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Chapter1

HEL

Hel stared into the face of the goddess he once loved more than all of creation. Stunning wide blue eyes, the color of the celestial waters in Runevale, pierced him with fury. But not the anger of a scorned wife or the kind of loathing only a love once as deep as the darkest part of the night sky could harness. No, not that.

Every part of this beautiful being from his past beckoned to his soul. The waves of midnight hair he longed to grasp, the seductive curve of her waist to hips, and a face to bring even gods to their knees. Her very presence tempted and enchanted his senses, called upon memories long since buried. She smelled of jasmine and battlefields and… ruin.

How he hated her.

“Well, as lovely as it’s been seeing you both again, I have things to do.” He shoved Valeen into the waiting arms of her lover. Neither of them moved to attack as he stalked past them. “Keep her safe for me, cousin. I’ll be seeing you both. Soon.”

Taking hold of his general Mathekis’s arm, they disappeared through darkness, time and space tugging at them, then they appeared on solid ground at the old mage’s tower in Doonafel. It looked much the same as it did four hundred years before, craggy gray rock, overgrown with untamed vegetation creeping up the walls and at its base. As the pair walked the path, Hel thought back to the day he first met Valeen all those centuries ago when they were gods, untouchable, and of the belief that nothing could ever destroy them. How wrong they’d been.

The Past

Bright stars winked in the dark sky. Of the three moons of Runevale, Nuna with her golden rings, Luna with shades of soft pink and a crimson center, and Fennor silver and bright, only the two sisters were visible. Fennor hid behind the clouds. The darkness of night enticed with mysteries. In the veil of shadow, the treachery, the secrets, the wicked was expected. It was the day, in the sunlight, bright and beautiful, that fooled even the wisest. It harbored a false sense of security that those hiding in the shadows waited to seize on.

The wind rustled in the treetops and brought with it the scent of the wild lavender growing along the stone wall surrounding the palace, and the smell of an intruder. The hair on the back of Hel’s neck prickled when the sizzling of the torches vanished, and the smoke from doused fire drifted his way. He didn’t have to turn to recognize the light gait moving down the path.

With his forearms resting on the stone railing of the bridge, he watched a fish breach the surface of the pond below, swallowing a water skipper whole. Hel flicked the ash off the end of the finely rolled burning herbs between his fingers, and the fish jumped up to eat that too.

Without looking away from the moons’ reflections off the shimmering blue water below, he said, “Why are you bothering me, War?” He brought the civar to his lips and took a pull. He closed his eyes for a moment, embracing the buzz of energy, even if it only lasted seconds. The sweet smoke filled his lungs, and he blew a cloud into the dark atmosphere.

His cousin slid next to him, leaning his backside against the railing of the bridge. He folded his thick, muscular arms, and with narrowed bright green eyes, he scowled. “Is that any way to greet your favorite god?”

Hel smirked and stood straight, tugging at the hem of his sleeve, careful to avoid singeing his clothing. “I could name several others I’d put on the list above you.”

“I know a lie when I hear one.”

“Only because I schooled you in how to detect them.” He brought the civar to his lips again.

War shrugged and dropped his hands to his sides. “Why do you smoke civars? They’re for mortals.”

He looked at the orange embers at the end. It made him feel something even if for a fleeting moment. “Why not? It’s not as if it will kill me.”

“The party started an hour ago.”

“I’m deliberating with the stars on which of the guests invited will take advantage of our family’s graciousness and try to steal the rather rare and coveted Soulender on display tonight.”

War’s dark brows shot up and he glanced back at the looming white castle. Of its many peaks, the center rose highest though not by much. It was uniform and perfect the way most things the gods touched were. Lush greenery and bright blooms grew off the balconies, silver keeper owls and his uncle’s spying ravens watched from their perches, and lovers caressed in the shadows, whispering promises they didn’t intend to keep.

“And that’s why my mother insisted I leave Ryvengaard to attend tonight.” War cocked his head to the side. “What are you planning?”

Hel smiled, dropped the civar onto the stone, and stamped it out with his heavy black boot. He placed his hands behind his back and turned to face the palace. Left here as a baby by a young mother who couldn’t raise him on her own, this home held a piece of his heart while also reminding him of all that he never had. An uncle instead of a father, a caring aunt in place of a loving mother. “Who do you think it will be?”

“You.”

Hel laughed. “War, you know if I were going to steal the Soulender, I’d have done it before now.”

“But you do have something planned, don’t you?”

“You thrive in battle. I flourish in mischief. We are what we are.” And what fun would it be if he gave away his plans for the evening?

The two of them, more like brothers than cousins, walked side by side toward the party. Music whisked on the humid air, delicate strings and deep, slow drums, a melody that invited seduction and terrible decisions. With a flick of his fingers a goblet of wine appeared in hand. He smiled as he took a sip, terrible decisions indeed.

War raked his fingers through his long, dark brown hair. Sweat shined on his brow and his heart beat faster than it normally did. Hel clicked his tongue. “There are only two things that make you react this way. Battle and bad news. Actually, make that three, a divine set of tits. So, which is it? I hope the latter. I think I’ve seen about every pair in Runevale, covered or not, and although they are delicious, nothing has roused you this much since Lorna flashed you at the summer gods’ festival.”

War chuckled again and licked his lower lip, but he declined to answer.