Page 62 of Queen to the Sunless Court (Brides of Myth #2)

Healer, Broken

Calliste

It felt strange to wander in emptiness, yearning for something all important, yet lost, forever beyond her reach. It felt like walking through veils of sorrow, thin like gossamer, tearing as she passed. The emptiness was dim, not dark, like a gray day under a bleak, overcast sky.

Her only companions were an overwhelming sense of loss and confusion.

It took her a while to realize the distant rumbling sound she occasionally heard was a voice.

At first, it seemed to come from an unfathomable distance—too indistinct to hear or understand properly. But as it continued, she would follow its source, and the hazy blur around her would brighten slightly.

Eventually, the words became clear.

“Please come back.” It was a man, and she was struck by the enchanting quality of his voice—it was like silver and steel, threading through the nothingness and guiding her back.

“I need you to see what you’ve achieved.

Kalias is awake, fine and well, already running around, riding his horse, and wearing out Lykos with endless requests for sword lessons.

” The man chuckled, then turned serious again.

“He knows he’s been asleep for a long time, and I did my best to explain to him that he was ill. ”

Kalias. The name seemed familiar, but she couldn’t understand why. Everything meaningful was obscured by the haze and sorrow surrounding her.

Whenever that mysterious man fell silent, she had to stop her journey, not wanting to get lost again. His deep voice guided her to a place she felt she wanted to be—where she hoped to find whatever she had lost.

There it was again. “I miss you. I’ll do anything you want, just come back to me. You’re like sunlight to me. To everyone. Without you, everything is sunless. I’m waiting for you, Calliste.”

Calliste. Is that my name?

The mist around her began to thin, revealing a path leading to distant gates. She paused for a moment, then stumbled before running, hope burning in her chest.

Someone ran to her from the other side, and she halted.

The other woman stopped as well.

She took a hesitant step and realized it was a mirror.

In the reflection, she saw a woman with striking white hair, wearing a tattered green robe.

Her body seemed translucent, as if carved from glass.

She examined it with a frown, because inside her chest sat an unsettling shape which seemed like a heart, but it was charred and still.

She watched it long enough to realize that the charred shape was what she had lost and would never recover.

When she touched the mirror, it curved into a sphere, which then hardened into facets like a meticulously polished gem. Each facet showed a scene, and she appeared in every reflection. Some scenes were bright, others dark, but all the pieces fit together perfectly.

Two of them drew her more than the others. In one of them shone a regal woman in a dark-green robe, her motherly smile lit up by a green emerald aglow on her chest. She touched the reflection, and recognition washed over her. Leontia.

Then there was that mesmerizing man wearing a chain with a glinting amethyst over a black breastplate, an aura of power caressing him like sunlight, his dark eyes watching her as if she were a treasure. Her chest warmed as she brushed her fingers over his likeness. Theron.

She dragged her fingers across the rest of the glassy facets, her body trembling as memories returned, some faded, some vivid—and then everything around her blurred out.

She drifted in nothingness until she finally settled back into the weight of her own body, drawing in a shuddering breath, everything suddenly too bright and confusing.

Her body felt alien, as if it was made of the thinnest parchment and hollow inside. But her vision cleared, and she recognized her chamber. She turned her head toward the movement she saw out of the corner of her eye.

A young boy sat on the carpet beside her bed.

He wore a purple robe draped around his chest, a short tunic, and sandals.

His dark hair curled around his fresh face, which looked sweet even as he frowned in concentration, arranging his carved wooden horses and warriors across the imaginary battlefield.

He had Theron’s eyes, and the look in them—innocent and curious—took her breath away. “Prince Kalias?” she whispered.

The boy glanced up, startled at first, then his eyes widened. He jumped to his feet, clutching his wooden horse. “Oh—you’re awake! Uncle Lykos!” He ran to the door and flung it open. “Uncle Lykos, she’s awake!”

The captain strode in straight away. “Gods, finally,” he said with a broad smile. “Now he’ll stop scowling and snapping.”

“Who?” Kalias asked.

“Your dad.”

“What is scowling?”

“Making a face like this.” Lykos scowled.

Kalias giggled. “But he’s not scowling.”

