There were families, starving and without homes, just beyond the river, and yet the highborn carried out their daily agendas of afternoon tea and calling cards. Araes knew Ophis’s staff waited on call to clean up the grime tracked in from his leather boots, even.
“Hero or not, Lieutenant, word of your success against those creatures gives Venia and her people something far more valuable than supplies and coin.” Ophis’s black eyes flashed as he spoke. “You’ve given them hope.”
Araes shifted in his boots. Ophis hadn’t offered a seat. Although the brandy was a welcoming gesture, the lord made his place clear. He was to stand, just as the servants, fixed to their posts around the room. Silence dripped between them like the downpour of rain outside.
“I should take my leave, my lord. It’s a long walk back to Serpens.” Araes placed the untouched brandy on the glass cabinette and clasped his cloak.
“Please, Lieutenant, I didn’t mean to keep you. My shades will alert you of any news from Aquilae,” Ophis replied. The lord didn’t rise from his seat as Araes nodded and exited the townhome.
Damn Lord Ophis and the other self-obsessed councilmen. The whole of Antares could waste away, for all Araes cared. In a few weeks’ time, he’d be reunited with his queen, his goddess. The customs of court and social etiquette wouldn’t keep them apart, this he was sure. They’d find a way to live this life together. The tether connecting them thrummed through his veins, reminding him of the undying promise exchanged.
Araes crossed down the alley that’d lead him toward the river, his boots sending puddles splashing over the cobblestone. He shivered and pulled his cloak tighter. The grey cloud cover overhead dimmed the sunlight until it felt like an early evening’s time rather than midday. Raindrops dripped from his brow, streaking his cheeks and falling down his chin. He’d left the barracks this morning without his waterproof hood, and now facing the fury of the storm, he kicked himself.
“Lieutenant Araes,” a voice said behind him. Araes froze, alarm bells whipping through him like the cool howling winds. “It seems fitting I’d find you here with the rats and the mud.”
The autumn king, draped in a dusk-colored hood, stepped from the shadows. Around them, the air chilled and the stench of rotten leaves slithered through the alley. Procyon’s eyes kindled to a shade of scarlet as he approached.
“What do you want?” Araes’s hand hovered over his own blade as his eyes darted across the alley’s exit. His options were limited. Turn and pray he could run fast enough out of the alley the way he came, or stand his ground against a patron god.
“I’ll ask again,what do you want?” he repeated, his words a vicious bite.
“I can’t check in on an old friend? I’m glad to see you survived that last battle. Those death wielders are pesky little things, wouldn’t you agree?” Procyon hummed low in his throat like a predator, more animal than man.
Araes’s fingers curled around the hilt of his blade. Even the shadows recoiled as Procyon approached. Peeking from behind the fabric of his cloak was a sheathed golden blade. Araes glimpsed a flash of its ornate hilt, marked by a gilded circle of arrowheads. His blood turned to ice.
The blade’s design was nearly identical to the daggers used by the rebel camp.
“Let’s just say, I wanted to have a chat with you regarding your future in Venia,” Procyon chuckled. “Actually, your future on this damned continent, if I’m being honest.” His eyes burned in the pouring storm, like glittering gemstones of pure hatred.
“Kill me. Torture me. Do whatever you desire, but know this,” Araes said, his toes gripping the interior sole of his boots. “She will never love you.”
Procyon wiped the rain from his brow and grinned, the charms laced through his chestnut beard refracting a web of lighting across the sky. The ground quaked, as if it, too, trembled from the immortal’s surge of sheer power.
“I don’t need her to love me, Lieutenant. I already have her crown. It was too easy, persuading my father to agree to our betrothal, but when the mortals are killing one another, well…how could he not acquiesce?”
Araes bit his inner cheek, tasting iron, as the autumn king spoke. Rage flooded his system, pounding on his chest until his bones felt like they might crack open.
“You mortals are greedy bastards. How your race hassurvived this long is beside me. So quick to kill each other or seek someone to blame. When I slaughtered that hunting party, I thought maybe tension might rise, but a full blown war?Anda hungry rebellion? That was your own doing.”
“You want power? Wealth? The mortals will never accept your reign. I wouldn’t be so quick to judge us when we’re a reflection of your own image, autumn king,” Araes spat, taking a slow step away from the god. He was only a few paces from the alley’s entrance. If he ran faster than he’d ever gone beforemaybehe’d make it. But, the deserted Antarean streets left few places to hide and fewer witnesses still. Thunder cracked overhead, sending a flood of raindrops plummeting to the earth. Araes’s throat tightened. His retorts bought him time, but they were futile without a means of escape.
“Well, when they see the true power I hold, I don’t need their acceptance. They will heed my reign out of terror alone. After all, isn’t fear the most powerful of legions?” Procyon stroked his beard. “But, you, the incredible hero of the 15th, who saved his men from their untimely fate. You, the noble soldier, so quick to plunge into battle for his city. You give them hope. You’ve made an example that’ll be a rather annoying memory to erase.”
Procyon lunged for him with massive hands. Araes made left, but the autumn king was too quick. He met Araes’s dodge and slid a forearm around his neck, blocking the steady flow of air to the lieutenant’s lungs. Araes sputtered and gasped for breath, his fingernails drawing blood as he clawed at Procyon’s tanned hands.
Rain beat down on mortal and god alike as his vision tunneled, black speckles of death multiplying with each failed gasp.
“If you’re going to kill me, get it over with,” Araes choked, his brain pounding against his skull.
“Oh no Lieutenant, if I killed you, well, you’d be a martyr. When I’m through though, you’ll wish you were dead,” Procyon growled, digging his thumb into Araes’s artery. Frost leached under his skin, infecting him with an essence that tasted of rotten leaves and frosted death. Araes’s pulse boomed in his ear as darkness fogged over vision and he sank into the depthless, infinite black.
† † †
Tethys felt the tether snap before she could register what had happened. She’d found herself in Altair’s library over the last month, buried in books. With news of the rebellion coming to a simmer and her impending birth, there wasn’t much to do but sit and wait. Her growing belly, now heavy and round, made her sluggish and even the slightest of movements felt like a chore. Nora and her team of midwives came every day to check on her progress, and although they reassured her of healthy movements and a strong heartbeat, dread washed through her when she imagined what labor might bring.
Now, with a steaming mug of raspberry leaf tea, she kept her nose buried in the books that filled the library’s shelves. The connection to her lieutenant tugged at her chest, sending the mug, pressed to her lips, plummeting to the floor. The ceramic shattered as it impacted cool white tile.
Something was wrong.
