“You—”
His words were drowned out by the instant swelling of his throat, like a toxin expanding through cartilage and muscle. The sear spread down into his lungs.
He sucked in a shrinking breath.
Something dribbled down his chin.
He moved his hand up to the saliva foaming out of the corner of his mouth.
“What—” His words caught in a coarse wheeze, his body seizing to grab on to oxygen. He tipped over, holding himself upright by the back of her chair.
…did you do?
Hyper-aware of his body, he archived every sensation: the nausea bubbling in his stomach like he’d swallowed sulfur, fatigue so heavy that it sagged the skin on his face, gooseflesh rising on his arms, the chilled, clammy sweat beading in his palms.
The fucking berries.
Was it the demigod’s blood? The last he remembered, Marina did not use the entire vial on her father. Who had the rest of it? What if she somehow used it on him?
Spots pinpricked in his vision, blotting out Marina’s face, and for a brief second, he believed it was her darkness, masses of it stuck to his corneas, attempting to smother him again.
He staggered back on his heels, the pressure stabbing in his temples. A paralysis pierced his limbs, his legs threatening to give way.
Panic roared in his veins.
“Did you know there is an apothecary in Isolde?” Marina’s voice met his ears like a velvety hum behind a wall of static. “The middle goddess of nature who runs the place isextremelyknowledgeable when it comes to concocting poisons.”
Fucking pestilence.
The blood drained from his face, and it took all his energy to release her chair and extend his arm toward the table.
One step in, his knee buckled, and his side met the stone floor in an uneasy slam. His shoulder crunched, and dulled pain radiated through his collarbones.
Acacius’s groan caught in his chest as he rasped, desperate for his bronchioles to reopen. His vision flickered in and out.
The legs of Marina’s chair scraped against the stone. “It seems a proper dose of hemlock and strychnine is plenty enough to bring down a High God like yourself.”
Acacius could feel the slow, slurring beat of his pulse trapped under his weight.
“I am not here for forgiveness.” Marina pushed him onto his back and appeared in the center of his tunneling vision. “There is nothing I can say that will bring peace between us.”
He clenched his jaws against the convulsing waves that shot through his limbs, recognizing this agony. He was well experienced when it came to ingesting toxins, believing his body had built up proper tolerance, no matter the dose or ingredients used. A stupid assumption on his part.
“I do not fear any gods, Acacius. Nor do I fear your revenge.” The toe of her boot came down on his chin, jabbing her heel into the base of his throat. With him pinned, she anchored forward, spilling her dark strands over her shoulders like black silk. A dauntless smirk pulled apart her stained, red lips. “So, by all means, do your worst to me.”
7
TENEBRIS
Marina
The shadows spitout Marina into the familiar twilight. Stars glittered above her like moonstone in a black sea. The crisp air hugged her skin, an atmosphere divergent from Kaimana’s mugginess.
She walked to the railing of the terrace and peered out into the village of Tenebris, buried deep within a remote mountain range in the Mortal Land, founded by those who worshipped her.
The view was a breath of respite. From the mist enshrouding the village, it appeared to be floating on an ocean of onyx clouds. The only glow of light came from a warm, cider-like layer from the lampposts and the melted starlight glow of the moon.
Tenebris was a place the sunlight could never touch—a prayer from her worshipers that she had answered. It took her nearly a decade to build, shortly after she rose up as a High Goddess.
