Page 58 of Queen to the Sunless Court (Brides of Myth #2)

Fate and Fury

Calliste

“Get out of there!” Eris had been screaming for a long time, her face twisted in fury, but she didn’t attack the orb again. “The longer you stay, the more you’ll regret it when I get my hands on you!”

Calliste gathered her focus, caught in a whirl of emotions, from the brightest—the relief of knowing Kalias and Amatheia were safe—to the darkest—Theron’s shocked, betrayed expression . I hope you’ll understand. “I’m waiting for you to see the opportunity I’m offering,” she said aloud.

“Come out,” Eris snarled. “I’ll tear you apart for what you’ve done.”

“Think about it,” Calliste said calmly. “I am a High Priestess of a healing order with connections to immortals. If you take over my form, like the queen’s Shade, you can remain here and manipulate the Fates. There’s no one else to stop you, because I was the only one.”

“This isn’t half as clever as you think, you stupid bitch,” Eris’s hateful voice dripped through her teeth.

“You managed to bring the prince’s tree here. What about mine?”

“Yours won’t grant me the same power—I had the king’s son in my grasp, do you understand?” Eris stared at her with loathing that made her dark eyes smolder. “Your fate isn’t as important.” She stomped away, then fixed her eyes on the parchment in her hand and grew quiet.

Calliste held her breath, hoping Eris had reached the necessary conclusion, crucial for her plan’s success—and the important part was tempting Eris into taking over her body.

She prayed she had guessed correctly, but some of the signs had been obvious.

Eris had been exposed to the dark energy of Erebus for too long, clouding her judgment and mind—and because that resulted in madness, fighting her would only lead to catastrophe.

But if she agrees to become part of me, I can purify her and purge the madness that poisons her mind.

This might give her enough clarity to choose to leave.

The first part of the plan had gone well; completing the second would mean the mortal realm was safe. She had long accepted the potential cost.

“Give me your knife,” Eris growled. “It’s time we sealed our bargain.”

Calliste hesitated at the thought of handing it to a crazed goddess. I don’t need a knife, and she needs to believe I’ll be obedient. She unsheathed it and threw it at Eris’ feet.

Eris picked up the knife and drew the blade across her finger, which dripped with golden liquid: ichor, or immortal blood—the same as had flowed from Hypnos’ broken wing after Theron confronted him in the Underworld.

“Let’s get it over with.” Eris let her ichor drip onto the parchment. “You offered yourself to me? Fine. I’ll take it, just to tear you apart for your audacity to challenge me,” she finished through clenched teeth.

The parchment rippled as the drop of immortal blood fell onto the other pane of the scales, balancing them.

The scales glowed in scarlet and pale orange, and then the parchment burst into flames, gradually revealing the golden threads woven into it.

They coiled as the paper burned, shining gold and floating through the air until they wrapped around Eris’ finger like a ring.

She turned her hand, watching the ring, the light reflecting in her narrowed eyes, malice and madness shining like polished lead.

“Can you feel it? This tightening thread of Fate around your neck? I hold its end, Priestess, and I’ll ensure you suffer beyond belief.

I’ll hollow you out and destroy you. Crawl to me. ”

Epione, guide me. A shiver cut down Calliste’s spine, followed by a wave of heat. Her hands trembled as she let her energy falter, then crawled on her hands and knees until she was in front of Eris.

Eris crouched before her. Up close, the madness in her eyes was even more pronounced, unsettling, etched into her sharp-angled face, threading through the shadows beneath her eyes. She placed her hand on Calliste’s forehead, licking her lips. “Now you’ll face the consequences of your actions.”

Calliste froze at the sensation of the immortal otherness invading her.

Her breath died in her throat as Eris’ warped energy filled her with relentless darkness and streaks of venomous green malice.

It overwhelmed her like a raging sea, invincible and merciless.

Panic surged through her at the enormity of Eris’ presence overtaking hers—and Eris wasn’t finished yet.

Her energy kept pouring in, stretching Calliste to breaking point.

Soon, Calliste felt her awareness fraying and vanishing, her power smothered, her life about to be obliterated by the malignant darkness.

It was irreversible. She couldn’t fight against it, struggling under its weight.

I can’t make it. I’m dying.

Dread and a terrifying sense of failure choked her.

But dying felt… familiar.

She grasped the sensation until the familiarity returned—on that fateful evening when she’d finally made it to Mount Hellecon, fevered, while Thanatos lingered at the edge of her vision, waiting for her life to end.

The agony of falling from the horse and crawling through the gates.

Arete, spotting her, rushing over, calling for help.

Dying then had been agony; it was hurtling closer and closer to nonexistence, only to be pulled back by a command of a woman who fought for her like a lioness, ripping her out of Thanatos’ grasp her with divine gift—the same power that had resonated in Calliste’s chest ever since.

The power coming from the goddess she cherished, and nurtured into strength.

A surge of emerald light arced through the darkness surrounding her, and she snapped back to herself, to who she knew herself to be: a healer embracing the moment that had always been the sweetest—that of making everything whole again.

Let me heal you.

Her voice—or it could be Epione’s—shimmered through the inky depths as she unleashed the energy, channeling it from a source larger than herself, burning down the darkness.

She faltered at Eris’ faraway scream, but Epione’s energy surged even stronger, rushing through Calliste.

Eris’ presence vanished with a thunderclap.

Calliste wheezed, blinking against the darkness of the Roots. She lay on her back… but she couldn’t feel her hands or legs.

Numb, she kept blinking as mist—or smoke—rose from the ground around her, undulating like seaweed. Silence rolled over her like a heavy wave.

A wheezing, dark shape moved beside her, rising on all fours, ripped threads of gold clinging to her body.

Calliste watched Eris, searching for any signs of improvement.

Eris’ skin glowed with an icy sheen, and her eyes were more spiteful than ever.

She clutched Calliste’s knife in her hand.

“That was your grand plan?” Cold rage burned in her voice.

“You cannot heal me from who I am , you stupid priestess. I’ve had enough of you.

” Divine energy danced in frantic streaks around her, sparking and hissing, until it ignited with fury as she rose to her feet and growled, “Die. Die like the mortal cockroach that you are.”

Power erupted from her, tearing through the smoke and shredding the silence with a harsh crackle, coiling and spreading like tentacles.

Calliste’s vision blurred as she watched it gather above her in an ominous swirl. Her own power was beyond her reach: she couldn’t summon even a spark of it, and she wondered if her desperate attempt to heal Eris had left her as nothing more than a shell.

The harrowing sensation of failure throttled her, and she closed her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, not knowing why she said it, since those she wished to apologize to—Leontia and Theron—couldn’t hear her.

The heat of Eris’s energy was palpable even from a distance. It was a strange kind of energy: divine, dark, and destructive. It took Calliste a moment to realize she had driven Eris to do what she was supposed to avoid at all costs—unleash her power fully near Erebus.

With immediate consequences.

As Eris’ power reached its peak, a hollow, ominous noise echoed from beneath the ground, and the Roots rolled and quaked.

Eris dropped to her knees, the spite in her eyes turning to fear and her smile to a terrified mouthing as the black floor of the Roots shivered and skipped beneath them.

Calliste sensed a primordial presence stirring, awakening from its slumber. Deep within the darkness, a thousand eyes opened slowly, one by one, as a powerful consciousness emerged from inertia.

A consciousness that did not want to be disturbed.

Erebus.