Page 25 of Queen to the Sunless Court (Brides of Myth #2)

Tempest

Theron

Theron’s breath was trapped in his throat, coiled and tense, as every bad memory howled in his mind, paralyzing him. “Amatheia,” he said hoarsely.

A green light flared from Calliste’s hand, and her protective orb rose around them, shutting his wife out.

Amatheia paused a step away from the light. “Theron... Have you come for me?”

The hand of frost still choked him, guilt and regret rising at the back of his throat: an acrid, burned taste he could never swallow.

Through the thin energy barrier he could see she was the same specter who had been haunting him for the last seven years.

“I came to help you. Do you know why you’re here? ”

When she closed her eyes for a moment, he had to look away, because with her eyes shut, she looked just as she had on the day he set her pyre ablaze: dressed in mourning robes, her black hair cascading around her face, pale golden leaves and berries—once her crown—entwined in her hair.

Her expression was blank as she looked again. “I’m here because I had nowhere else to go. I didn’t have the coin to cross Styx.” Her words flickered and faded like a dying candle flame.

“I made sure you had it,” he replied, his breath clipped.

She stilled, watching him, then turned away to pace in front of the tree. When she came back, her expression was hard and unforgiving, a flare of malice in her eyes. “Did you, now?” she hissed. “So why didn’t I have it?”

He blinked at her sudden change in tone, as if she were a different person. “We—” he remembered Calliste’s warning about not mentioning the coin. “We don’t know. But is there anything we can do for you?”

Amatheia’s dead eyes briefly rested on Calliste. “We,” she repeated coldly. “So you’ve found someone you care about,” she scoffed. “Does she know the truth about who you truly are, Theron?”

Calliste’s gaze flickered to him, making him realize that although he’d tried his best to tell her the truth, it wasn’t his wife’s truth … which would be vastly different. The very thought of what that might sound like constricted his chest. “I told her the truth as I know it.”

Amatheia shrieked a laugh that jarred like a nail dragged down glass before it shattered. “Did you tell her you chose me because I was pretty and my House well-connected? That you never asked if I wanted to marry you?”

He wanted to deny it, vehemently. But it would be a lie—he knew that he’d never asked. “You said this was what you wanted.”

Amatheia’s eyes burned in her shadowed face. “What else did you expect me to tell you, as my husband?”

He couldn’t bring himself to look at Calliste now. Her protective aura seemed to dim.

“You picked me like fruit from a market stall, took one bite... and threw me into the dirt.” Amatheia paced back and forth behind the protective wall of energy, her words piercing through it like burning stones.

“You banished me to my bedroom and abandoned me unless you needed me on your arm or on a throne for some pointless function. Even though I hated it. Even though I told you I couldn’t cope with that.

But you’d coax me into going, and, being the infatuated fool that I was, I’d always agree.

” Her voice softened. “Because I thought you’d eventually come to love me. ”

Calliste watched him, and he didn’t want to look her in the face. He scrambled for an answer. “I... I wasn’t myself back then. My biggest mistake was marrying you when I knew in my heart I shouldn’t have, because I was a shell.”

“And I’m supposed to pity you?” Amatheia stopped pacing and faced him.

“I died bringing you your son!” she screamed, her fury unfurling like a breath of fire, striking him hard.

Then, as quickly as it flared, it petered out as she turned her glare to Calliste.

“What do you think, Priestess? Is it not cruel to marry a woman just because she’s suitable, with nothing in your heart for her? ”

Calliste flinched.

Morpheus moved to Calliste’s side.

Amatheia didn’t back off at the sight of the god, her expression steely and unforgiving. “Why treat me like a pretty puppet, meant to sit on the throne, bear children, and be ignored when I’m not needed for either?”

“If there’s an explanation,” he replied, swallowing hard. “I can’t give it to you now. I can’t change the past. I did what was necessary for my kingdom, putting my own feelings aside.”

Bitterness seeped from her in endless waves. “You still have your kingdom and your heir. I have nothing but this .” Her hand traced a circle in the cold air.

His eyes followed her gesture.

Darkness and void.

For a moment, he could see her life clearly, as if he had stepped into her body.

She was much like a beautiful exotic plant, nurtured so that one day she could catch the eye of the right man, perhaps the one who would love her.

But he was the one who’d chosen her, knowing he could only offer her a barren soul.

“Forgive me.” His admission was quiet, even though he had dreamed of saying those words to her since the day she died.

