Page 36 of Queen to the Sunless Court (Brides of Myth #2)

Blind Love

Calliste

She washed and changed, but as she made herself presentable again, all she could think about was that twilight hour filled with his caresses and kisses, and finished with his command, releasing her into bliss: come for me.

It had been her first time like this—and she was already addicted. If you want me to be desperate for you, Theron… I already am.

Her heart raced as she quietly made her way to the terrace to see him waiting, but as she came closer, she could tell something had happened while they were apart. It had to be serious, because his smile was tight and tired.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“No. Why?”

“You look troubled.”

“Oh.” He frowned. “I had to deal with an issue.”

She waited for him to elaborate. He didn’t. “Did you resolve it?”

“In a way, yes. But not entirely.”

Something felt off—he seemed distant, as if his mind was elsewhere. She didn’t want to push it, but unease settled between them. “I see,” she said quietly, hoping their flight would distract him. “Shall we?”

***

Compared to their journey to the Underworld, this one was brief.

Solon’s sprawling villa was some distance from Anthemos, perched atop a low, rolling hill with vineyards stretching as far as Calliste could see, with the capital still visible and glowing in the night like a distant, burning star.

“A wealthy area,” she muttered, noticing the elegant houses spaced apart, each painted with moonlight.

“Indeed.”

She gazed at the nighttime sky in wonder. “Theron, does Solon live here on his own? What about his family?”

He exhaled. “His sons are grown now and have their own families, as far as I know. His wife divorced him when he was at his lowest point.”

“So, he lives alone?”

“I think so.”

With an almost eerie quietude, Nocturne landed softly on the expansive terrace, where the lit-up sconces picked out large decorative pots with plants and two carved stone benches.

Theron slid off the steed and helped her dismount. “Clever animal,” he muttered. “Saved me from banging on the gates and explaining who I am.”

Calliste smiled, glancing at the door to a study, where a light shone in the large rectangular windows. “He might still raise the alarm.”

Theron took her hand. It was still a sweetly unusual feeling to hold hands with him. “He won’t when he sees me, though I have no illusions about the state we’ll find him in. That might work to our advantage, because we need answers.”

“He started drinking after his daughter died, correct? That’s what Gaiane told me.”

Theron shifted his gaze from the carved balustrade. “Yes, and he doesn’t seem to keep many guards here either.”

“Perhaps he no longer worries about his own safety.”

“Not exactly. His constant drinking brought disrepute to his House. I kept him roughly under control when he was at the court, but here, he can do as he pleases. And he does.”

Calliste was about to speak when a movement in the shadows caught her eye.

Solon stumbled onto the terrace, clutching a clay mug, his gait unsteady as he approached the bench. He stopped, squinting at them. “Ah, my son-in-law,” he slurred. “As predicted. Have a seat.” He waved at the bench, then sat down heavily.

Calliste glanced at Theron, who had an arched brow.

“You expected us?” he asked, without any preamble.

Solon stared ahead, his eyes distant. “Let’s just say I had a dream about you coming over with your...” He gestured toward Calliste. “Healer.” He sighed deeply.

“A dream,” Calliste echoed. “Hypnos, most likely,” she added quietly.

“And why would he want to help us?” Theron asked in a low voice, frowning.

She shook her head, equally surprised. “I don’t know. Either he’s scheming something, or he’s decided to be helpful.”

Still holding her hand, Theron approached Solon.

Calliste observed the man—though his actual age was unknown to her, drinking had aged him further. He was dressed just as she remembered, in a black robe, and now that she had met her, she noticed his resemblance to Amatheia. “Do you know why we’re here?” she asked.

Solon sat back and squared his shoulders. “It’s about my daughter, isn’t it? I was told in a dream that you’d arrive on an immortal steed—” he glanced at Nocturne “—to ask me about my little girl. Amusing how quickly it came true, considering I only dreamed it last night.”

“It’s also true that we’re here to ask about your daughter,” Theron said quietly.

“You mean your wife,” Solon snapped, scowling at their joined hands. His voice was tired and hoarse.

For a moment, Calliste thought Theron might snap at him—the air around him felt colder. But then he exhaled, squeezing her hand in reassurance. “Do you know why? Because we saw her.”

Calliste expected Solon to laugh or sneer at the words, but he didn’t. Perhaps he wasn’t sober enough to judge, or maybe Hypnos had already laid the groundwork for this conversation, influencing the old man in his dreams. “You saw her where ?” he demanded.

“With Calliste’s help, I could speak to her in the Underworld. She’s not where she should be by now—in Elysium. Do you know why?”

Solon stared at him for a long time before his hands began to tremble: little tremors at first, which grew into shaking so bad he no longer controlled them.

His expression crumbled, blankness shifting to grief, and suddenly he bent forward, lowering his torso to his knees, rocking himself as he began to cry like a helpless child.

Calliste released Theron’s hand, drawing her power to her to channel calm when Solon straightened so abruptly that she froze.

His face was wet with tears as he fixed his burning eyes on her. “Merciful gods—it’s because of that coin, isn’t it?” A hoarse note in his voice rasped beside a broken one. “Is she cursed because she doesn’t have it?”

