Chapter 17 Seth
Seth
Every fiber of my being told me to take Aethra and run. I watched the Hades Knights march by, praying they were not here for us.
Cerys rose from her knees and hurried to the king’s side before falling prostrate again. The two exchanged words, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying.
Eleos spoke across our mental bond. “How many queens have there been?”
“Only one,” I responded. “But I have more half-siblings than I care to count.”
“How?” Eleos wondered. “Haimyx looks hardly any older than you.” He paused. “Seth. What is a cycle?”
My hand curled into a fist. The time had come to tell them the terrible truth about my home—another secret that would drive Aethra away.
“Does it have to do with why he looks so young?” Eleos pressed.
“Not now,” I hissed.
Lord Haimyx beckoned Cerys up, and she returned to Percy’s side. Lowering my head, I stared at the road.
Would my father recognize me in the crowd?
Aethra gasped softly beside me—a strangled sound of fear. Her hand quivered beneath mine, and I pulled her closer, pressing my head against hers.
The sound of heavy boots rapping on stone rang in my ears—in time with my thumping heart. When the sound quieted, I raised my head.
Father had passed us, thank the divines. But Aethra was still shaking, eyes locked on the noble at the back of the line.
Silver-haired, silver-eyed, dressed like the Duat’s golden guards—Lord Icelus. The man who’d tortured her.
Now, I recognized him—he belonged to a small branch of Cerys’ family. We’d never spoken before—no wonder he did not recall my face.
Lord Icelus was lucky to arrive in such company while we needed to lay low. He would breathe for a few more hours.
I gripped Aethra’s hand tightly. Blood pounded in my ears.
The procession of knights turned down the next road, and I exhaled in relief. Father was leaving the city—heading for the northern gate that would see him back home.
Slowly, the people rose from their bows. Following suit, I helped Aethra up, but she doubled over, grabbing her head.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, turning her toward me.
Eleos tried to say something, but winced and cradled his head.
Great, now everyone was going to stare at me and my two invalids.
Shaking off his discomfort, Eleos spoke. “We need to get back.”
Wrapping an arm around Aethra’s shoulders, I guided her away.
Eleos walked on her other side. “Aethra . . . do you feel it too?”
“Yes,” she breathed. “This horrible dread.” She pulled out of my grip. “Where’s Percy?”
Glancing around, I searched for the bard. Had he gone with Cerys? Both had vanished.
“Seth,” Eleos said, teeth grinding together. “What’s wrong with your people?”
Swallowing, I watched the people shakily return to their day. Even without psyche powers, I could read them like an open book: Lord Haimyx had departed their city, which meant something terrible had just passed, or would soon occur.
The dread Eleos and Aethra sensed humming below the surface had increased tenfold. Unavoidable fate—a timer set to run out—had begun ticking without warning.
Aethra doubled over again, face twisted in agony. A wave of anguish struck me, and my hand slipped from her waist. Anger followed, an all-consuming fiery rage that burned me from the inside out. Grabbing my head, I scanned the streets for the psyche I knew was responsible for this torment.
A woman wandered down the road, wan, dressed in a tattered gown. She grabbed one arm, face cast downward, thoughts spiraling out for all to hear.
The people scattered, avoiding her as if she were poison. Like a ghost who didn’t really exist.
“Another one?” Eleos spoke through gritted teeth.
A flash of red passed my vision as Seraphim placed a hand on my back and spun around to my front. Her eyebrows knit, and she planted her hands on her hips. “I thought I told you to stay put.”
“I—” Aethra tried to speak, but Seraphim cut her off.
“Save it.” She turned to me. “Come with me. It’s time to tell them the truth about Duath Nun.”
Lll
I couldn’t relax, couldn’t breathe, knowing my father was nearby. Yanking my dagger from its sheath, I spun it in my hands, keeping myself busy.
Seraphim sat on the floor of our hideout and rolled out a map of the country. Phaedrus paced behind her, and I shot him a glare.
He noticed. “I’m not about to stab Aethra. Relax.”
Hearing her name, Aethra looked up. Eleos rolled his eyes. “Can we focus on the task at hand?”
“This.” Seraphim jabbed the center of the map. “Is the capital city: Hades. Home to the king and the Acheron. Though no one’s sure why, being so near to the heart of the Empty affects life here.” She looked up. “People do not die of old age.”
“Ever?” Eleos questioned. “What about illness? Injury?”
“As far as I’m aware, they can be born ill, but not develop it later. Injury kills them just fine, though.”
Aethra’s brown eyes flashed to me. “You said your father is Haimyx. Seas. How old is he?”
“Four hundred?” I guessed.
