Page 13 of Queen to the Sunless Court (Brides of Myth #2)

Into the Truth

Calliste

Morpheus carried Calliste back across the realms in silence, as if he understood her need for time to process Hades’ request.

I am to tell Theron the whole truth about his son’s illness—and invite him to the Underworld to answer questions about his late wife.

Her stomach clenched. Even half of this would make him feel betrayed, with her revealing the connection with the Underworld he despised so much—and she couldn’t imagine mentioning his wife’s name and telling him that the woman he cherished was now… a monster.

A monster in the hands of a deranged deity, intent on destroying his son’s—and possibly his kingdom’s—future.

“Calliste?” Morpheus’ ethereal voice washed over her.

“Since your recovery was in the Underworld, once I return you to your physical body, it will catch up. It means that your wound will heal in moments, which might feel uncomfortable. You’ll likely feel weak afterward, as this kind of rejuvenation is taxing. ”

“Understood,” she replied. “When do you expect me back… with the king?”

“As soon as possible, but you must regain full physical strength before we descend to the Roots again. We cannot afford mistakes now, particularly since predicting Tempest’s next move is challenging.

She’s still limited in what she can do, but she knows we’re investigating. It might make her reckless.”

A terrifying possibility twisted her insides again. “What if… she follows me to the mortal realm?”

“No,” Morpheus replied straight away. “First, if she could, she would have done so much earlier, knowing that you’re a threat.

I suspect she can’t leave the Roots because it’s her magic that keeps the prince’s tree there.

Since she needs to use the queen’s Shade to stay there without disrupting Erebus, her hands are as tied as ours.

Whatever her plan is, it will unravel if she leaves the Roots now. ”

“Whatever her plan is…” Calliste echoed. “I still can’t fathom it.”

“I haven’t thought about it yet, either,” he admitted. “But like mortals, immortals are painfully predictable. We crave power, glory... and drama, because immortality gets dreadfully dull after a while.”

“Even for you?”

A few flecks of silver shimmered in his perfectly turquoise eyes, briefly reminding her whose son he was. “I’ll let you judge my character.”

“So far, you’re very unlike your father.”

A strange emotion flickered across his face as it briefly hardened. “That’s possibly the greatest compliment you could give me.”

They flew silently for another moment. “I didn’t want to make an enemy out of him.

” Her skin prickled as she recalled Hypnos’ glare during their argument and then the dream he’d spun for her, showing the unsettling depth of his entitlement.

In the end, you cannot belong to anyone else but me.

These words could become true once she returned to Mount Hellecon—

“Ultimately, it would be difficult for you not to turn him against you, as you’re a woman who stands her ground, while my father has always been…

spoiled,” Morpheus muttered. “In the centuries I’ve known him, he’s never acted in any way other than grasping and guarding what he convinced himself was his. ”

The description seemed fitting, making her shudder. “Is it possible to reason with him? We need him on our side, since we don’t know what Tempest is capable of. If she awakens Erebus…”

“No. That’s definitely not her goal. She would be the first to perish in his anger.”

“What if she wakes him by accident?”

Morpheus’s smile vanished. “Don’t even say it out loud. It would shatter your world and unravel ours. You don’t know Hades as well as I do, but he’s very unsettled about this, especially because the situation arose in his realm. I also know him well enough to predict he won’t mention it to Zeus.”

“Zeus.” She swallowed, overwhelmed by the casual way he mentioned the king of the gods.

“Zeus would see it as an opportunity to ridicule Hades and question his control over the Underworld. I hate to admit it, but if Tempest aims to undermine the Underworld, she’s doing an excellent job.

” Morpheus sighed, squinting as they tore through the final shimmering veils between dimensions, emerging in the human realm high above the sea.

“Those busts in that corridor…” She recalled the warmth in Hades’ eyes as he traced the cheek of the sculpture. “Was it…”

“Persephone.”

“Oh.” She sent him a curious glance. “Why was he so obsessed with that necklace?”

“Likely his newest creation. He crafts them himself to his excessively high standards.” Morpheus’ eyes glinted with amusement. “When Persephone returns, he always gifts her with a couple of new necklaces.”

She quietened, and then her hand went to her ear. The emerald earrings were still there, and she traced the facets of one stone. I’ll probably have to return them once I tell Theron the truth.

