Somehow, Terena knew the man was no mortal.
Her eyes narrowed. Was this Apollo, then?
“Yes,” a soft voice sounded from her right. Terena jerked, nausea lancing through her belly up to her chest as bile rose in her throat. She closed her eyes for several seconds before she shifted onto her elbow.
When she could, she opened her eyes and realized she was lying on cushions soft as air, arranged in a semicircle in front of a large altar. What seemed like hundreds of candles burned, and she thought might be where the smell was coming from.
A gorgeous white marble statue of a large man she’d never seen before, heavily muscled and wearing armor and greaves, stood in the center atop a large square plinth. Words below it were in a language she did not know but resembled Ancient Greek.
Terena turned her head slowly to look at the person who’d spoken, stiffening before she could stop herself. The woman sat on the pillows, her legs bent beneath her flowing white and grey dress, a rope of gold around her belly and up over her shoulders to cross at her chest. She had a head of hair so black and shiny it glinted silver in the light from the flames, coiled up in a tight bun atop her head.
What initially caught Terena’s attention were her eyes. They were black, filling in the space where the irises and whites should be. A chill slid slowly down Terena’s spine as she edged further back on the pillows.
The woman seemed familiar, and strangely beautiful, despite the harsh lines and angles of her face. Her thin lips disappeared when she smiled. She looked like she could murder without an ounce of regret.
Terena noticed the woman’s comforting smile and wondered if she could see her.
“I can.”
Terena startled. “You can read my thoughts?”
The woman’s smile deepened. “Some.”
Terena put her hands behind her as she scooted her butt, movingfurther away from the unnerving woman. The woman did not move or show any signs she was aware of Terena’s discomfort.
“How are you feeling?” she asked, again in that soft voice at odds with her appearance.
“How did I get here?” Terena countered.
The woman moved her hands to her lap. “You were invited.”
Terena snorted. “I was drugged.”
“Yes.”
Terena leaned her head forward. “Not denying it, huh?”
“It is how this is done.”
“Howwhat’sdone?”
The woman tilted her head. “Is this the question you came here to ask?”
Terena looked at her as if she’d sprouted a second head. “Of course not!”
“I understand you’re disoriented?—”
“And pissed!”
The woman pursed her lips, her odd eyes looking somewhere near Terena’s forehead. “And angry. But you waste time.”
She rose, her movements fluid and graceful, and Terena wondered again if her eyes worked. They looked like obsidian marbles, unnerving for Terena to look at for long.
“You were sent here,” said the woman, “and so I will do my part.”
“What part is that?”
“Is this the question?—”