“Not at you,” Lykos replied with a wink. “But others aren’t so lucky, and by others, I mean your uncle, Kalias.” He helped her sit up. “How do you feel, Calliste? I’m under strict orders to report to Theron the moment you’re awake.”

“I’ll do it! Uncle Lykos, let me do it!” Kalias jumped up, grabbing Lykos’s hand and tugging it. “I want to tell him!”

Lykos gave him an indulgent smile and ruffled his hair. “Take Drakon with you and run to the Assembly. Tell your dad that Calliste is awake.”

Kalias grinned, saluted, and dashed out of the chamber.

“Xanthos will love the commotion of it,” Captain Lykos snickered, running his hand through his hair.

“He’s been wearing me out—Kalias, not Xanthos.

I forgot how much energy that boy has.” He picked up a mug and filled it from a jug beside her bed, then sat on the edge of the bed and offered it to her.

“Iced mint tea. Gaiane brought it in… not so long ago.”

The cool taste of mint on her tongue was heavenly as she drank to the bottom, her head still hazy and spinning as she adjusted to being back in her body.

Then she glanced at herself. Her hair was tightly pleated at the back of her head and held with pins.

She smoothed her hand over its unusual sleekness, but before she could examine it, Lykos spoke again.

“Don’t worry, Gaiane and Melitta took care of you while you slept.” He stretched. “Melitta, in particular, was obsessed with brushing your hair and making sure you looked pretty. For Theron, I guess,” he chuckled.

“For Theron?” she asked, her voice raspy.

“He spent his nights here… for the last twenty days.”

A tingling blush rose on her cheeks. “I was unconscious for twenty days?” She gasped and reached for her pendant, but it wasn’t on her chest—another oddity.

“Your gem is with Theron,” Lykos said quietly. “He wanted to return it to you when you were awake.”

She frowned, confused as to why Theron had taken her pendant, but Lykos moved closer, his smile fading into a serious expression.

“I wish there was a better time to say this, but it’s best to do so before everyone rushes in to see you.

” He cleared his throat. “You performed a miracle, and I regret that I can’t fully express my gratitude for saving the boy who is like a son to me.

Well, saving him along with his grumpy, insufferable father. ”

“Oh, Captain.” Calliste laughed. “I think I get the idea.”

His smile seemed melancholic. “I hope you stay, you know?”

“Stay?” she asked, puzzled.

“In Anthemos. With Theron.” He ran his hand through his hair and fell silent.

She inhaled, feeling as if something was amiss. She looked down at her chest, wondering if it was because she wasn’t wearing her pendant. Oh, that’s it. He took it away, and I feel disconnected from Epione. But why would he do that?

The door swung open, and Theron stood in the doorway. “Calliste,” he breathed.

He looked mesmerizing and regal as always, his dark hair falling in loose strands over his broad shoulders. He wore his black leather breastplate with the lions and laurel wreath over a purple tunic. He held Kalias’ hand, and the little boy’s face was pink with excitement. “See? I told you!”

“Right,” Lykos lifted himself and sauntered to the door. “Come with me, Kalias. Your dad needs to talk to Calliste.”

“Why?”

“Because she was unwell, and he needs to see if she’s better.” Lykos approached him and suddenly swept him into the air. “Let’s see how well you fly,” he said, tucking him under his arm and racing down the corridor.

Kalias’ delighted squeal echoed farther and farther. “Faster, Uncle Lykos!”

Theron closed the door, locked it, and turned back to her, his steps slow and measured as he approached the side of her bed. “You’re back,” he said softly.

Calliste blinked at the strangeness in his voice. “I am,” she replied.

He took a deep breath and exhaled, perching on the side of her bed. “What do you remember from our journey to the Roots?”

A few unclear images flashed in her mind, raw and obscure, and she was confused, as if she’d slept for years, not days, and the world had changed without her. “What are you asking me?”

“Do you remember Erebus?”

A sudden pain flared in her head, and she winced, her hand moving to her temple. “Erebus,” she repeated. I should know what he means. But she struggled to recall anything.

“You invoked a spell called the Last Pact,” Theron said, his face darkening. “And outwitted Eris with it.”

