Page 24 of Queen to the Sunless Court (Brides of Myth #2)

Into the Unknown

Theron

As they stepped through the portal, its image rippled like moonlit water, splintering.

If the reflection of the outskirts in the portal had been murky, the dimension of the Underworld they entered was hardly better.

A swirling wall of mist loomed before them.

Behind them lurked darkness.

“Very welcoming,” Theron muttered, holding Calliste’s hand and feeling closer to her than ever. Now that the power of his goddess flowed through his veins, they shared what most mortals never would, even though his patron was different.

Themis.

Strange, how he had never consciously thought about it before.

He had always revered Athena for her wisdom, but she was also a patroness of warfare—and honoring the force that had torn his parents away from him felt wrong .

Now, it struck him how fitting it was that his lineage was blessed by Themis, the only goddess he could truly admire for what she represented and how deeply she resonated with him.

Morpheus appeared beside them, his form wavering and almost transparent.

“So this is the edge of the Roots?” Theron asked. “How large is this dimension?”

“Sufficiently large enough to wear out even a god.” Morpheus replied with a hint of amusement in his voice.

Theron studied him. “I have a feeling you might have some solutions.”

“Yes, Majesty. Flying.”

Theron arched his brow. “And how will you carry both of us?”

“Oh, I’ll guide you. You’ll carry Calliste.”

“Carry...?” Theron echoed, trailing off. “You mean, while I’m flying ?”

Morpheus nodded. “It should be enough for you to imagine having wings. Once they appear, you’ll be able to fly.”

“And it’s no joke?”

“Immortal jests rarely make mortals laugh.” Morpheus’ expression remained serenely serious.

Theron scrutinized his wings. “It’s hard to imagine having a pair of those, but on the other hand…” He wrapped his fingers around his pendant, just like he had seen Calliste do.

Power coursed through him again, lighting him up and making him light-headed and elated before warmth sprouted from his back.

“Oh, Theron.” Calliste’s eyes widened, shining with a blend of surprise and delight.

He had seen this expression on many women’s faces before, its glitter always cheaper for knowing that it was his status that prompted such a reaction—but hers… He wondered what it would take to see this expression every day and never lose it. Then he glanced over his shoulder.

His wings were shaped like a bird’s, purple and diaphanous, as if crafted from a delicate membrane, with golden streaks resembling intricate veining glowing against the shadows of the Roots.

He looked back at Morpheus. “Did I mention that flying wasn’t a subject I’ve ever studied?”

“Majesty—”

“Theron,” he corrected.

“Theron,” Morpheus repeated. “Use your will. This is all that’s required.”

“I see,” he chuckled, then bowed to Calliste, enjoying the blush rising on her cheeks. “Will you risk a flight with me?”

She placed her hand in his, her eyes shining in the glow of his wings like two amethysts. “This is no risk,” she replied. “Not with you.”

He lifted her up and then… Then he soared.

She clung to him, her shocked breath brushing against his neck, her hair and robe fluttering in the gust of wind as they glided through the mists.

Morpheus rose beside him, his iridescent wings whipping the air. “This way,” he said.

***

A while later, when Morpheus indicated they should come down, Theron followed him through the grey nothingness until it parted, showing a landscape that chilled him—a dark desert with rippling, chilly mists obscuring it, much colder than Hades’ palace, and ominous.

“So this is where Kalias’ tree is stuck? ” he asked.

Calliste nodded, her expression determined, but her steps uncertain as she walked beside him.

“It might be difficult to be here again.” He squeezed her hand. “But I’m here, Calliste. You’re not alone this time.”

She sent him a faint smile, then glanced at Morpheus, who walked with them, focused. “The last time I entered the Roots, it looked like Elysium. I wonder why.”

“Distraction,” the god of visions muttered. “What worries me more is that she played with the powers of Erebus, likely borrowing his energy, which in itself is dangerous.”

Theron digested that, intrigued. “How can she borrow his powers?”

“Erebus is asleep and unimaginably powerful.” Morpheus’ voice was hushed.

“She is likely leeching small amounts, which is enough for her purposes—like a clever pickpocket stealing from those rich enough not to notice a missing coin or two. However, I doubt she’ll use the same distraction, knowing you’ll likely have reinforcements.

We need to proceed with caution and retreat at the first sign of trouble. ”

“And if she traps you like she did Hypnos?” Calliste asked him, concern obvious in her voice.

“I’ll be careful, and you keep your hands on your moonstone pendants.”

She gave him an admiring smile. “You’ve thought of everything.”

“This has gone too far, Calliste, and my father’s mishandling means we must think of everything.”

Her steps were more certain now, but she seemed distant, focused as she puzzled something out in her head. Theron liked watching her like this, but he was also curious. “What are you thinking about, Calliste?”

“Oh?” She bit her lip, still lost in thought. “Tempest’s identity. I’ve been wondering… if I can guess it by observing how she’s influencing the situation.”

Walking on her other side, Morpheus fixed his eyes on her, his pause thoughtful as the corner of his mouth lifted in an approving smile, making Theron realize that he liked Morpheus and his introspective silences, and how it was hard to guess if his next words would be serious or jesting—as if somehow Morpheus was a male, divine reflection of Calliste.

“Care to share?” the immortal prompted.

“Well, she must be a minor goddess, because she seeks power. So she’s definitely not powerful enough, or so she believes.

If I understand correctly, her actions could lead to a conflict between the Underworld and Olympus, so she probably dislikes the Underworld—or Hades, or one of you—for some reason. ”

Morpheus hummed under his breath, clearly impressed. “I’m glad you’re on our side, Calliste.”

Seeing her flush at the praise was doubly gratifying, and Theron couldn’t help but ask. “So you have suspects?”

“Yes, but let me think on it a bit more. Also, let’s not mention the golden coin to Amatheia until we know for certain that we’re talking to the queen.

” She glanced ahead. “I recognize where we are—any moment now, we should cross a line, and that will take us directly to his tree, where she awaits us.”

Theron nodded, curious about what that would look like—until everything blurred and swirled around him.

The next thing he knew… “Is this Kalias’ tree?

” he asked, incredulous. Magnificent . Even from several steps away, he admired it, his eyes fixed on the orb of light shining among its branches.

Then he noticed the red vine smothering its bark, which he knew was the disease Calliste had been fighting.

And then it felt as though a frosty hand gripped his throat, its fingers unyielding, ice choking him.

Underneath the tree, in a tattered robe and a ruined golden crown, sat the woman he had buried nine months after their wedding.

She rose when she saw him. “Husband?”