She blinked, unable to process what I’d just said.
“That can’t be right,” Eleos protested. “Haimyx’s legend reaches back a thousand years in the Merchant Isles.”
“The truth is a hard thing to come by, here,” I said. “Mother claimed he was four hundred. Our histories say much the same thing yours do.”
“What about you?” Aethra asked. “The story you told me—you said it was only ten years ago. But that’s not true, is it?”
“No. It was twenty years ago,” I said, spinning the dagger. “I’m probably around fifty. I don’t really keep count.”
Eyes flaring, Aethra rubbed her head. “But if you people never die, wouldn’t there be . . .”
“Thousands upon thousands of people?” Eleos finished. “More than any country could hope to house within its walls?”
Seraphim shook her head. “No. Only the nobles are allowed to live forever. The people are not.” She traced her hand to the shrine south of the capital.
“If you survive to sixty, you are brought to the Morai, where the three nameless fates decide your destiny.” Lifting her finger, her face broke.
“Death, and release to the afterlife. Or punishment for your sins.”
Phaedrus chimed in. “Where you live another lifetime in repentance. A lowly beggar. The Duat. Labor camps.” He shrugged. “A convenient way to gather chattel.”
“And that’s one cycle,” Eleos guessed. “That shopkeeper—she said she was on her fourth.”
“Four visits to the Morai,” I said. “Two hundred and forty years of punishment.”
“The dread,” Eleos breathed, touching his forehead. “The psyches . . .” He stammered. “How long have they lived, hearing that song of dread?”
“Who knows?” Phaedrus shrugged. “The Morai doubtless keep punishing them. The suffering of thousands of people for hundreds of years . . . small wonder they’ve lost their minds.”
Aethra’s mouth twisted into a sneer. “So the nobles here are even worse than back home? They prance about, pretending to be gods, and force their people to live in absolute terror?”
“Yes,” Seraphim said. “It makes them easy to control.”
“Why doesn’t anyone do anything about it?”
Seraphim stood. “They do. Often.” She looked down. “My wife was born in this city. She was one of the rare few who kept their fire. We met while she ran with a small cell, harrying the nobles where they could.”
Curious, I quit fussing with my dagger. The last insurgency had been underway when I was exiled, but I had never learned its outcome.
I could fathom a guess.
Sniffing, Seraphim raised her head. “We had the most successful run of any uprising. For a moment, we believed we could reach the next step—forming a proper rebellion. But, we failed.”
“What happened?” Eleos asked.
“We were betrayed. The nobles cracked down and made an example of the captives. They killed innocents who had no part in us. My wife and I were captured, and the Morai condemned us to eternal torment in a labor camp.” She looked at me. “Duath Nun has been quiet ever since.”
“Don’t blame yourself,” I said. “There have been more attempted rebellions than I can count. They never work. It’s hard enough to get the damn people on your side—they’re terrified of the punishment they’ll receive if they’re caught.”
“I know,” Seraphim said softly.
Running a hand through his hair, Eleos paced the cramped loft before whirling around. “Duath Nun protects the Acheron because it grants them eternal life.”
“At the cost of all of you, yes,” I confirmed.
Rage ticked across Eleos’ face, and he returned to pacing.
Aethra watched him, and I could see the gears turning in her head. “The Acheron . . .” She breathed. “If we sealed it, they would lose their immortality.”
“. . . Most likely.” I narrowed my eyes. “Why?”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to fight against them, then?”
A smile flickered across Seraphim’s face.
“Aethra,” I said firmly. “You are not running off to join the insurgency. You’ll just get yourself killed. Or worse—caught.”
“I agree.” Phaedrus studied his nails. “Trying to undo centuries of oppression sounds like a labor in futility.”
“Maybe.” Seraphim rolled up her map, gripping it tightly. “But I had an idea. An army awaits us in Hades—they’ll do everything in their power to keep us out of the Acheron. But what if their army was gone?”
Ceasing his pacing, Eleos looked up, brow wrinkled in thought.
Phaedrus ran a hand under his chin. “Go on . . .”
“If a proper rebellion formed for the first time,” Seraphim continued, “Hades would answer. And while the Acheron would still be guarded, sneaking inside would be far easier.”
Tilting my head, I considered her plan. My father had the country under his thumb and liked it that way. Needed it to be that way. Should someone legitimately threaten his rule, he would respond swiftly.
It just might work.
Lifting my head, I nodded. “Cerys is working with them. She can tell us what they need. But, Seraphim. This will be a significant delay.”
“Our first entry into Hades must succeed,” Seraphim said, twisting the map. “We will not get a second chance.”