Page 51 of Queen to the Sunless Court (Brides of Myth #2)

Through the Portal

Calliste

“Come,” Theron said some unquantifiable time later, when their water had turned tepid, and lifted Calliste from the bath, teasing her about being a sea nymph.

He dried her with his towel and carried her through the golden mist of candlelight and steam back to his bed, warmed by the sunlight streaming through the window.

Arms entwined, heart to heart, they slept until Gaiane’s knocking woke them up.

“Dinner is in the study,” she called from behind the door, her voice bright like a newly-minted golden coin.

If there was ever a time most comforting, Calliste found, it was that late afternoon when they shared Gaiane’s specialities, and smiles, and silence.

It was a sweet simplicity of sitting across the table, sated in more ways than one, with no secrets lurking in the shadows while she admired the golden vista of Anthemos framing its king, as regal as his city. Light surrounded them, and a lightness filled her chest as the moments trickled by.

And then it was time to go.

Theron changed into his armor—the same one he’d worn on their journey to Anthemos: a black leather and steel breastplate with gold inlays of roaring lions inside a laurel wreath, and black leather striders.

She watched him put it on and ran her fingers over his breastplate, recognizing the scratches from the harpy claws in Petrakelis Passage. The purple cloak he adjusted was the same one that had dried her tears many times. “Why this one?”

“My lucky armor. We won that battle together, didn’t we?” He gazed at her, his bronze eyes crinkling at the corners as he adjusted his amethyst pendant. “Let’s get you dressed.”

She cast a final glance at his study before taking his arm and descending the stairs and corridors to her chamber. She opened the coffer at the foot of her bed, where she kept her clothes atop the scented bedsheets. With a sigh, she pulled out a robe and laid it on the bed.

He was standing behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “Shall I help you undress?”

“You’re too kind.”

“Just trying to be useful,” he murmured.

“I could undress you all day.” His fingers grazed her arms, removing the clasps and peeling off the crumpled robe.

Then he sat on the bed, positioning her between his thighs and turning her to face him, untying her sash and watching as her robe floated to the ground.

His grin was warm and somewhat cheeky, his eyes lit up with faraway flames.

“And I could feast my eyes on you all day too, my lovely nymph.”

She stood bare before him while he wore armor once more, and she could tell that he enjoyed the unspoken power dynamic of this arrangement.

Judging by how she tingled, she did too. But it was only because in front of him, there was no embarrassment or shame, only light.

She drank it all, to the last drop.

Then he glanced at the clothes she had laid out on her bed, and some of the fire faded from his eyes. It might have been because of her green robe, that of a Priestess of Epione. “This one, huh?” he asked, his tone neutral.

“This is who I am.” Her heart had never ached this much saying it.

He picked up the robe in silence and helped her put it on, his movements precise as he straightened the creases, wrapped the sash around her and tied it, lifting her pendant to rest on the fabric.

Then he knelt to help her strap on her knife, a distant smile on his face, perhaps recalling the first time he had done it for her.

When he rose, her breath caught at how they were dressed just as they had been when they first met: a priestess and a king—so different from who they were now.

It was hard to believe this was the same man who had burst into her temple, uprooting her from safety and demanding help: a broken king hiding despair behind a controlling mask.

Now his gaze glittered with light, and she was silent in the presence of their profound bond.

“Fascinating, isn’t it?” Theron said, cupping her cheek. “How much things have changed on the inside, yet so little on the outside.”

“True.” She leaned into his touch, closing her eyes to savor the moment, then exhaled and walked to the small chest beside the table with the statuettes of Epione and Asklepios.

She lifted the lid and took out her traveling bag.

Beneath it lay a folder of incantations written by Leontia.

Next to that was her box of bandages and disinfectants, and in the corner, covered with a linen sheet, sat a small black lacquered box hiding a scroll that had journeyed with her all the way from Mount Hellecon.

The Last Pact.

She remembered her disbelief when Leontia gave her the box, and now she wondered if her mentor had acted with uncanny foresight.

She opened her traveling bag, loosened the pouch with the coins for the dead, and handed one to Theron. “Take it as a precaution.”

His brows squished together. “But I already have the golden coin for Amatheia.”

“Yes. But Eris likely doesn’t know which coin is the correct one, does she? We could use it as a ploy, if necessary.”

