Chapter 20 Seth
Seth
Guard presence in the city had increased tenfold since yesterday. Leaning on an upstairs window, I watched another troop of soldiers pass by the quiet, unassuming bunkhouse.
No one knew we were here. Not yet. Cerys’ portal had dropped us into the basement where members of the insurgency’s southern cell met to discuss plans.
A wise choice of hideout. Nobody thought twice about people coming and going from an inn.
Letting the curtain fall over the glass, I turned as Percy entered the room, his attendant’s mantle still draped around his shoulders.
“Cerys wants to see you,” he announced.
“Are you her personal messenger now?” I asked, pulling my hood up.
“More or less,” he confirmed, eyes flicking left and right before he smiled and stepped into the hall.
Cerys was going to be furious with me.
Stepping outside, I peeked into the common room at the end of the hall. Eleos leaned over a table, several herbs splayed before him, piled atop old tomes. Aethra sat beside him, dozing on his shoulder.
My gaze lingered longer than I intended. An unpleasant twist of jealousy surged up my throat, and my jaw clenched. Aethra and I had not spoken in private since the night we trained together.
Looking down, the jealousy faded. Maybe Aethra deserved someone like him. Reliable, caring, kind. Nothing dark and dour hid in Eleos’ past—she could trust him.
Why should she forgive me and the shadows I carried around?
“Seth?” Percy asked, waiting at the end of the hall.
“Coming.” Tearing my eyes off Aethra, I followed him downstairs and out into the city streets. Night had arrived, blanketing the oasis in darkness. Pulling his hood up, Percy covered his face with the mask-like cowl and peered left and right before beckoning me to follow.
Toying with a strand of my hair, I leaned toward him. “How’s it going?”
“Hm?” Percy started. “How’s what going?”
“You and Cerys.”
“Ah.” Percy reached to smooth back his hair, but only messed up his hood. “She’s . . . ethereal.” Wonder swam in his eyes. Blinking it away, he looked at me. “Cerys is quite different from the Oracle, though.”
“We’re all expected to act a certain way.”
“Really? And how were you supposed to act?”
“Mm.” I trailed a hand along the rough sandstone buildings. “Aggressive, but obedient. An echo of my father’s power that did not surpass his.”
“The perfect little heir?”
“More or less.”
“I can’t even begin to imagine you following someone’s orders,” Percy teased, pulling me down an alley. “Here,” he whispered.
Cerys awaited us beside an alcove, watching the rippling water in a fountain’s basin. A statue of Ma’at rose above the fountain’s tiers, holding a pair of judging scales aloft. Wings flanked her head, like angelic hair.
No one else would have recognized the Oracle like this. Wearing only a simple toga and dirty cloak, hair tucked into a wrinkled turban, she looked perfectly ordinary.
“Set,” Cerys hissed before she’d fully turned around.
I winced. She was furious.
“Listen,” I started. “I wasn’t going to—”
“Oh, enough.” Cerys rubbed her forehead. “What’s done is done. And I’ve already decided your repentance.”
“Repentance?” I raised an eyebrow. “Last I checked, you’re from the lesser branch of the family.”
Smiling, Cerys took my arm and guided me to the edge of the alley. We overlooked a square and a set of great stone steps leading up to another street.
A woman stood at their height—naggingly familiar. Several Hades Knights gathered around her, one of whom wore the commander’s fur mantle. Aeacus.
Narrowing my eyes, I tried to place the woman: Silken black waves, crimson eyes, a dress that revealed more skin than it covered.
Her identity clicked: my older sister, Eris. We’d spent little time together—she was born of another woman. Only during my training with Aeacus had we lived under the same roof.
“Eris,” I breathed. “I haven’t seen her in years. She looks different these days.”
“She’s inherited Ma’at’s city.”
“What?” I snapped. “Ma’at has only one child. Me.”
“Eris was born during Ma’at’s reign as queen,” Cerys countered. “Good enough for the king.” She nodded back toward the scene. “With Icelus out of commission, Aeacus is set to take over and exterminate the insurgency. No doubt he’s searching for the Duat’s escapees as well.”
Percy squeezed through to Cerys’ other side. “What’s she like? Your sister?”
“I didn’t know her well,” I said, glancing away. “She had a strange fascination with me, though. I never knew why.”
Cerys answered without breaking her gaze from Eris. “Because her magic doesn’t work on you.”
“She has magic?”
“Set.” Cerys slowly turned to regard me. “Did you pay her any attention at all?”
“Not really,” I admitted. “I have a lot of sisters.”
“You do?” Percy piped up, waggling his eyebrows. Remembering Cerys, he paled and quickly backtracked. “Are you two close? You never mentioned.”
