“Little murderess,” he says with a curling lip. “Good evening. I am Markanos, soon to be your executioner as I take revenge for El’Dorian.”
“I didn’t kill anyone,” I say in a rush, but he’s already slid his sword from its scabbard and he has the edge pressed to my throat.
“How long have you been hiding, listening to us?” His voice is low and threatening.
I say nothing. No answer to that question will please him.
“We could hold a court,” Glorian says from her seat at thetable. She is watching us tensely. “After you check to be sure there aren’t more mortals crawling around here. If one slipped in, who knows how many others might have entered our plane?”
“Why complicate things?” Markanos says easily, turning his sword in a casual but showy trick that spins it around his palm and back into his grip. I can imagine him doing that with my blood still dripping from it. “She is here where none but the blood of a god can enter unless they are brought in our entourages. She is the one who killed El’Dorian, however she managed such a task. Where are you hiding your god weapon, mortal woman?”
He drags me forward, out in front of the statue of Okeanos. It looms over me, a great, shirtless figure holding a fishing spear in one hand and a string of pearls in the other. I nearly laugh at the irony of it; I may very well be slain for a crime I didn’t commit… yet. For while I have not killed a god, I certainly came here to do just that.
The dark humor of it twists my lips into a smile, and when Markanos’s eyes meet mine, it seems my smile is the wrong expression to be wearing. He grits his teeth and draws his sword back. I’m just inhaling my last breath when a sudden hand yanks me backward by the chiton and another catches Markanos’s arm, as the blow he’s been threatening finally comes down.
I gasp as I stumble backward and crash into a solid body built like a wall. I am pulled all at once against the chest of a god. I can tell that’s what he is. His power weakens my knees. And I know this touch, this scent.
“Okeanos,” Markanos says, sounding surprised and a bit disappointed. “You’re late. And you’re interfering. I was about to dispatch this mortal.”
My mouth is dry—and not just because I was almost murdered a moment ago. My husband is here at last. He knows I want revenge. Will he understand that I came here to find the opportunity for it?
The rhythm of my heart is erratic.
“In that case, Iamlate,” Okeanos says, and my breath gusts out in sorrow. “I nearly missed saving you from a dreadful mistake, my friend.”
The word “mistake” sounds louder than all the others, and with it I finally steel myself and force myself to turn.
His iron grip slackens enough to let me look at him, and as I turn, our gazes meet.
“You came,” he mouths to me. He knows. And the way he looks into my eyes is vulnerable and intimate and it makes my lips part and my stomach flip over.
He swallows, and when he makes his announcement, his voice is strained. “This is my wife.”
Chapter Sixteen
Ichoke and I am not the only one. Around the room curses and exclamations ring out. At first, I think the gods are that horrified by our marriage, but then I see the color has drained from their faces for another reason.
Every eye is glued to the godwound in Oke’s thigh—every eye but his.
He shoves back Markanos’s sword and whispers, “El’Dorian?”
“Dead,” Markanos says, staring at his wound.
He has intentionally torn his breeches in such a way that the wound—ragged-edged and bloody—shows plainly to all. Strange that he would keep it a secret from my advisors only to show it so dramatically here.
His eyes wrench from mine and flick from face to face. His trap has been sprung. He’s looking for their reactions asif they will give him an answer to an unspoken question. But perhaps it is more than that now for him.
“Who killed her?” His voice is upset enough that I feel a twist of jealousy—though why I would be jealous that the god I want to murder might care about a dead woman, I do not know.
“We thought it was this mortal you claim as wife,” Markanos says gruffly.
“If it were, then she would be Goddess of Love and Virginity, and it would hardly be your place to kill her,” Oke says as Markanos lowers his sword.
The God of War shrugs awkwardly. “I liked El’Dorian. And besides, whoever murdered her ruined our meal.”
“It’s not ruined,” Aurelius says from his place at the table. He has thrown one leg indolently over the arm of his chair. “The wine is excellent.”
Whatever else they say is lost on me. Could the one who wounded Okeanos and the one who killed El’Dorian be the same?
