Chapter 20 Seth #2
“This is the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen,” he marveled, flipping a page. “You drew this?”
“I got into trouble for it, so I try to hide it.” She rubbed the back of her neck.
Running to her side, Percy pointed to one of the drawings. “Who was the model for this one?”
“Oh, this is one of my favorites.” She leaned back.
I stood on my toes and glimpsed the drawing. It depicted a man and woman, limbs entangled beneath a flowing waterfall. Thankfully, I didn’t recognize either. The man’s penis was drawn with an astonishing amount of detail.
Watching them, I couldn’t decide if I’d done a terrible or wonderful thing. Percy would be enamored with Cerys now that he’d seen her pages upon pages of erotic art—not all of it . . . tasteful. But I knew he didn’t want to pursue her.
Or anyone. Just as I didn’t.
I didn’t have the power to change anything in this world, but I could make Percy smile, if only for a few days. Giving them some alone time, I turned and walked away.
“Wait!” Cerys looked up. “You cannot become our leader looking like that.”
“No, he can’t.” Percy grinned. “You just leave that to me.”
;;;
I hated being pampered. The servants tasked with dressing and grooming me had lasted a month before I’d kicked them all out.
My fingernails dug into the creaky wooden chair’s armrest while Percy stared at my reflection like it was a piece of marble he would sculpt into perfection.
Torture.
“How much could you possibly need to do?” I asked, fidgeting. “I never looked princely.”
“You need to,” Percy insisted. “Some ragtag assassin won’t inspire the people.”
“Princes all look the same. Just pick something already.”
“Hm.” Percy cocked his head and stroked his chin.
Light knocking echoed on the door, and Aethra pushed it open. “There you are,” she said, studying me. “I thought you’d be done by now.”
“Aethra, good. Come here.” Percy pulled her inside and shut the door. “Look at Seth. What do you see?”
“Um.” Aethra leaned forward, intently studying my reflection.
Oh, princess. She’d heeded Percy’s order without question.
No wonder I liked her.
“An assassin in a ratty cloak,” she decided. “But his coat is nice, even if the previous one was better.”
Wrapping an arm around her shoulder, Percy guided her to the other side of the bed and whispered in her ear. She perked up, nodding and glancing back at me, tilting her head and narrowing her eyes. Then, she touched Percy’s shoulder and flew out the door.
“What have you done?” I groaned.
“Enlisted aid,” Percy said, fishing through the bag on the floor. Pulling a sharp knife loose from its scabbard, he leveled it at my hair.
“Hey, hey.” I leaned forward, avoiding the dagger. “Don’t cut—”
“I’m just tidying them. Sit still,” he ordered. “Actually, here. This will help.” Motioning me out of the chair, he spun it around so I’d face the wall instead of the vanity.
Sighing, I sat back down, wincing when I felt him take the blade to my locks. Aethra returned a few minutes later, Whisper following close behind. She squeezed between my chair and the wall, and her hip brushed my arm as she passed.
Forgetting about Percy, my attention snapped to her. She clutched a journal tightly, glancing between the pages and the hint of my tattoo escaping from my rolled-up sleeves.
“Take your shirt off,” she ordered.
“Is this a makeover or a shakedown?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Aethra wanted to throw an orgy,” Percy corrected.
“If I had, I would’ve invited Eleos to watch him squirm.” Flicking her wrist, Aethra reiterated her command.
Laughing, I did as the princess ordered. My eyes lingered on the Penthos tattoo snaking down my left arm, remembering its meaning—and the day I’d gotten it.
Pulling up a stool, Aethra set the journal down on the vanity, and I saw what was scrawled on the pages: tattoo designs. She’d left the book open to the Timora.
Righteous vengeance.
“Do you mind?” She asked, flipping open a case of needles and ink. “I’ve noticed the nobles wear many tattoos, but you don’t.”
“I didn’t live the storied life Seraphim has.”
“Maybe not.” She twirled the needle. “You don’t think you can hold a candle to your mother. So, if you can’t inherit her justice, become her vengeance, instead.”
Aethra didn’t think she knew me—but her words proved she did. Nodding, I gave my permission.
She leaned forward, carefully taking my right hand before pressing the needle into my forearm. Biting my lip, I watched her delicate wrist as she worked, imagining a Duathi tattoo painted down her forearm and curling around her palm.
Dethos. The pattern of interlocking vines and petals worn by married couples. When the pair joined hands, their tattoos flowed into one, signifying their eternal union.
I twisted my free hand, trying not to look at her. Trying not to imagine the matching tattoo painted on me.