She could recall that, images filtering in with the sound of his voice.

“Thanks to that, I could give back Amatheia her coin, freeing both her and Kalias’ tree. Then you broke my moonstone pendant and sent me back to that chamber in Hades’ palace. Remember?”

As he spoke, memories flowed in, and she nodded. “Keep talking. I remember.”

He took her hand. “Then you tried to lure Eris into yourself to heal her. But she was too corrupted and you weren’t able to help her—worse, your effort infuriated her and she forgot herself. She summoned her full power in the Roots to destroy you.”

She held her breath, staring at him. “Yes, I remember—but how do you know all that? You weren’t there.”

“I could watch what was happening through Hades’ portal because you were still wearing the moonstone pendant he gave you. And Hades, Thanatos, Hypnos and Morpheus—they could also see you.”

“Oh.” She closed her eyes, massaging her temples, then stilled.

Her eyes slowly opened as more memories trickled in.

She stared at Theron as she finally recalled Erebus: majestic and terrifying like an onyx mountain, or a sculpture carved from it, his eyes blazing like two full, iridescent moons when he asked for her gift.

And she remembered offering it to him without any hope of surviving afterward, reinforced by the dreadful feeling of part of her soul being uprooted and torn out.

It returned to her with vicious, crystal-clear vividness, overlapping with the reflection from the mirror somewhere between realms, where she’d seen a charred hole in her chest. “Theron. Where is my emerald?”

A shadow of pain crossed his face as he reached under the neckline of his tunic and removed a chain from his neck, holding it by the pendant.

He placed it in her palm and closed her fingers around it.

“I took it away because I didn’t want you to wake up to see…

what’s left of it. I wanted to be beside you, even though I’ll likely never find the right words to honor what you’ve accomplished. ”

Her hand trembled in his. She feared opening it, but even without seeing it, she’d already intuited what that emptiness inside her meant.

Theron tightened his hands around her fist. “Calliste…” he began, his voice catching. “I can take it back—you don’t have to look—”

She removed her fist from his hands and opened it, staring.

The emerald no longer looked like the gem she knew. It was ashen, without a hint of green, not even translucent, but smoky, as if burned out… and cracked inside, shattered.

Scarred and broken.

A suspicion flashed in her mind like lightning, and she grasped over her shoulder at her pleated hair.

There was no color left—it was as white as milk. Her fingers unsteady, she removed the pins and the thread holding it together until it flowed about her shoulders, white, matching all her scars. “Are my eyes colorless too?”

He swallowed. “No. They are the same.”

She stared at her hair, her ruined pendant, her chin trembling. The first sob tore out.

Theron leaned closer, raising his hands as if to comfort her.

She recoiled. “Don’t.”

“Calliste—”

“If he wanted to drain me of everything, why didn’t he go all the way?” She raised her voice, tears scalding her cheeks. “Why leave me like… like this?”

He swallowed hard, his face twisted with anguish. “I know it’s a shock—”

“Hardly.” Bitter rage swelled in her chest, seething, screaming. “They have a twisted sense of humor, those immortals. Of course he would strip me of everything and let me live.”

He stared at her. “Would you rather he’d killed you?”

“Yes!” she shouted from the bleak, uncharted depths of herself. “I’d rather be dead!”

Theron flinched, his expression aghast, something splintering behind the bronze of his eyes. “Calliste,” his voice was subdued. “I can’t presume to understand how you feel, but…” He seemed to be searching for the right words.

A sour, sharp taste flooded her tongue. “But?” It slipped through her teeth, demanding and harsh. He didn’t deserve the cruelty of her desperation, but in that moment, she knew what it felt like to burn and die.

Something else seemed to be withering and fading in the dense air between them. After a few more beats of unbearable silence, she felt herself splintering apart, hot pressure building behind her eyes, and this time, she didn’t want him to be the witness to it.

“Calliste.” He might have said it. Or perhaps it was just the rustling of the linen curtain.

She dropped her pendant onto the duvet and covered her face with her hands. “Leave me alone,” she whispered. “Please.”

The chair scraped against the stone floor. His steps were slow, defeated, and the door’s creak carried a grieving tone before closing with quiet finality.