Yellowing bones, each three to four inches in length, carved with crudely traced runes, scattered across the scarred wooden floor. With cracking knees, the woman knelt by them and held each one up in the hearth light. She bit her lip, analyzing the runes over and over again. Tethys loosed a breath as the woman collected them into her leathery palm. Her eyes went vacant, like she’d traveled somewhere far from here. Tethys held her breath, awaiting the crone’s astral return.
“I’ll issue you a refund,” she whispered as her body swelled to life once more. Darkness clouded her tired eyes, and Tethys’s blood went cold.
“What did the runes say?” she asked.
The woman rose and hobbled to the counter. “Nothing, Goddess. Here, take your coins.” The terror in her voice suggested the runes, in fact, had spoken something of great importance. Something dark and laced with malice.
“Tell me,” Tethys pressed. “What did you see?”
The woman’s lips parted then shut, as if contemplating how best to phrase her next words.
“It’s alright. Tell me,” Tethys repeated, tucking thecoins back into the woman’s palm.
“They showed me a babe. A boy. Born of both mortal and divine blood.” The woman’s horrified eyes branded into Tethys’s skin like hot iron. “A boy with golden hair and fire in his heart. ”
“A babe? That’s impossible,” Tethys replied.
“The bones are rarely wrong, Goddess,” the woman said, returning to her seat at the hearth’s side.
“And what of this boy?” Tethys asked, bracing herself against the shop counter. The room was suddenly too hot. The air was so thick it slithered down her throat.
“They will try to take him. They will fail, but his will be a watery grave.”
Chapter 13
The king and queen were probably well into their parade through the streets of Canissa by now, but Araes was too exhausted to care. Journeying from Algola was a harsher ride than expected. Now, a warm bed, a heavily poured ale, and a hot meal were his top priority. Tethys had been quiet as they packed the chariots and set down the western road, and by the time they’d arrived in the western city, her complexion was near ghostly.
Whether it be from the travel or something else, he wasn’t sure, but he was the only one who seemed to notice. Procyon was so focused on hearing himself speak and planning their Harvest processional, he hadn’t seen his own wife slip into darkness. Even the convoy staff turned their backs or avoided her gaze when she passed, terrified of confrontation with their goddess. Not a damned soul seemed to care about their queen.
Not a soul but him.
He’d reached out his hand, offered a lifeline when he knew she was drowning, but she swatted it away withvicious claws and bared teeth. So, when the autumn king granted him leave for a few days, he didn’t protest. Tethys could spiral into her own depths if that’s what she pleased.
Even still, as he sat at the dusty bar full of cobwebs and drunks, it felt inherently wrong to be away from her. After so much time forced to spend every waking moment together, her absence was more than noticeable.
He shifted on the barstool, his woolen trousers scratching against his skin like sandpaper. He’d changed from his typical Venian uniforms and wore a simple knitted crew neck and pants. While dressing, he realized he couldn’t remember the last time he’d donned civilian clothes and, although far thicker than the uniformed tunic and overcoat, he feltnaked. Like a piece of himself remained upstairs, folded neatly atop the dresser.
Araes, searching for even the slightest distraction from his own thoughts, sipped his pint and watched a young couple in the corner chat. They shared a steaming bowl of stewed lamb and carrots, the same meal still untouched before him.
The couple, dressed in their traditional crimson and gold Harvest robes, leaned in and laughed over a shared, secret whisper. The empty barstool beside him was suddenly lonely rather than peaceful in its vacancy. It was just the exhaustion sending reminders of the life he’d never have. Of the intimate secrets that’d remain unshared. Another ale would flush those feelings down.
Araes swallowed a spoonful and rid his mind of the thoughts. He wouldn’t risk losing his appetite over it, not when this was the first day of leave he’d had in what...two years?
His last full day away from the unit was well before they’d shipped out to their current post along the border. Araes had found himself at the bottom of too many empty pints and drunkenly stumbled his way into a barmaid’s bed. He’d awoken the following morning, reeking of entangled bodies and stale ale with an incessant thrum in his head.
Today, although getting absolutely pissedwason the agenda, finding himself under a Canissaen barmaid was not.
“You’re a long way from home, soldier,” the barkeep mused, refilling his pint. “I’m assuming you’re with their highnesses.”
The skirts she wore were as ratty and stained as the dishrag tucked into her withering leather belt. Araes smiled politely at the woman as she placed the glass on the counter, her faded green eyes reflecting hearth-light from the brick mantle opposite them.
“I’m that obvious, huh?” he asked, sipping the foam from his glass.
“Well, I’ve served nearly every Canissaen for the last five years since buying the place, and you sit like you’ve got a pole up your ass,” she said, her dialect heavy on the tongue. Araes grinned at the barkeep. Although her blunt nature was disarming, casual conversation like this warmed the chill of loneliness. Even the lowest-born Venian aimed for polite and proper conversation. The Canissaens were a different breed, to say the least.
“They beat slouching right out of us during training,” he replied.
“Well, that’s alright. Better for the back, I ‘spose. Just holler if you need anything else, although cook’s closing the kitchen soon to prep for dinner service,” she said. The barkeep nodded to a new patron a few stools down and left Araes to his ale.