Amatheia’s eyes blazed. “If you want my forgiveness, kneel and beg for it.”

He felt Calliste’s hand on his arm, stopping him from any further actions. Her face remained calm, without a trace of what he feared most: repulsion.

“Queen Amatheia,” she spoke softly, “you didn’t answer his earlier question. Is there anything we can do for you?”

Amatheia’s attention snapped to her. “Look at you, rushing to his defense,” she sneered. “Women never learn, do they? You think that because he fancies you now, it will last forever?”

“I’ll be the first to admit that sometimes the Fates don’t weave the life we desire,” Calliste said, lifting her chin as her pendant glowed and the sphere around them thickened with luminous green light.

“I do not dismiss your pain and suffering. We’re here to acknowledge it and help you find peace. .. if you tell us how.”

Amatheia backed away, her face contorted into vicious angles. “Aren’t you gracious?” she replied in a venomously sweet voice, her robes lifting as if caught in a gust of wind. “Look at you, so righteous it makes me sick.”

“Oh, I know, I’m annoying like that,” Calliste smiled suddenly. “But you dislike it because I offer you a truce, and truce is harmony.” Her voice was loud and clear, and she spoke slowly. “There’s another word for it: accord. The opposite of what you are, isn’t it… Eris?”

A charged silence lingered. Theron stared at Amatheia’s contorted face, finally understanding why her expression of spite seemed off.

Morpheus straightened. “Goddess of Discord. Of course.” He fixed his gaze on Tempest. “Eris? What in the pits of Tartarus are you doing here?”

He barely finished his question when Amatheia surged forward, crashing against the wall of the sphere. “Cursed bitch!” she yelled, her voice no longer her own, but darker and raspy.

Calliste stepped back, spreading her hands. Green light leapt from them, strengthening their protective sphere.

The crashing sound jarred Theron’s teeth. He gathered himself, assessing the situation. His instinct was to draw his sword, though he couldn’t imagine attacking Amatheia.

Beside him, Morpheus spread his wings. “Eris,” he called, his voice loud and resonant like a bell. “You’re trespassing, and far too close to Erebus. Do you realize what might happen if you wake him? Leave this Shade and depart the Roots before—”

Eris crashed into the orb’s wall again, growling and clawing at it. “I’ll get that sanctimonious bitch first!”

More energy surged from Calliste’s hands, thickening the orb.

Theron’s skin prickled at the vicious wave of fury sweeping from Eris, her scream sending a shiver down his spine as she stepped back with a sickly smile, retreating to Kalias’ tree, dark energy swirling and crackling around her like an ominous flame.

“She’ll break through this time,” Morpheus whispered. “You’d better—”

“No,” Calliste cut in, her eyes fixed on Eris. “She’s not winning this round.”

Theron blinked, trying to comprehend her plan, when two things happened at once, at a startling speed.

Eris charged toward them, her manic, dark energy spreading in her wake.

Calliste’s sphere suddenly collapsed, the energy streaking through the air before returning to her hand, buzzing there to stretch into the crescent shape of a shimmering emerald bow. Seeing her holding a bow was so unexpected that he stared as she nocked an arrow, her face focused and determined.

The arrow flew before he could blink, striking Amatheia in the chest with twice the impact as she hurtled toward them, knocking her off course and sending her to the ground where she screamed, writhing.

A wavering, blurry specter cloaked in shadows detached from her, dashing away into the darkness behind Kalias’ tree.

“Eris, stop!” Morpheus spread his wings and dashed after her.

Warmth danced on Theron’s back as his wings unfurled and carried him at a furious speed alongside Morpheus, chasing Eris’ specter.

They tore through the shrouds of darkness until a soaring wall of obsidian halted them, its countless mouths of winding caverns gaping along the black cliff, each entrance ominous.

Eris was about to vanish into one of them.

She glanced over her shoulder, her features indistinct from afar, before slipping into the darkness.

“Theron, wait,” Morpheus called. “These passages all lead to Tartarus. Let’s go back to Calliste.”

His blood still raced from the chase. “But if we let her escape now—”

“If we try to capture her now, she’ll resist and might use her divine power. We can’t risk it, Theron; not here. She can’t continue her machinations without the queen’s Shade, so she’ll have to return to it. Let’s go back.”

The cliff seemed to mock and challenge him, with icy drafts whispering deep inside the caverns. Theron set his teeth together, sparing it one last glance before turning away.