This moment would forever in history be a turning point of her reign. A familiar, calloused hand brushed the small of her back. Urging her out of the abyss. Tethys found it funny how someone so deadly, so lethal on the planes of war, could be so starkly gentle when necessary.
“I will be by your side the whole evening, goddess. When you’re ready,” Araes whispered.
She nodded and exited the carriage.
The crowd stilled and all eyes fixed on Tethys as she and the lieutenant climbed the temple steps. The dais, constructed on the marble landing, harbored a throne adorned in spring blooms and fresh cut lavender awaiting her. She took a seat, allowing herself to settle into its velvet cushion, and scanned the gathering crowd. Their expressions were mixed. Some watched with a furious resentment that made her stomach lurch. Others stayed frozen in wondrous disbelief.
“People of Venia, thank you for joining us tonight to celebrate the six hundredth Ostara. Tonight, we welcome the skies of new and guide the skies of old into slumber. Let us celebrate together, even amidst the troubling times,” Lady Messene announced.
She suddenly felt smaller than a mouse under an ocean of blurred faces directed at her.
Tethys kept her eyes fixed on the horizon and thoughtof the sea. The wild, roaring seas in the south. If only she could sink under those swells and disappear.
“You are not alone, my queen.” Araes voice, soft enough for only her to hear, was an anchor—a simple reminder that grounded her just as she felt on the brink of floating away. She took a breath and gripped the arm rest to keep from trembling.
The lieutenant, silent and stoic, stood beside her. His expression was near impenetrable, but he brushed a pinky finger against hers. To the onlooker’s eye he was merely a soldier at attention, a guardian sworn to his queen. Tethys felt the connection between them, though. The world faded, leaving only the feel of his touch in its absence.
“With the equinox upon us, let us pray to the immortal children and primordial keepers before them for a bountiful season. Let them grant us strength through the unknown and love through the hate,” Messene continued.
Tethys sucked in a breath, feeling a ripple of energy now coursing through her body. A wicked sliver of hope suggested that maybethiswas it. Maybe her magic was manifesting. But she wiped it clean, knowing the hurt of disappointment far outweighed the comfort of hope.
Messene motioned for Tethys to rise, and with reluctant feet, she did. The skin that’d once been a conduit for Araes’s electrifying touch burned with protest. Tethys stepped across the temple landing and rose her palms to the skies.
“Ad terram. Ad caelum. Ad maria. Ad astra,” Tethys called, reciting the Ostarian verses. Unlike the Canissaen words, these hummed in her chest, rolling easily off the tongue. The crowd cheered, although not too loudly, as she dropped her hands and bowed before them.
With the closing remarks and the recitation of the Ostarian verses, the pyre was lit. Its light illuminated the entire courtyard, casting elongated shadows of bustling people as they dropped their secrets into its flames. Witheach slip of parchment the flames grew larger, as if swallowing the forbidden words they held was better fuel than the paper itself.
One by one, the twinkling stars above appeared and as the last beam of sunset crossed beneath the far horizon, a brief relief sank in. Ostara was over. There were no protests or outbursts. It carried on as it had for hundreds of years. Nothing exceptional had happened. In the past, maybe this would’ve left Tethys with a crippling disappointment, but now, only a peaceful quiet amongst the crackle of the pyre remained.
When the final offering was given, Tethys and Araes made their way to the pyre. From his overcoat pocket, Araes produced two pieces of parchment, both rolled with uniform precision. The crowd had long since dissipated and with them the lords and ladies of council.
“I couldn’t decide which to offer,” he said, the curve of his jawline highlighted in amber fire light.
“Why not both?” Tethys asked, tossing her own offering into the flames. The pyre roared briefly, devouring the forbidden words she’d written hours before.
Araes bit his lip, staring at the two scrolls in his palm.Eos above, those lips were perfect. The feel of them against hers took permanent residence in her thoughts these days. After their night together, Tethys found it near impossible not to stare at those lips, even if only for a moment.
“I think I’ll give this one to Eos,” Araes said, dropping one of the scrolls. The parchment’s contents floated up to the heavens in the form of small popping embers. “This one, I’ll save for another day.”
“If it weren’t forbidden, I’d ask what secret you kept,” Tethys said, keeping her eyes fixed on the pyre. Araes simply raised a brow and offered his arm. Tethys smirked and took it.
“Traditions must be upheld, my queen,” he whispered. The feel of his breath against her ear sent a rush of gooseflesh across her arms.
“The noble lieutenant, stiff and set in his rules.” Tethys closed the distance between them and brushed her lips across his jaw. “When will you learn that chaos is necessary to uphold order?”
Araes straightened against her. “You, my queen, are the chaos in which I make an exception.”
Chapter 40
Starlight beamed through the cascading floral arrangements that lined every window of the manor’s ballroom. Its twinkling light refracted in the ornate crystalline chandelier that twirled slowly above the guests. Tethys found the wealth that now ebbed and flowed around her throne to be stifling. The entirety of the highborn district, Antares, now buzzed in celebration.
Tethys tapped an impatient finger across the arm rest. The ball commenced hours ago and none of her immortal siblings or parents had yet to make an appearance. Polaris, she assumed, would not be in attendance. The goddess would find herself lost within the pages of her books rather than supporting her sister tonight.
Tethys flexed her hand, watching the veins bend around bone. Although it didn’t come as a shock, it still was a knife to her chest. With their history, she thought Polaris might be the only of her siblings she could rely on, but maybe she held onto that relationship of old too tightly. Maybe it’d slipped away insidiously.
She suspected Procyon would arrive late, or maybe not at all. The Canissaens were now rampant with whispers of rebellion, and she supposed he was in the thick of uncovering their plans. So much for the all-knowing wonder he claimed to have as their immortal king. It was a relief, nonetheless, to have a few hours in the night without the weight of his presence hanging over her like a pendulum ready to snap.
Like Polaris, Altair had left his invitation unanswered. He’d fled to the southern realm years ago, only leaving the royal blue beaches and gilded, golden temple when absolutely necessary. Tethys scoffed. Her brother claimed to be a pacifist in the face of conflict, but in reality, she knew it was cowardice.
