Chapter Thirty-Nine Zephyra
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
ZEPHYRA
He’s here.
Six months away doesn’t erase eight years of close proximity and wretched agony.
The moment he approaches, my blood curdles in response.
My bones ache to flee. However, the High Sorcerer of the Four Seas stands—stands, on two legs as I’ve never seen before—in front of the only entrance. The only exit.
And Arion has seconds to live.
Harpoon ripped from his chest, he bleeds in a torrential spill of crimson. Scarlet bubbles from his lips. His eyes seek mine, not the sorcerer’s. I glance at the bronze chest beside Vesper, at the crusted blood on its lock. If I had my fucking legs, I could reach it in time.
“I don’t think that will do as you hope,” the sorcerer says smoothly, calmly, stepping over my warlock and tossing the harpoon aside.
The sorcerer glances down at the robes on the floor.
At the Death Lord’s mask near my tail. Then he turns that gaze on me—copper hot, nauseatingly intrusive. “You’ve been busy, my wife.”
My lip curls in hatred and disgust. I hate him. I fucking loathe this man, and now… we’re trapped here. Us all. With him. What are we going to do?
“I am not, nor will I ever be, your wife.”
“Oh? But that was the deal, my dear.” Crouching, he plucks up the mask and examines it with benign fingers.
My hackles rise. He’s being too quiet. Too gentle.
The calm before a lethal storm. “I remember it very well. Would you like me to remind you?” His gaze flicks back to me.
He flexes muscles beneath the tight black of his tunic, shaking his head with a deceptively soft laugh.
“‘I will allow you, Zephyra of the Syl, a chance at true freedom. I will allow you one hour to run, to truly run from me. I will allow you one hour to swim away from this castle and to never return before I hunt you.’” He plucks up my hand, ignoring that I try futilely to tug it away.
“‘That is what you have always coveted, isn’t it, dear? Freedom?’” He brushes a kiss on my inner wrist, even as I use my other hand to claw at his arm.
“‘All I require… is that you cut out his heart.’” He bites my flesh, and I shriek at the sudden burst of pain.
He draws blood. Drinks it, lapping at the wound with his tongue before dropping my arm to stand.
He towers over me like the demon he is while I cradle my wrist to my chest, seething.
But as much as I hate him… I also hate myself.
Jacin’s angry gaze. Jacin’s skin, rough with barnacles.
That dull fucking knife.
No. I shake my head. I can’t remember this. I refuse to remember this.
Arion growls, clutching his own weeping wound, but it’s a weak, feeble sound.
He’s dying quickly. Too quickly now. And the others don’t move.
They can’t move. Either from the sorcerer’s magic or fear, I don’t know, but Gavriall, Vesper, and Amaya watch with wide eyes and silent lips.
We’re screwed. We are totally, completely fucked.
I wipe the red from my wrist and force myself to rise as high as I can with my tail tucked beneath me.
“A shame,” I spit, “I was rather hoping you’d been eaten by a kraken.”
The sorcerer ignores me. He strokes the porcelain mask with bloodstained fingers. “I hope you did not give Vasiliev too much trouble, dear. He was a loyal servant for so long. One of my favorites. I couldn’t have orchestrated this without him.”
“Who?” I ask—
But Gavriall speaks over me, words rushing out on a gust of surprise. Confusion. “Vasiliev? But he was an explorer for Tempest. He… he failed the expedition. None of his crew ever returned.”
“Using that perfect memory, are we?” The sorcerer’s lips twist into a disconcerting smile. He turns to Gavriall, who flinches. “Vasiliev uncovered my castle, yes, and he even survived. Just perhaps not in the same form you would expect. Amaya, darling, why don’t you explain the rest?”
“N-no,” she stutters, the harpoon launcher trembling in her hand.
The sorcerer rolls his eyes, snaps his fingers, and explodes the launcher to smithereens.
Shrapnel cuts Amaya’s skin. One slices her right eye, tearing straight through her cornea, but she still doesn’t move, or scream, or cry.
Blood trickles from her eyeball, down her cheek, and she merely blinks it away.
It must be him, his magic, holding her—paralyzing them all.
“I do not like to be disobeyed,” the sorcerer says. “Tell them what you know.”
Amaya whimpers. “Vasiliev… he was an explorer for Tempest, one of the most renowned, but when he delved into the trench, he didn’t find Abysses. He found… he found… you,” Amaya breathes at the sorcerer.
The sorcerer tilts his head. His steps echo, the quiet of thunder too far to ever fear, and he brushes a lock of Amaya’s hair behind her ear.