Theron’s eyes widened as he watched his father-in-law crumple on the bench, sobbing. He shot her a helpless look.

“She told us she didn’t have it when she entered the Underworld,” she said softly. “Do you know why?”

Solon nodded, deep sobs wrenching from his throat. “It was me, Priestess. Me. But I… I… Do you know what it feels like when the child you carried in your arms dies before you? The sickening injustice of it?” He dropped his gaze to his shaking hands.

Theron’s shoulders tensed, a flicker of anguish crossing his face, and it pained her to be able to read it so easily: Kalias had been asleep so long that he had once lost hope. Between that and Solon’s raw emotions, scraping like thorns, she struggled to remain still.

“She should be the one watching me burn on the funeral pyre, not the other way around.” The old man took a deep, shuddering breath.

“I knew it was wrong to take that coin, Priestess, but a voice in my ear kept telling me: take it, and you might see her again. I believed it. Just the thought… blinded me. That voice… That voice… I don’t know if I imagined it or if it was real, but it was so, so…

convincing…” He clutched at his chest, as if it was about to crack open.

“A voice,” she replied quietly, a dark suspicion rising in her mind as she met Theron’s eyes. Eris , she mouthed, and Theron nodded, just once, too sharply.

“But that was a lie, wasn’t it?” Solon’s chin quivered. “Gods, I knew it was a sacrilege, I knew I shouldn’t have done it. I… I don’t know what came over me. It has haunted me all these years.”

Calliste moved closer and sat beside him, placing her hand on his arm.

Her chest ached, and she did nothing to wipe away her tears, understanding the burden he carried.

His grief and guilt had merged into a beast he had learned to ride, hurting and bleeding, but he could never tire out this beast, and it would not relent—it could never be tamed.

Even when he lay curled on the ground, it still devoured him piece by piece.

So he drank, more and more, to numb himself.

Theron held still, his jaw locked tight.

Solon looked up at him, lines of anguish carved deep in his face. “I always wanted the best for her. I hoped that with you, my princess would be the happiest woman in the world. But she wasn’t, was she? She never told me, but I could tell.”

When Theron replied, his voice was dark and edgy. “I wasn’t the right man for her. Not then, and not… not ever.”

“Did you try?” Solon asked, though there was an air of resignation about him.

“I… did make an effort. But it disappointed us both.”

Amatheia’s father looked away from Theron and stared off into the distance, at the tangled olive groves and neat rows of vineyards stretching like ropes toward the dark horizon, shining in the moonlight.

The fragrant night air ruffled the leaves of the plants on the terrace.

“And you truly spoke with her… in the Underworld?”

Theron traced his fingers along his pendant and suddenly his amethyst glowed, the purple light highlighting the harried lines of his face. “Yes. Through divine aid and thanks to Calliste.”

Solon glanced at her. “What did she say?”

“She asked for our help, and we did what we could for her. But we cannot do much more without giving her what she truly wants most,” she explained.

Amatheia’s father looked at Calliste’s pendant, his mouth tightening. “The coin?”

“Yes.” She weighed her words with care. “It’s the only thing that can bring her peace, because it will allow her to cross the Styx.”

Suddenly, Solon grabbed Calliste’s hand.

“I tried to make amends. Do you believe me? I even went to the Temple of the Unseen One for advice, but the priests told me that once the coin is removed and the body burned, nothing can be done. I never mentioned it was about my daughter, but I wanted to atone for my mistake.”

She saw it in every deep wrinkle on his face and in his glassy, haunted eyes—how crushing it had been for him.

“I believe you.” She reached for Epione’s energy and let it slowly course through him, then recoiled at the damage and devastation she saw as the spectral image of his body formed in her mind.

She blinked away tears. “Will you tell us where we can find that coin?”

The old man exhaled. “It’s inside her statue… in the rooftop garden.”

“In the palace?” Theron asked in an undertone.

Solon looked at him blankly. “In your private rooftop garden, yes, the one she liked. When she was pregnant, I hired the best sculptor to create her statue. I also ordered a bracelet and asked the sculptor to craft a hidden jewelry box as a part of the sculpture, so I could hide it there for her to find, because… because she loved playing hide and seek as a child. The sculpture was delivered shortly before she went into labor, and I placed it in her favorite spot in the garden.” He took a deep, shuddering breath.

“After the funeral, I went there with the coin and placed it where I wanted to hide the bracelet. She’s holding roses, and one of the blooms next to her hand is hollow—that’s a tiny jewelry box you can easily open.

The coin is inside. I thought that by offering it to her likeness, her spirit might be at peace in the Underworld. ”

Calliste squeezed his hand. “Thank you.”

He slackened against the back of the bench. He didn’t say anything else, only nodded, his eyes blank already.

Theron took Calliste’s hand again and gently pulled her up, but something made her pause and look at Solon once more.

The old man’s vacant stare became sober for a moment, and just as she was about to turn away, he spoke in a low, pleading voice. “When you see her again, will you ask her to forgive me?”