He dropped his hands and blew out a shaky breath. Adjusted the cufflinks of his sleeves.
You are Cassian, the High God of Death and Curses.
Straightened the tie at his neck. Smoothed the lapels of his suit.
You took his father, cursed his sister, and tried to steal his nephew.
Slicked back the incessant piece of hair that perpetually fell in his eyes, and pushed back his shoulders.
Just as he did in the past, Finnian loathes you for everything you are, everything you have done to him.
He blinked away the tears stinging in his eyes, focusing on the smooth granite of the door.
For a fleeting moment, he was back in that crowded mortal street standing outside the apothecary, its windowsills cluttered with pathos and ivy and various-sized bottles, advertising medicinal remedies.
Just like you loathed each other before.
A light in the darkness.
Cassian held the memory close as he readied his divine power in an ominous cloud, and teleported inside the room.
Inky mist driftedover the Serpentine Forest like a grim curtain. A chill nipped at Cassian’s cheeks as he stood at the mouth of its entrance.
Finnian had broken out of his cell in Moros by learning the mechanics of the serpentine bars. A feat Cassian had expected, hoped for, even.
He held up the vial, its silver substance incandescent under the midday sunlight of the Land.
There was no reason to keep Finnian locked up in Moros now. With the curse nibbling away the barriers of his mind, he would either crack and give up the blood, or, if the Universe decided to be kind, it would eat away at the magic altering their memories. Either way, Finnian had given him the binding potion, and he intended to use it.
Regardless of Finnian’s resentment, it was enough to have him near Cassian. His presence, the sound of his voice, to staunch the wound oozing in Cassian’s heart.
A hiss of air and divine power sounded behind him.
He casually tucked the potion inside his pocket as Acacius came to stand beside him.
“I hear he did a number on my executioners,” Cassian said.
“Any idea how to reverse a hex?” Acacius gave him a sidelong glance, the ends of his mouth curling in a smirk. “Better to go assist him now, lest the Achlys have their way with him.”
“They know not to touch him.”
A beat of silence.
The playfulness in Acacius’s demeanor shifted, and he turned his head, revealing the somberness across his face. “I presume you are doing everything you can to get the demigod’s blood.”
Cassian’s nerves cringed at the mention of the blood—of Ruelle. He was sick of it all.
He leveled Acacius with a dangerous look. “Do you think I would’ve cursed him otherwise?”
A melancholic shadow passed over Acacius’s features. It gleamed in his golden gaze, steadfast on Cassian, pained and remorseful. “Cassius, I will not stand by and let you kill her.”
Acacius’s loyalty to Ruelle burned furiously through Cassian. He stepped up into his brother’s space. “But you will stand by and let her kill me?”
Acacius’s eyes widened. “I—that’s not—” He shook his head, searching Cassian’s face in stupid bewilderment. “She has no intentions of doing such a thing.”
Cassian scoffed, smiling harshly. “Explain why else she’s gone to such lengths, forcing me to locate the demigod’s blood.”
“She intends to confiscate it. Nothing more, nothing less.”