He smears the blood on her cheek, and she blinks—blinks as if she can’t see him quite the same anymore.
As if he has blinded her in one eye. “They have been birthing you weaker. Tempestas must be so disappointed in you, darling demigoddess.”
Bile rises up my throat. I can’t bring myself to swallow it. The sting grounds me; it curls my hands into fists. “Leave her alone.”
The sorcerer releases Amaya with a scoff. “Don’t be stupid, Zephyra. Don’t stick up for the woman who lured you straight toward me. Yes, Vasiliev and his dearest explorers found me, and then I offered them what I offer everyone else.”
“A deal,” I hiss.
The sorcerer returns his attention to me, and I’m glad.
I can take it. I’ve survived it for a decade.
He will not break me now. “Very good, wife. I offered them a deal—those who wanted to live, who wanted power, could eat the crew who refused.” Another smile, more sinister this time.
“Six cultists ate well, indeed, but the Death Lord—Vasiliev—he feasted the most. They became my eyes in Mortia. My power on land.”
Amaya’s legs tremble. Her eye weeps blood. “I—I wanted to save my people. I just wanted to save my home.”
“Valiant of you, darling. Save your kingdom with no regard for the lives you would sacrifice.” The sorcerer chuckles darkly, though he continues watching me. He wants a reaction. He wants me fucking miserable. I won’t give it to him.
“I would do the same,” I say instead. “I did do the same when I ran away from you. It’s okay, Amaya. I forgive—”
The sorcerer whirls around and plunges a finger into her left eye.
He wrenches it from the socket with little effort and throws it on the floor.
It rolls toward me, cloud gray and streaked with veins of lightning.
Amaya crumbles, her knees hitting the granite with a painful thud.
Violent sobs rack her frame as she grabs for her face.
Her right eye trickles blood. Her left eye is a gory, hollow mess.
Gavriall vomits where he stands, bile splashing onto the robe of a vanished cultist. Even Vesper struggles to contain her panic, her body quaking, her jaw clenched tight.
“I do not like defiance,” the sorcerer says.
I don’t think before I move; I simply lunge.
Hurling my body forward, tail whipping, I tackle the sorcerer to the floor.
I claw at him the way I did the Death Lord, nails slicing easily through the bronze skin of his cheek.
“You have a problem with me. Me, not them. You are a fucking monster.” But the longer I continue to draw the black ichor of his blood, the longer I realize… he’s not fighting.
He’s laughing.
My stomach sinks. I pause my assault as he strokes a hand down my spine, over my scales.
The skin on his disgustingly beautiful face heals almost instantly.
“Dearest Zephyra—do you really think you got away from me? I am the most powerful being in all four seas. In the world. I have been at your side for every second of your life.” He reaches up to touch my hair, pulling just enough to make it hurt, and when I bare my teeth—he grins.
“Do you think Amaya was my only spy? Come, now. You knew there were others in your midst.” He forces my face in the direction of the others.
In the direction of Gavriall and Vesper.
“I know you’re holding Eos’s soul hostage,” I snarl. “I know you lied to Vesper that you would bring her back when you won’t.”
Another harsh laugh. “Did I break any of my vows with you?”
I fight his grasp, turning my head even as he rips at my hair so I can look back at him. “You deal in foul tricks. You would bring her back to make her one of your wretched servants.”
The sorcerer eases off me. For one brutal moment, I think I might be able to free myself, but bronze shackles appear from the air.
They clasp hard around my wrists. They cut into my flesh just as they did for eight fucking years.
The sorcerer rolls his eyes at my panic, at my pain, and waves a lazy hand to the corner of the temple.
Eos appears.
My heart races and tears burn my vision.
In a burst of light—there she is. Delicate braids swinging. Brown skin gleaming. Smile wide and bright. Her eyes are the same dark blue as Vesper’s, but softer. Even softer than I remembered. She’s beautiful. And she’s… she’s here.
Vesper screams and rushes forward. She throws arms around her sister. “Eos? Eos, is that really you?” She sobs, unable to control her emotions, and moonlight shimmers beneath her skin. Merging her legs into a gorgeous, iridescent tail.
“Vesper,” Eos breathes. And her voice. It’s so fucking sweet. “Oh goddess. Vesper, what happened?”
Vesper pulls Eos down with her, cradling her hard against her chest. “It’s okay,” she sings. “It’s okay. I’ve got you now. I’m here. You’re… you’re alive.” Vesper weeps against her little sister—
Until the sorcerer snaps his fingers, and Eos vanishes. As if she was never even here.