His eyes widened in appreciation. “Crafty.”

“I don’t see why we shouldn’t be a bit devious when dealing with a goddess of discord who uses every trick to deceive us.”

“Damn right,” he said, a smile lighting up his face.

“Theron,” she forced her voice to be light. “Will you give me a moment alone? Just a few moments to gather my thoughts. Then we’ll see Kalias before we go.”

“I’ll be waiting in Kalias’ chamber.”

When he stepped out, she waited until his footsteps had faded outside before removing the linen from the lacquered box. The scent of dried sage wafted out as she opened it.

I don’t have much time.

She lit the candles on the low table and concentrated, determined to perform the ceremony correctly.

Leontia had shown her how to do it only once, but she could recall every detail.

Perhaps it was because only the High Priestesses could be initiated into this, and such knowledge had been thrilling back then.

I hope you never need to use it, her mentor’s calm voice echoed in her mind.

But you must know of it and how to perform it.

She had been right, as always.

In essence, this is nothing more than an agreement—or a bargain if you like. It dates back to the Golden Age when immortals lived among mortals. Hence the golden thread woven into the parchment.

Calliste picked up the clay plate with the dried sage bundle and placed it on the table.

Begin by lighting the sage. This act alone initiates the ceremony.

She held the end of the bundle over the candle until it caught fire. It burned quickly, and the purple ribbon released the scent of lavender.

As the sage smolders, unfold the parchment.

She unfurled it, her breath slowing.

It may seem simple, Calliste, but don’t be misled.

I’m unsure if any other Temple possesses anything similar, precisely because of its power.

The immortals must honor it. Our Temple has rarely resorted to it, and only to save an important life…

Ah, I know what you’re about to say—that all lives are important.

This is true, but some are marked by the Fates, and when they are, they must be protected at all costs.

If it ever comes to this, you will know if you need to use it.

“You’re right, Leontia. I understand now,” Calliste whispered, gazing at the intricate image that took up half of the parchment. It was painted in golden ink, depicting ornate weighing scales, level and empty, framed by ivy. Beneath them shone words written in neat, elegant cursive:

The price must be fair, and the bargain kept.

“Of course,” Calliste said, reaching for her medicinal knife.

She sliced her thumb just enough to draw a drop of blood and held it over the parchment, above one of the pans.

“I am Calliste, the High Priestess of Mount Hellecon,” she whispered.

“I invoke the Last Pact. The price must be fair, and the bargain kept.”

The bead of her blood seeped into the parchment, bringing the golden image of the scales to life. The pan where her blood had fallen dipped. The other one remained empty, awaiting the weight of the immortal bargain. The smoke from the burning sage thinned, and the air became heavier.

Amusing, how ordinary it felt—still, the Pact required an immortal to fulfill it, and she hoped it would be tempting enough for Eris.

She rolled the parchment and tucked it into her bag.

***

Goodbyes felt unnecessary: they simply went to the terrace and waited.

The moon hung in the sky when Morpheus arrived for them, riding Nocturne.

“Good to see you again,” he said, as if it was a leisurely evening ride and not a journey to face a vicious, deranged goddess, and, oddly, this was all that he said.

It unsettled Calliste, but she wrapped her calm around her like a shawl, pushing away a dark, ominous feeling.

Theron was focused, his grip warm as he helped her mount Nocturne, his arms tight around her as they crossed the nighttime sky.

She closed her eyes and listened to his reassuring, slow heartbeat.

Soon, the Underworld draped its mist around them in a chilly welcome. This time, it seeped into her bones, much deeper than ever before.

Hades waited for them in the courtyard. “Welcome back.” He narrowed his eyes at them. “I hope you had a good rest.”

Calliste could swear his voice took on a lighter tone, as if he knew some of it wasn’t rest. Her cheeks flushed.

“We’re as ready as we can be,” Theron replied beside her in his usual confident tone. “Aren’t we, Calliste? No amount of rest can truly prepare us for Eris and her games.”

“True, unfortunately,” Hades gave something of a smile, as if applauding his quick answer. “Let’s go. The portal is ready.”

With Morpheus trailing behind, they followed Hades to the austere, grey stone chamber deep within his palace. Calliste shivered as she crossed the threshold, a wave of unease prickling her skin.