Rolling my eyes, I turned back to the scene in the square. “My father had a daughter with every Elpis maiden. I have a lot of sisters.”
“Whoa. You’re the only boy?”
“Yes,” Cerys confirmed. “Can we focus?” She stared at me. “Eris’ blood enchants. Most people fall under her spell if the mist she creates from her wounds brushes their skin.”
“Like a siren?” Percy asked.
“Something like that, yes.”
Had Eris tried to cast magic on me? The image of blood-red mist did seem familiar, but it might have simply been from the blood Aeacus and I spilled during our training bouts.
“She sounds dangerous,” I decided.
“She is,” Cerys said. Turning back to the square, she sucked in a breath and pushed me against the wall before dragging Percy to the alley’s other side.
Slinking into the shadows, I watched a pair of Ma’at knights drag two prisoners to the base of the stairs: a young man and woman. They must have been artisans or merchants—their togas were clean, and the woman wore a silver hairpin.
“These two claim to have information you need to hear, my lady,” one of the Ma’at knights said, bowing. Shoving the man forward, he beckoned him to speak.
Shaky and hushed, I couldn’t quite make out the prisoner’s words. He gestured and pointed, lowering his head whenever he accidentally looked up at Eris.
“What’s he saying?” Percy whispered.
“I think he’s describing someone,” Cerys whispered back.
Eris’ voice carried across the square clearly, and memories rushed back to me of her sickly sweet voice and the way she’d batted her eyelashes at everyone who met her gaze.
“You were brave to speak the truth,” she commended. “Even while knowing the consequences.”
The prisoners’ heads snapped up.
“To know these traitors so intimately, you must have shared their ideals, yet you repented in your final moments by revealing them.” Eris flicked her wrist. “A clean death shall balance your deeds and sins.”
The man of the pair shot to his feet as Aeacus descended upon them. He’d barely reached his full height before the commander drew his sword and cleaved the man’s head from his shoulders. With a sickening thud, the head hit the ground, and the man’s body crumpled.
The woman screamed as a second knight grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet. Aeacus sheathed his blade and held up a hand. “Take her to the barracks. Kill her later.”
Nodding, the other knight bound her hands and led her away.
A hiss of anger escaped Percy’s lips. I glanced at him, remembering our first meeting—and the brothel we’d torn apart.
“Clean this up,” Eris ordered, turning and walking away, her procession following behind.
Cerys breathed out once they departed. “We have no choice. They’ve escalated their hunt.” She turned to me. “So we must, as well.”
I had a feeling I knew what she was going to ask.
Backing away, I pointed accusingly. “This was your plan. You told Father about Aethra to back me into a corner.”
A brief hint of guilt flashed in Cerys’ eyes, but she maintained her determined expression. Percy leaned around her, glancing between us. “What do you mean?”
“Insurgencies require a face,” Cerys said. “One to rally the people and strike fear into the nobility. Who better than the prince, returned to take his father’s throne?”
“Mother’s throne,” I corrected, gritting my teeth.
Percy’s eyes drifted down the alley before returning to me. “Oh,” he said. “Crafty. Now Seth has to help the insurgency to get to the Acheron.”
“He does,” Cerys confirmed.
Pacing away, I rubbed my eyes. Trying to change this wretched country would never work. And even if, by some miracle, we managed to unseat my Father and all his ilk, within decades the rot would regrow and consume it.
I didn’t want this. Didn’t want to bother chasing pointless endeavors that would only end in death.
But to see Eris standing where my mother stood, wholly unworthy to even slink in Ma’at’s shadow? And Aeacus beside her . . .
Relaxing my jaw, I whirled around. “Fine. I’ll do it.”
Exhaling, Cerys shot me a look of gratitude.
“But for manipulating us, you’ll have to pay.” Storming back to her side, I grabbed her belt.
Gasping, she tried to wriggle out of my grip. “What are you—”
Flipping open her satchel, I found her journal and pulled it out.
“Set!” She hissed as I released her.
Ducking around her, I tossed the journal to Percy. “Take a look at that.”
Eyes wide, Percy glanced between us. “Is this, um, your sketchbook?”
Cerys’ entire face reddened. “Oh, fine.” She closed her eyes. “You can look.”
“I don’t have to,” Percy said, fingers twitching toward the cover. “It’s landscapes, right? That’s what you draw?”
“The first half is,” I said, grinning. “Take a look. I’m the only one who knows what’s in there.”
Curiosity won the battle in Percy’s heart. Flipping the journal open, he leafed through the innocent sketches of Duath Nun—and found the true Cerys tucked behind them.
“Holy . . .” Percy muttered, bringing the pages to his eyes.
The shame washed from Cerys’ face. Raising her head, she watched his reaction nervously.