Chapter 17 Seth #2
Eleos looked down. “No, we won’t. But would we be condemning these people to death when the army comes for them?”
“Maybe,” Seraphim said softly.
Swallowing, Eleos began pacing again.
“A difficult choice,” Phaedrus said. “I would sleep on it.”
“Yes, I . . .” Eleos sighed. “I need to think.”
What did I think? Insurgencies were pointless—nothing would ever change. But using one to reach the Acheron might just work.
Aethra grabbed my wrist. “Come here,” she ordered before sweeping out the door.
“Yes, your highness,” I muttered, following her outside.
The sun dipped below the horizon. Nervously rubbing my arm, I glanced toward the gates, hoping my father was long gone.
Running to catch up with Aethra, I glanced around the plot of dirt she had stopped in. “What are you up to?”
“Why don’t you care?” She demanded, jabbing a finger into my chest. “You didn’t feel one emotion during that entire conversation.”
Scoffing, I looked off to the side. “This is my reality, Aethra. It’s not exactly news.”
“You hate it here! Wouldn’t you be excited to have a chance to make it better?”
“A thousand would-be rebels have risen and fallen over the course of our history. Why would this one be any different?”
“Because we have you, and Cerys, and—”
Lowering my voice, I leaned closer. “More dead than you can fathom lie buried beneath the Duat. Gods among them. Traitors, just like us.”
Aethra set her jaw. Her eyes flicked down. “You say Haimyx is four hundred years old. The stories say he’s over a thousand. Why did he only produce an heir fifty years ago?”
“Because he never wanted one,” I said, though I suspected she already knew the answer. “I’m not sure why I came about. An accident, maybe.”
“Why didn’t he just kill you, or your mother?”
“Because he loved Ma’at,” I said. “Simple as that.”
She looked up, jaw still set in defiance. I could see an idea glimmering behind her eyes, but she did not voice it. Stepping back, she extended her hand.
“Give me a sword.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
“We haven’t trained in ages,” she said. “And I need to learn to fight.”
Drawing my dagger, I cut my palm, letting blood trickle down my hand. From it, I shaped two blades—a longsword and a thin side sword for Aethra. Spinning her blade, I offered her the hilt.
Aethra grabbed the blade and lunged..
Taken off guard, I barely managed to block her assault. My arm twisted at an uncomfortable angle. Our blades scraped off each other, and she stepped back.
“I thought I was teaching you to defend,” I said.
She wiped her mouth. “You said the loser gives away a secret. I can’t learn anything about you if I only defend.”
Chuckling, I raised my blade. “Parry me, and I’ll consider it a win.”
Aethra’s brow knit in concentration, and her eyes widened. She was taking this very seriously. A smile crept across my face.
When I first saw Aethra, I thought she was beautiful. It shouldn’t have mattered. I was not a lover-boy like Percy; looks alone did not impress me.
But when she’d limped back from an encounter with Phaedrus, wounded and bloody, demanding we let her come with us to rescue Percy . . .
I knew I’d need to stay away from her.
My mother’s death had ripped my heart out. Cassandra had repaired me, knitting my wounds back together. With her loss, the last shreds of my soul had been torn apart for good.
To lose Aethra now would destroy what little remained.
Why couldn’t I stay away?
Lunging, I aggressively swiped at her, consumed by a sudden wave of anger—not directed at her, but at myself. She managed to block each strike, but lost ground every time our blades met.
Aethra’s back slammed into the wall. She tried to parry and push me off, but my blade swept past hers and pressed against her neck.
Sighing, she glanced down at death and met my eyes. “Let’s go again.”
Returning to the other side of the field, my eyes wandered to the sunset reflected in the channels. Even at night, I’d forgotten how hot my home was. Shrugging off my coat, I tossed it onto a rock and lifted my sword.
Aethra snorted. “Did you enjoy running around Naunet topless?”
“It’s hot,” I protested. “Besides, I thought you could use a morale boost.”
Scoffing, she balled her free hand into a fist. “Morale boost? You flatter yourself, Weasel.”
“Did I imagine the dreamy look in your eyes when you stared—rather openly—at my naked body in the baths? "
“Hm.” She spun her blade. “I guess you look good for an old man.”
“Old?” My head snapped back. “I’ll have you know I’m the youngest of the gods.”
“Still old,” she said, raising her blade.
Spinning my sword, I threw myself at her again and again, jabbing at weaknesses others would try to take advantage of, forcing her to defend from every angle. Each time, our bout would end with my blade pressed to a weak spot, where it would puncture armor and find a vital.
She never wavered. Though I could see sweat beading on her brow and exhaustion slowing her movements, she would always tell me to go again.
I had a feeling I knew where this was coming from. Aethra had gotten it in her head that insurgencies rose for a reason—and perhaps she could help.
Our blades met, and she stared at me defiantly, searching for an opening. My aggression faded. She’d become a psyche—a blessing bestowed only on the compassionate. She’d come all the way here, at the risk of death, to try and save people who would never thank her.
How could she think she was worthless?
Aethra whirled her blade around, swinging for my exposed hand. Jerking back, I avoided her swipe, but it was only a feint. Leaping through my broken guard, Aethra’s sword sang for my neck, nearly touching skin.
Blood rushed from my palm, forming into a dagger that sailed between me and steel—deflecting her strike at the last moment.
Huffing, Aethra stepped back. “How am I supposed to fight chthonics?”
“Your Elpis magic works wonders,” I said.
