CHAPTER FIFTY
Caspen
Caspen could do nothing but watch as his mother mounted Solomon.
For a single moment, no one in the vial room moved. No one spoke. Caspen watched in real time as the blood bond between his parents broke. It was like watching the spark leave their eyes at the exact same time. Then the curse took hold, and Bastian launched himself forward.
“Father!” Caspen cried, diving at the same time he did.
There was no time to transition—no time to defend his mother with anything other than his fists.
Caspen had no idea what his father’s plan was—how the curse would ultimately take place.
Would he simply rip Deltene to shreds with his bare hands?
They reached her at the same time. Caspen’s hands were on Bastian before he could throw the first hit.
“Mother, run,” he cried. “Now!”
Deltene did not run. Solomon was still holding her aloft; they were still joined. She simply looked at Caspen sadly, shaking her head with the knowledge of inevitability. To her, this was the way it ended. Caspen was not willing to give up so easily.
“Apollo,” he cried. “Assist me. NOW.”
A moment later his brother’s hands were on his father’s shoulders, pulling him back. “Caspenon,” Apollo said as Bastian thrashed in his grip. “I do not understand. What—?”
His question was cut off as Bastian smacked him with the heel of his hand, rendering him momentarily silent.
Caspen took the opportunity to restrain Bastian once more. “Father,” he grunted. “Do not do this.”
“I must,” his father grunted back. Bastian was beginning to transition: Skin became scales, teeth became fangs. Caspen sent a desperate plea into his mind: Stop, Father.
I cannot.
Kill yourself instead.
No.
Caspen transitioned too, throwing himself between his parents just as Bastian reached Deltene.
Bone met bone as their fangs clashed, their bodies writhing in the air.
Bastian let out an angry growl as Caspen forced him aside.
His mother was not transitioning—even as Solomon set her on the ground, she clung to him.
It took all of Caspen’s energy to keep his father at bay; Bastian was extraordinarily powerful, even without the blood bond.
He reached for his mother’s mind. If his father would not listen to reason, perhaps she would.
Transition, Mother.
No.
Basilisks believed in fate; both of his parents knew this was already written. But Caspen could not watch this; he could not stand idly by as his father killed his mother. Apollo was transitioning too, his mass joining Caspen’s as they held their father back.
Deltene’s voice came to them both. There is no way to stop this. Let fate take its course.
NO.
One day you will understand.
Caspen did not understand. He refused to let this happen.
Even with both brothers at once, it was impossible to hold Bastian.
He may have lost the power of the blood bond, but the power of the curse brought strength of its own.
The moment they blocked one blow, Bastian administered another. Soon, all three of them were bleeding.
Enough, Father. You must end this.
Bastian lunged once more at Deltene. I am trying to do just that.
You cannot expect us to stand by while you kill our mother.
She broke us. Now I must break her.
At those horrible words, Apollo lost his grip on Bastian.
The moment it happened, Caspen knew it was over.
Their father twisted himself violently to the side, his great body cracking the stone floor.
When he rose again, Caspen could not hold him alone—he could only watch helplessly as Bastian leapt forward, opened his mouth, and sank his fangs deep into Deltene’s neck.
Blood spurted from the wound, spraying everyone around them, including Solomon, who remained in his human form.
With a stunning crunch, Deltene’s neck broke.
Time moved strangely after that.
Caspen watched as the brightness left his mother’s eyes, leaching slowly away like smoke.
Bastian released her, letting her body fall to the floor.
Solomon fell with it, his hands going to Deltene’s face.
Caspen watched numbly as Bastian returned to his human form.
He and Apollo did the same. They were all covered in blood—their own and Deltene’s.
Around them, the crowd was still silent. They were watching. No one would dare interfere with a broken blood bond. This was family business. Plus, basilisks loved a show.
Bastian pointed at Solomon.
“You,” he growled.
