does not love you. She loves your power, what you can do for her. Nothing more.
They were words laced in malice that she refused to believe. Though, the twinge in her chest was there when he’d said it.
She had to hear it from Mother.
“Do you love me?” Marina’s voice trembled. She set her jaw, fighting the metastasis in her throat.
“Love is a fool’s game.” Mother turned away from her. “Your father played it well. Though it seemed to kill him in the end.”
Marina’s brain couldn’t make sense of her mother’s truth; all this time, the devotion Marina clung to was never a mutual bond between them. Everything she’d done, all the unforgivable acts—her violence to Naia, her coldness to Finnian, her animosity toward Father—repulsed her.
“You will get the blood from your brother and kill that wench in my kingdom.”
Marina blinked at her, pushing tears down her cheeks.
I am the fool.
“Then you will bring Naia’s child to me.”
The mention of the demigod tore through Marina’s shock, and a furious resolution took its place.
Marina gritted her teeth against the enraged stride of her pulse echoing in her ears. She wiped away her tears and straightened her shoulders. “No.”
Mother snapped her head around. “Excuse me?”
“Tell me, Mother, as a goddess with nothing more than her pride, do you not see how powerless you have become?” Marina gave her mother a scornful once-over, unimpressed.
“You are in this cage because of the decisions that you made. Perhaps it is time to learn from your mistakes.” Marina’s vision bled red, her cheeks kindling.
Mother glared at her.
Keep going.
“Consider this while you are trapped in the walls of a prison you crafted for your enemies: I will no longer do as you say, for I no longer care if I am in possession of your love. That lonely child you took advantage of died with her father.”
Marina finally understood. Love was never enough. And she no longer wanted it. Whatever version Mother gave, or Father, in the end, it did not make a difference. She had never been enough for either of them.
Mother’s mouth opened, her brow clenched, but her words sputtered out like a dying motor.
Her body violently jerked, and she collapsed, falling sideways onto the floor. A fit of garbled choking sounds shook out of her.
The hex.
Marina’s throat tightened.
For a second, a part of her stupidly considered her mother’s request. It was amazing, given the confession she’d just made about sending the gods to assault Marina. Yet, despite that, the small part of her that loved Mother was willing to overlook that, to do anything to save her.
There is nothing more I can do for her.
Without the expense of losing even more of herself.
I have to let her go.
Unable to take the horrible sight of her mother convulsing on the floor, Marina swung around and stormed down the corridor. Her eyes flooded, and she blinked to rid the blur.
Waves of darkness crested around her backside, the tide carrying her to Tenebris, to the walls of her home.
Was all love so fragile?
Marina collapsed on the plush carpet of her living room and folded in on herself, pushing her palms against her mouth to catch her sobs.
For the first time in her life, Marina felt aged. No longer would she be a child looking up at her mother, but a goddess unable to recognize the husk of another who gave her breath and a beating heart.
Marina believed love to be a boundless thread within the cosmos. A constellation, never wavering. The one thing that could span past existence itself.
But perhaps, her infinite Night blotted out the stars. Maybe it never held room for them at all.