“I don’t want to use that.”
“Why?’
Swallowing, Aethra paused before answering. “It’s too destructive.”
“Fair enough.” I furrowed my brow in thought. “Didn’t Eleos say—”
Strange emotions swept over me. Sympathy sprang through my thoughts, though I wasn’t sure why. Aethra no longer looked like a capable woman—she looked vulnerable and small. I needed to protect her. Comfort her. Lowering my blade, I hurried to her side.
Her breath was warm on my face as she jabbed my throat with her sword. “I win,” she whispered.
She’d used psyche magic to shift my emotions. So much for my ironclad defenses. Her spell faded, and the unnatural empathy fell away.
Admittedly, my genuine emotions weren’t so different.
“I can’t believe it worked,” Aethra breathed, grinning. “Not bad for a first try.” Her grin shifted into a wicked smirk. “I’ll have that secret, now.”
Letting the blade slide across my neck, I leaned closer to her. Ma’at, Cerys, and I shared countless secrets. Picking one, I moved to answer, but my gaze fell to her lips.
My mind dulled, and our surroundings blurred. I remembered the way she’d tasted, on the boat. The way she’d felt, in my arms.
My hands moved of their own accord. Wrapping my arms around her back, I pulled her closer.
Aethra dropped her blade and curled her fingers into my hair. I should have resisted, should have pulled away. But I couldn’t. A desire that burned hot as fire raced through my veins, and I gave in.
I pressed my lips against hers and shuddered with relief. Her touch was as water in the desert, a balm to my wounds. She moaned softly, and I lost control.
Pushing her up against the wall, I ran my hands through her hair, down her neck, and settled on her waist. She broke from my lips, tilting her head to show me her neck.
A sigh of bliss escaped her as I followed her orders, tracing her neck down to her collarbone.
Her fingers ran through my hair, sending electric rushes through my skin.
Pulling her away from the wall, I pressed her against me, digging my fingers into her shirt. I wanted nothing more than to rip it off, to feel her skin against mine. And though I held her tighter than ever before, we still weren’t close enough.
Aethra ripped from my grip.
“I shouldn’t—” She stammered. “I shouldn’t have done that.” Her voice quivered. “I’m sorry, I . . . I should get back.”
I reached for her, but my fingers only brushed her arm. She darted around a corner and disappeared.
Taking a deep breath, I pressed a hand to my chest when a sharp pang lanced through me.
Aethra would probably never forgive me. Every time she met my gaze, she’d see my father and remember who betrayed her.
I bit my knuckles, hard enough to draw blood. Why did anyone dare to hope in life? Choosing to spend your life with someone only promised early heartbreak and a grave to visit—knowing you’d never speak to them again.
Why did we fall in love if the inevitable result was unbearable pain?
I was going to gut every last one of these bastards. Aeacus, for telling my father of Cassandra’s magic. For preventing me from reaching her. Icelus, for torturing Aethra. My father and all of his men, for what they did to my mother. To Cass. What they’d do to Aethra, given the chance.
Then, with justice served, I could walk into the Empty and . . .
I heard someone move behind me. Spinning around, I lifted my blade in time to deflect a crimson scythe burning with fire.
Seraphim leaped back and smirked. “Not bad. I thought I had you.”
“Were you intending to kill me?” I raised an eyebrow.
“Just testing your reflexes.” She tossed the scythe aside, and it turned to ash. “Were you hoping she’d have forgiven you by now?”
Sighing, I looked away.
“You know what I think you need?” Seraphim sauntered toward me. Her face softened when she met my eye. “To say goodbye.”
“What do you mean?”
“My pain didn’t start to fade until I said goodbye.” She smiled sadly. “It still aches, but . . . less than it used to. I was able to move on.”
“How could I?” I asked, stabbing my blade into the ground. “They didn’t get funerals.”
“Neither did Rhea,” Seraphim said softly. She’d never mentioned her wife’s name before. “Come with me,” she said, turning on her heel and marching off.
Pulling my hood up, I followed her. She found her way to the channel and walked along its edge, following it back to its source.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“There’s something you need to see,” she said, directing me to follow her across the road into the thick wood growing along the riverbed.
Brushing a tree-branch out of my way, I looked around as we forged into an overgrown copse. A sense of familiarity struck me, and I stopped.
We’d wandered into Mother’s garden.
Nobody had tended it in years. The flowers had wilted, the grass had overgrown. Only her beloved trees remained, swaying gently in the breeze.
A wind chime rang, drawing my eyes to the boughs. Old feathers hung from a cord, decorating the makeshift ornament. I’d made that for Mother decades ago, as a child. And she’d hung it there with pride.
“Why . . .” I trailed off.
“I remember a time when this was beautiful.” Seraphim spread her arms. “But nobody cared to tend it anymore. It’s in a poor spot of the city, not the noble district.”
“Mother built it here specifically because—” I bit my tongue. Seraphim didn’t need to hear those words. She already knew.
Joining my side, Seraphim looked up at the rusted wind chime. “It’s a small thing, but I thought you needed to see this.”
It wasn’t a small thing. My teeth ground together, and I curled my fingers into a fist.
This city had once been the only spot of good in this damned country, and when Mother died, the last spark of hope went with her.
I closed my eyes, repressing a sob. If traveling into the Acheron would claim Aethra’s life, then I would ensure it claimed mine as well. I would not return to a world without her.
For there would no longer be any reason to live.