Chaos’ demand to be free will require a new vessel.
Hera stares at the child, making gentle shushing noises which bear no calming effect upon the creature. It continues to writhe and scream, its high-pitched voice wavering with the full power of tiny lungs.
“She can still help you, priestess,” Hera says, not lifting her eyes from the bundle in her arms. “Aether lies in this one.”
“Aether be damned!” I shout, my voice trembling.
Aether has done nothing but grow weaker in the centuries following her fall. So little remains in this realm. What remains in me has been siphoned by the creature I’ve created.
Finally, Hera meets my gaze. “Nektos has plans,” she croons softly, the words nearly lost to the shriekingthingin her arms.
“Damn her and her trifling weavings!” I scream the words through another wave of pain.
Months of planning and preparationruined.By Fate.
We’ve failed.
I’vefailed.
I let Nalena grow sicker fornothing.
The contraction intensifies, seizing my lungs, and I stifle a cry. This pain’s different—sharper. Less natural.
Climbing from the bed, Hera passes the noisy demon to Tessa, and whispers low in her ear. Too low for me to hear. With a nod, Tessa sweeps toward the fireplace and Hera’s hands find my stomach.
“Now comes the heir of the hells,” she says, her eyes narrowing.
“There is another?” Panic floods my veins.
Hera nods. “We go on as we’ve planned.”
“Chaos will not accept a daughter—”
“He comes.” Hera’s wide eyes snap to mine. “Find me. You know where.”
In a swelling burst of shadow, Hera vanishes, leaving the scent of bergamot in her wake as the darkness dissipates.
I’ve been abandoned by the High Priestess of Chaos.
Again.
The scent is lost to the stench of sulfur and smoke the same instant hellfire blinds me. Clutching at my stomach, I scramble backward, away from the light, flattening myself against the headboard. More pain rakes through me and I choke the small cry in my throat.
“I thought so,” the deep, unamused peal of the god of death rings in the room. “It’s time.”
My skin crawls.
Everything about him is wrong.
The pain subsides as he draws closer, as if the demon in my womb knows who approaches.
“Nalena, run!”I scream the panicked order through our silver bond as I meet the cold, empty stare of Netharis.
How incrediblyhumanNetharis appears.
The single indication of his demonic descent lies in the dark wings of sinew and bone peeking above his shoulders. A towering monster masquerading as a mortal—as the elder gods once did.
As they would have again had I succeeded.