The last lick of darkness faded from the horizon, the sky blushing as it brightened.

“It’s nearly dawn in the human realm,” Morpheus said. “Panakeios is in the room with you.”

“Small mercy,” she said, her eyes closed. “I don't think I'd be able to face the king right now.” She didn’t mean to say it aloud, but it slipped out anyway.

“You have no faith in your destiny, do you?” Morpheus’ tone sounded almost playful.

She opened her eyes and scrutinized him. “You always seem amused when I mention it. Why?”

“I’m the god of visions.” Another secretive smile.

“So you know my destiny.”

“In part. And so do you.”

“Oh, indeed, I just have to make a choice.” She tried to hide her sarcasm, and failed.

“Your pardon, but it sounds like a prophecy a traveling augur might offer for the modest price of one silver coin. But the augurs are bound to be cryptic and vague if the immortals whispering through them aren’t any clearer. ”

“Not all of us are cryptic and vague.” His chuckle was as soft as the flutter of his iridescent white wings. “Just the Underworld lot.”

It grated on her nerves, and despite her fondness for him, resentment simmered inside her, clawing at her soul.

Bitter darkness seeped from those cuts. “I’m tired of riddles and games.

And I hate that Tempest is right: this is a squabble between immortals, and I’m just a pawn, with everything I care about at stake. ”

Morpheus’ expression turned grim. For the rest of their flight, he remained silent.

***

They landed in her chamber.

It was strange to see herself in the bed, and stranger still to find Panakeios slumped in the armchair beside her, dozing with his arms crossed and his chin resting on his chest, deep shadows under his eyes.

Morpheus carried her across the room to her bed. As he held her above her body, her spiritual form brightened, translucent like a jellyfish.

Rest , his words echoed in her mind. I’ll return for you soon. Then he gently lowered her into her own body until she felt its inevitable pull and slipped back into it.

Almost instantly, she sensed her own weight and a dull throbbing in her chest. The pinching sensation of her flesh re-knitting was uncomfortable, but far less painful than when Tempest had stabbed her.

Her senses reawakened, too, registering the scent of honey candles mingling with sage, the softness of her bed, and the tight bandages meticulously wrapped across her torso.

Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth; her parched throat craved water.

As soon as she thought of water, a rasping cough tore from her chest.

Panakeios’ eyes snapped open. For a moment, he stared at her, then his expression softened with relief.

“No, don’t move. It will hurt too much.” He rubbed his eyes, stood, and helped her sit up against a pillow.

Then he poured water from an ornate clay jug on the table and brought it to her lips, tilting it for her to drink. “How do you feel?”

“Like a victim of a vicious attack,” she replied evenly.

He paused, his gaze locked on her with an unspoken question evident in his expression.

“I’ll speak to the king about it first,” she added.

“Of course,” he agreed, stifling the curiosity dancing in his eyes and limiting it to professional questions as he put away the cup. “Do you need any pain relievers?”

“No.” She shook her head, glancing down at the bandages and realizing she wore a light, wrap-around robe with a cross-front secured by a thin sash under her breasts, much like what they used on Mount Hellecon for patients confined to bed.

She blinked, processing it, surprised that what she thought was Leontia’s unique invention was also employed by the Disciples of Asklepios.

“I just want to get out of bed. I’m healed, just a little stiff. ”

He narrowed his eyes at her, as if suspecting an undetected head injury.

“Moving is out of the question for now. You were lucky that whatever punctured your chest didn’t damage your lungs or heart.

” His eyes went to her chest. “I changed your dressing yesterday morning and had a good look at your wound. It will take a good few weeks to heal, and in the meantime, you should remain abed.”

She looked down at the neat weave of bandages across her chest. “I appreciate your concern… and I can see that you’ve used an excellent technique, but—”

“No buts. It’s true what they say—physicians are the worst patients.

” A hint of genuine amusement lit up his eyes, completely transforming his expression.

She remembered him as a scowling, snappy man, but he must have been quite handsome in his youth.

“Just follow my advice. You need to rest so the wound doesn’t reopen. ”

She didn’t want to waste time arguing. “Fine. Could you loosen this dressing a bit? I’m struggling to breathe.”