Tethys nodded, words refusing to cut through the dread now closing in. Her birth…herexistence, was the snowball that caused this avalanche.
“You’re quiet, love. Share your thoughts with me,” Eos said, lacing her delicate fingers through Tethys’s. “Have I frightened you with my truths?”
“No, I’ve felt like something was missing for as long as I can remember. I’ve hated myself for so long, resented the magic that never manifested,” she said, tears threatening to fall. “My life has caused so much pain. So much loss.”
“No, dearest, all of this is a consequence ofmyactions, but I’d open that gate a thousand times over if it meant saving you,” Eos whispered, wrapping her arms around her daughter. The warmth Tethys found in her embrace settled into a stillness where only light and love could exist.
She hadn’t, until now, realized how desperately she needed to feel a warmth such as this. Until it was nearly too late. Being here, safe and secure in Eos’s arms, she let herself feel again. She allowed the wolves to circle, but they didn’t risk an attack. Her mother’s light kept them away, protecting the goddess from their wicked words and sharpened teeth.
“And the children? How could they have slipped through if the gate is still sealed?” Tethys asked, finally pulling away. She thought of something Leda said, Helen’s affliction—was that remnants of the Rift?
“They, too, have been touched by the Rift, and now Vorthal siphons their essence to strengthen his own. He’s grown powerful enough to fracture the veil between realms and the Rift’s pulled them back, just as you said—through the cracks. I feel their presence, but mortal life isn’t made to survive here. They fade with each passing day.” Eos laced her hands together, her brow heavy with anonset of sadness.
“If they’ve crossed over once before, they can return, right?” Tethys asked, her palms trembling with a growing realization. She knew what had to be done, and yet, in doing so would risk the whole world.
“Perhaps, but Tethys, there is only one bridge between the realms. To unlock the gate would mean an opportunity for Vorthal to return,” Eos replied.
Tethys watched a torch lit sconce extinguish. The starving flame cracked before yielding to cold shadow. Like a battle of darkness and light, each lick of fire—a soldier on the frontlines desperate to protect their border.
She, too, now would don armor to defend this front line.
“There isn’t an alternative. We must open the gate, if only for a few moments. If we reseal it, will the wards refortify?” she asked, her voice unyielding in its resolution.
“Yes, but I cannot allow you to do that, my love. The gate barely holds as is. If it’s opened again, I don’t know what else might come through,” Eos said.
“We must try. Those kids deserve to live. I made a promise to their mothers and I intend on keeping it,” Tethys said with curled fists. “You said you’d risk opening the gate a thousand times over if it meant giving me a life. Help me do the same for them.”
Eos was silent. Her lips thinned as she weighed the risk, but Tethys already made up her mind. She’d open the gate with or without her mother’s aid. The primordial paced across the ballroom, her gown’s gauzy train collecting residual sand particles with each step. The gleaming crystal crown atop her head sparkled in the sconce light, projecting minuscule beams of light, like stars, over weathered marble.
“If I cannot sway you from this, then I’ll do everything I can to prevent Vorthal from crossing into your world. The gate is beneath Phosphora’s home, but Tethys, if itremains open for too long…I’m not strong enough to hold Vorthal here. We cannot allow him to break free.” Eos returned to her throne and sank into the marble seat. Her back straightened against the white stone, and Tethys realized suddenly that the primordial was terrified. Eos, a being powerful enough to withstand chaos itself, now trembled before her.
“He won’t ever reach the mortals,” Tethys promised.
“Let us hope. Now, you must go. You’ve already spent too much time away from your body. If you stay any longer, you might not find your way back.” Eos waved her hand through the air, slicing the curtain of energy pulsing around her. “I know you feel alone in this world, dearest, but be not afraid of what the future may bring. I am with you always.”
With one final moment, the sconces blew out and the ballroom faded back into sand and dust and time. Eos’s final words burrowed into Tethys’s skin, injecting her with newfound life as she faced her future.
I am with you always.
Chapter 56
Araes returned to Altair’s palace just before sunset. Brilliant, flaming hues of orange and red struck through the skies overhead. He’d found himself trekking the beach with no destination in mind, only his thoughts wandering right along with his feet. Following the coastline, Araes paused when he reached a swell in the sand.
It wasn’t simply a sand dune—it was too close to the shore, and too perfectly rounded. Curiosity pulled him toward the entrance like a tether, but the veiled ward shimmering around the salt-crusted doorway kept him distant.
He didn’t dare approach further, unsure what might happen if he pulled its golden handles. Something inside beckoned him like a siren’s call—both familiar and foreign all at once.
But something stronger called him home.
There was so much in this world he hadn’t yet discovered. So much still foggy in the unknown. He wondered if one day he’d experience the vastness of the continent, but without Tethys by his side, those colorful wonders stayedblack and white.
So, he turned on his heels and returned the way he came, following the lone set of steps molded in the sand.
Quiet and somber, Altair remained by Tethys’s side. Araes checked in with the god before going back to his own bedchamber. Although desperate to return to his goddess’s bedside, the walk along the coastline cleared his head. He shut out the rest of the world for too long. News from Venia required his attention and he couldn’t ignore their demands any longer. He was a wraith through the halls, silent and haunted by what the future might hold.
A stack of messages rested unopened on the massive oak desk opposite the four poster bed. Although he was void of all motivation to sift through the correspondence, he willed his feet to move and slid into the desk’s matching chair.
Lord Ophis’s second report, begging for a response from their queen, was on the top of the stack. Next a daily report from Altair’s general. The god requested a copy of military briefs to be sent to Araes as well, and although an outsider among the foreign soldiers, his general obliged.
