“How dare you!” she growled.
Falcyn didn’t so much as flinch. Rather, he faced the ancient goddess without fear or anger. “I’ve come with good intention and in peace, Braith. There is no ill for you in my heart.” He held his hands up with his palms facing him to show her that they were empty.
Still, she didn’t back down. “How can I trustyou?”
“How can I trust you, dearest aunt? But if I’d wanted to hurt you, I’d have struck you in the heart… where you’re the weakest. And I wouldn’t have done it here in your stronghold. But out in the world where you have no reach.”
That succeeded in calming her. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“I don’t fear you, Bra. Honestly, life is a burden I can do without. But I’m not my father, and I would never do to you what he did to me. I came here only to help.”
The wind finally died down.
Her eyes returned to their familiar swirling silver as her hair settled back to her shoulders. By its own accord, her hair coiled into an impeccable and intricate braided chignon around her face. “It’s hard to trust a former enemy.”
Falcyn arched a brow at that. “I was neveryourenemy.” That had been his parents. Never him.
She met Medea’s gaze. “You brought him here?”
“I did.”
“Then I hold you responsible for his actions. You’d best pray that he behaves.”
Falcyn scoffed at her bitter tone. “Same old Braith. I see time hasn’t mellowed you any.”
“How could it? When all I have is bitterness to keep me company?”
“Then we have much in common, don’t we?” He inclined his head to Medea. “Where are your parents?”
“In bed, I would assume.”
“Take me to them.”
Without a word, she led him down a long, dark hallway.
Apollymi followed after them, as if she didn’t trust him in her domain, at all. It’d be funny if it didn’t piss him off.
Falcyn glanced at her over his shoulder. “Afraid I’m going to abscond with something?”
“You might. Never could trust a dragon. Last time one of you was here, he pissed my rugs and cracked the ceiling.”
“I’ll try to contain myself.”
“Please do so, as I have no desire to redecorate with anything other than your entrails.”
Falcyn growled as Medea opened the door to a bedroom and he saw the large tester bed where a woman who bore a striking resemblance to her lay in sickened misery. The moment the door opened a man shot to his feet to confront them.
Then he hit the floor where he, too, writhed from his own illness.
“Papa!” Medea rushed to his side to check on him.
With a fierce groan, he forced himself up so that he could face Falcyn. Though he didn’t pose much of a threat in that condition. Worst thing he could do was vomit on him.
“Relax, Stryker. I’m here to assist.” Falcyn moved toward Zephyra, who was so weak she could barely open her eyes. No wonder Medea had been terrified. He doubted they’d have made it another day in this condition.
She’d been right. Apollo had sent one hell of an illness for them.
As it was, Stryker was forced to sit back on the bed.