Solomon said nothing. Tears ran down his cheeks as he held Deltene in his arms, rocking her slowly back and forth. It was strange to watch another man cry for Caspen’s mother.
“You have disrespected me and you have dishonored my family.”
Still, silence.
“Son,” Bastian said sharply, turning to Apollo. “Crest him.”
Apollo’s mouth fell open. He was not the only one; a collective gasp swept through the crowd. Caspen remembered his father’s words: The next time I give you an order, I expect you to obey it. He knew the same words were running through Apollo’s mind.
“Crest him, Apollo,” Bastian screamed. “Do as I say!”
But Apollo stood still. He was frozen, his hands at his sides, his lips parted in shock.
Caspen knew his brother would not move. Apollo was not capable of such a thing—hardly anyone was capable of it.
Cresting another basilisk was forbidden, and everyone in this room knew it.
Bastian had chosen to give the task to Apollo as a way to test one brother and taunt the other.
Caspen had refused to crest Kronos; he had not proven himself worthy. Bastian wanted to remind him of that.
It was no surprise to Caspen when Apollo whispered, “I…cannot.”
Two words. One simple admission.
“Very well,” Bastian whispered. “It would appear you dishonor me too.”
Apollo hung his head.
Bastian rounded on Caspen. “Tell your brother to crest him.”
Hundreds of eyes fell upon him.
Caspen shook his head. He would not sentence Apollo to that, even if his father would. “No, Father.”
He saw his father’s fury—saw his faith in both of his sons slipping. “One of you crest him,” Bastian said quietly. “Or I shall kill you both.”
Caspen knew his father, so he was not surprised. And he understood his own culture, so he was not shocked—this was the basilisk way.
Complete clarity washed over Caspen. He turned to Apollo. “You owe me, Brother.”
Then he stepped forward, knelt, and placed his hand around Solomon’s neck.
It was a testament to Solomon’s resolve that he did not flinch—did not look away.
Instead Caspen stared straight into Rowe’s father’s eyes as he took, delving into the power deep within his chest, drawing on the thing he had never drawn on before.
At first, nothing happened. Then extraordinary sensation filled Caspen.
It was as if he could do anything—be anything—accomplish any dream his heart could possibly desire. He felt only power.
Solomon slumped to the floor, his body cradling Deltene’s.
Absolute silence surrounded them. There would be consequences for this—of that Caspen was sure. Social, possibly. Political, definitely. Somehow, flush with power, Caspen could not find it in himself to care.
“What did you just do?” Apollo whispered.
Caspen stood. “What needed to be done.”
Apollo stared at him, aghast. Everyone stared at him. “Caspenon…”
Caspen held up his hand. He did not want to hear it.
“Thank you,” Apollo said quietly. “I…only mean to thank you.”
Caspen had done what Apollo could not; he had crossed a moral line. There would be nothing but difficulty for Caspen ahead. One brother would become a pariah; the other would not. Apollo had been spared. Caspen had spared him.
“If you truly wish to thank me,” he said dully, “never force me to act in your stead again.”
“I will not. I am in your debt, Brother.”
“Yes,” Caspen whispered. “You are.”
“I will repay you.”
Caspen did not reply. He did not care to be repaid today. But one day—one day he would.
For a moment, they simply stared at each other.
Then Caspen realized the crowd was no longer silent.
Something was happening. The vial room was descending into chaos; he saw Drakons and Senecas turning against one another, taking sides after the unholy spectacle they had just witnessed.
Scales clashed with skin as some of them began transitioning. Cries of pain filled the air.
“Someone—anyone—help!”
Caspen looked around for the source of the plea—a young female voice: Daphne’s.
A group of basilisks surrounded her and Kronos.
Caspen’s eyes narrowed. They were all high-ranked Drakons—men who were at his father’s beck and call.
What were they doing? He stepped forward, prepared to intervene.
Just then another movement caught his eye—more of his father’s inner circle, advancing on someone else.
Caspen’s heart stopped.
It was Harmony.