I failed spectacularly. Though Aethra focused wholly on her work, my eyes lingered on her gorgeous curls, her honey-brown eyes, the curve of her nose, the pout she wore whenever she studied the page beside her. She leaned away to study the design, and I traced my fingers across her wrist.
Aethra looked up sharply and met my eyes. Turning red, she looked back down and returned to her work.
Sitting there, unable to move, while she was so close . . .
My soul raged against the confines of my body. Desperate to escape and entwine with her.
I tried to look away from her face, and failed. “You wanted one, too,” I said. “See any you like?”
“Oh.” She glanced at the journal again. “I’m not sure what suits me.”
“I can think of a few,” I said softly, eyes dropping to her collarbone, shoulders, and arms. “I could paint them, if you like.”
“Doesn’t seem like there’s much point.” She chuckled sadly, brushing a loose strand behind her ear. “We might die trying to get into the Acheron and almost certainly won’t return from it.”
Percy interjected, placing his hands on my shoulders. “I thought you decided to live, while you still could?”
“I . . . guess I did.”
“Let Seth pick one then,” he ordered, returning to the bed.
“What are you doing back there?” I called.
“You’ll see,” he sang.
The next hour passed over the course of a lifetime. Had anyone else been working on my arm, I might’ve dozed, but Aethra’s presence was electric, and my thoughts dimmed into silence when I met her gaze.
Percy leaned over my shoulders, dangling a pair of earrings over my chest. “What do you think, Aethra?”
Snorting, she glanced between my pecs, probably imagining jewelry dangling from them. She shook her head and returned to her work.
“I swear to the gods, Percy,” I said. “Don’t you dare. "
“Aw. How about the eyebrow?” He held it up, modeling.
“No.”
“Pff. Just boring old ears then,” he muttered.
Mouth warbling, Aethra ran a thumb over my eyebrow. “Are you sure?”
My resolve shattered, seeing her envision it longingly. “Well, maybe I’ll think about it.”
Percy snorted into his jewelry box.
Rising, Aethra wiped off the needle. “Done,” she announced.
Lifting my arm, I studied the finished work, though it still stung. Wings stretched up and down my right forearm, wrapping around me like a shield.
Percy hauled me from the chair and spun me around. “Arms out. Stand still.”
I sighed. “I can dress myself.”
Percy wrung his hands. “If you ever loved me, Seth, just let me have this.”
“Fine,” I muttered, glancing at Whisper, who lay on the bed. “Don’t look, boy. I don’t want you to see me like this.”
“Pff.” Percy snorted. “No wonder they named you after a character from a play. Here.” He tossed Aethra a bracer. “Help me with this.”
Aethra slipped it onto my left arm and set to tying the leather threads.
With her standing so close again, my attention focused on her every movement—every brush of her fingers against my skin.
Percy was doing something, pushing and pulling me into place and fidgeting with something or other, but he might as well have been a ghost.
Aethra smoothed down my sleeve and stepped away. And I, stupid and dazed, grabbed her hand and pulled her back.
“What?” She asked.
I gazed at her, eyebrows drawn together, unable to speak.
Months ago, when we’d sheltered in that cavern, pressed together in the cold . . . I should have walked away and never looked back.
And what had I done but hold her close, take her dancing, and tease her at the baths?
“You . . .” My mouth went dry, and I swallowed. “You said you wouldn’t be that woman to me. But you already are.”
Her lips parted in surprise at my sudden declaration. Slowly, her mouth shifted into a smile. “If I stab you, would that change your mind?”
“Not in the way you’d hope.”
Chuckling, she tucked a loose curl behind her ear and looked down.
Percy cleared his throat, reminding us of his presence. “Take a look, your princeliness.”
Remembering the purpose of this charade, I stepped in front of the mirror.
Oh, gods. What had they done to me?
An elaborate golden collar rested on my shoulders, pressing down the silken black tunic that cut in a V down to my belt. One sleeve was rolled up, displaying the winged tattoo, while the other was bound by an embroidered bracer, fit with a hidden blade.
Percy had chopped off more hair than he’d let on—it barely brushed my shoulders and looked . . . far too tidy. A golden circlet of feathers rested on my brow—nearly a match for the one my mother had worn.
I looked . . .
Noble.
“It needs a cape,” Percy decided, turning back to the pile of clothes slung over the bed.
“I like it,” Aethra said, grinning. “No, I love it. You look dashing.”
Setting a cloak on my shoulders, Percy leaned in. “The princess has given her approval. I’m afraid it’s final.”
Sighing, I glanced at the mirror. Scarlet eyes stared back.
My father’s eyes.
“Well,” I exhaled. “Let’s go start a war.”