Every day, my Father proved he was divinity beyond our reach: his chthonic magic had no limits.
Closing my eyes, I gritted my teeth as the blade lanced through the back of my shoulder. They could’ve given me a painless, clean death.
But Haimyx wanted us to suffer.
Steel glinted above my head as the shadow prepared another strike.
“Stop!” A woman shrieked.
The shadows froze, blade mid-thrust. I felt the hands loosen around my limbs and tore free. Crawling to Eris, I pressed a hand to the nasty wound in her side.
Shimmering light broke up the shadows darkening the hall. The twilight veil covering the assassins fractured and they erupted into a shower of blood. Chthonic magic.
A woman ran toward us, her every step dispelling the magic sent to murder us.
Many in this country called themselves gods, but only she looked like one. Her white gown seemed to glow with radiance, and the feathered cape on her back spread like wings behind her. Ebony hair cascaded over her shoulders, crowned with a gold feathered circlet.
Ma’at threw herself down beside me and pressed her hands to Eris’ other wound—the second strike had torn through her thigh.
“It’s alright, Eris.” Ma’at’s strong voice rang through our heads. “A healer’s coming.”
Eris’ scarlet eyes flew open. She looked fondly at Ma’at before turning to me, gaze hot with fury.
I didn’t understand. Why would our father want her dead, too?
Pain lashed through my shoulder, and I doubled over, noticing the blood streaming down my tunic.
Mother’s golden eyes flicked over me with worry. “If you die from only that . . .”
I smiled at her. “Would you disown me?”
She tried to smile, but her lips wavered. Ripping a piece of her dress loose, she pressed it into my good hand. “Aeacus!” She screamed.
It wasn’t the general who emerged from the throne room, like a shadow from the night. Haimyx descended the steps, his crimson eyes pulsing.
“I told you not to interfere,.” he seethed, black cloak drifting behind him like a specter.
Ma’at glared at him, but remained silent. Reaching for my sword, I grabbed the pommel and shakily rose to my feet, intent on protecting them both.
I couldn’t defeat my father, but I wouldn’t submit to him without a fight.
Haimyx stood before me, a few inches taller. He looked me up and down, and he laughed. “My apologies. I thought you were soft. Evidently, it will take much more thanthisto break you.”
Break me? My grip on my blade wavered. “What?”
“I’m not here to kill you, boy,” Haimyx growled. With a mere flick of his wrist, he wrenched the sword from my hand. It clattered to the ground. “Thirty years, and this is all you can manage?” He said, voice dripping with scorn. “Perhaps it was my folly to think better of you.”
Suddenly, Eris’ words made sense.
Magic came from suffering. Most nobles tortured their children if they reached adulthood with naturally manifesting magic.
Haimyx had wanted to torture Eris to death and make me watch. But even now, I didn’t feel despair or torment.
I felt only hatred. At him. At myself.
Wincing, I fell to a knee. Eris’ face twisted in terror, and she crawled closer to Ma’at, staining her dress with blood.
“I told you,” Ma’at’s voice dripped with venom, “not to touch my son.”
