Aidan closed his eyes as he made to cradle her unmoving body. Lifting her against him, he rocked, clutching her tightly. Topp wasn’t sure if it was pain or the letdown of relief that made the god of the dead’s shoulders shake as held her, but he knew in that moment if Elysia didn’t live they would have a far larger problem on their hands than his sister, father, and the fates combined. Gods help them all if she didn’t survive.
Eyes glassy, Aidan shifted his hold on Elysia, so she was draped in his arms with her head on his chest. Voice thick, he spoke. “Thank you all for your part today. I need to return my wife to the Deathlands so the apotheosis may complete.”
Soot washed the room, and when it cleared, the god of the dead was gone.
Chapter 47
Elysia stood alonein the throne room. Her bare feet were quiet on the burgundy runner that led to the naked thrones. Placing her talisman on what was now her seat, she stepped back. Her long silk dress swirled gently against her ankles. Foreign power nestled inside her, some hers, some unbelonging and burdensome.
Slipping her hands into her pockets, she studied the iron crown. Aidan had cleaned it for her. The dark grayish silver now shone brightly and the small skulls adorning its base stared back at her with blank, empty eyes. It was fitting. Much like the thrones, her crown was not a thing of beauty, but a reminder of the role and responsibility that was now hers. Her gaze drifted to Aidan’s helm. She had yet to see him wear it, but the design covered all his face apart from his eyes and lips. She imagined the burn of his eyes would be a sight when he wore that iron monstrosity.
She’d been prepared to wait out her days in the strange in-between Maya had dragged her soul into. What she hadn’t been prepared for was the god of the dead bursting into her limbo with all the fury of death in his wake, demanding she tell him where the talisman was while also petrified she hadn’t been able to secure its location. She was still proud of him for trusting her. Allowingher to walk into that warehouse and execute her plan without knowing all of it, only that there was more she couldn’t say. She hadn’t asked him the odds, but she knew they hadn’t been good. None of the odds had been good before, but now everything was a blank slate. The fates no longer held all the cards and while it would likely be a bloody, terrible end—both mortals and gods once again stood a chance.
Her fingers traced the sharp geometric edges of her crown. If she hadn’t known its location, she would already be mad. Her mind and mortal body broken from ripping ancient power she wasn’t designed to hold. The apotheosis had healed the physical injuries of ripping their power and wielding the scissors—after all, she was a god now, but she still wasn’t a fate, and their power sat inside her, threatening her with the descent of madness.
It was inevitable.
She hadn’t even mastered the basics of transmutation. She could search and she could rip, but thus far, she still relied on the death realm’s rivers to transmute even the most basic of human emotions. Fat lot of good that would do her.
Bending her fingers, she examined her nails. Soil still lined a few of them, which wasn’t surprising given Aidan had half-buried her amongst her own wildflower plantings. Her memory of her soul being returned to her physical form was thankfully blurred, but she did remember ever-present citrus and bergamot, and the sweet relief of Deathlands dirt surrounding her and easing her death and transition into godhood.
Three full days in the dirt with the rivers cutting through the land to wash over her feet and hands, and then she’d woken. No longer shimmering or with iridescent eyes, she’d sat up with soil in her hands and flowers in her hair as the goddess of the death realm.
She smiled faintly, still unsure how to process all that had occurred over the last few days.
One of the throne room doors creaked open.
“Wife?”
She glared at the god of the dead, the man who had done the unthinkable only days before and saved her from an excruciating end. “You have to stop calling me that.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because it’s not true!” She huffed, walking closer to the door.
His brow creased and he held up his arm, exposing his golden strand covered wrist and forearm in rebuttal. “I’m starting to be concerned about your comprehension skills.”
Exasperated, she stared up at him with her hands on her hips. Unbeknownst to her, her oath and the resulting binding on their skin was the equivalent to marriage amongst the gods, and Aidan had decided to proceed as if such was true. It wasnottrue. “I agreed to nothing.”
Now he stared down at her, smirking. “Whatever you say, wife. Are you ready to meet with Grim?”
A sharp pain shot through her temple, and she flinched, but hurried to smile. “Yes, all ready.”
Aidan’s mouth flattened, his hand running over her hair, tugging lightly until she met his eyes. “You promised.”
Flitting out from beneath his touch, she sashayed under his shoulder and to the living room where they were meeting Grim. “I’m aware.” But she didn’t say it. How the little bolts of fated power were like lightning in her brain, or how her thoughts sometimes twisted strangely.
Elysia curled up in one of the big leather chairs. Last time they’d had a meeting, Maya had sat in this chair. Gods knew where the woman was now or what she was up to. The reapers hadn’t seen hide nor tail of her.
Grim stalked into the living room. He looked to Aidan in question, but Aidan simply kicked back, stretching his legs out as he lifted his hands as if whatever the question was it was up to Grim.
Grim rubbed his neck, his jaw tight before walking directly in front of Elysia and dropping to one knee. His brown eyes were intent on hers. “I did something.”
Startled, she stared at him in open confusion. Why was he kneeling? “Okay?”
“Something I should have asked your permission for.”
Elysia made a face. “You’ve been running the realm with Aidan for years. You don’t need my permission for things.”
