Page 63 of Queen to the Sunless Court (Brides of Myth #2)

Through Thorns

Calliste

Calliste wept.

The sky outside the window dimmed, as if draped with an ashen veil, layer upon layer until the light died in a burst of orange hues, soon drowning in infinite ink flecked with cold stars.

Melitta slipped in to wash her face with a towel soaked in icy water, her touch gentle and caring, her silence soothing.

Despite leaning into Melitta’s hands, she couldn’t speak to her, or Gaiane who also came to comfort her. She craved quiet.

It felt as if she was cast back to her days of unbroken silence, sinking beneath its surface, mute again, wrapped in its familiar comfort. Days trickled like raindrops, one after another, dull, alike, soon forgotten.

She paced the room, regaining her strength in slow and painful increments, fatigue soon weighing down her limbs and forcing her to crawl back into bed, pull the covers over her head and let the days drip-a-drip-a-drip.

Whenever she attempted to summon her power, there was no answer, not even the faintest flicker to ease her own headache.

Nothing.

Every now and again, she stumbled to the mirror and stared. Her snowy-haired reflection had her eyes and features unaltered, but the hair made enough of a difference that it tempted her to smash the mirror. I’m all scars now, inside and out, for everyone to see.

“He’s asking if he can come in,” Melitta asked every day. “He’s worried about you.”

She shook her head, still hidden behind the towering, impenetrable walls of the silence she had raised and kept tall, needing them, because behind them—stomach hurting, teeth clenched—she crawled through thorns to accept the unmerciful truth for what it was: that she was a broken shell.

That there would be no healing for her.

That Epione would no longer whisper her power through her veins.

That she had nothing more to give.

Useless.

Twenty-nine days later, by Melitta’s count, the pain was still there, bleak and persistent, and she was certain no one could ease it for her.

Until one little boy proved her wrong.

***

As she lay curled under her blanket on the evening of the thirtieth day, her door opened quietly, and she tensed because she didn’t recognize the steps. Soon, a small head appeared next to her bed. “Calliste?”

She sat up, surprised. “Prince Kalias? What are you doing here?”

“No one saw me,” the little boy grinned, climbing onto the bed. “Not even Uncle Lykos. I’m really good at sneaking.” He was wearing a plain white tunic, and his legs were already bruised and scraped—typical little boy’s legs.

“Your dad will worry if you go missing for too long.”

“I’ll be back soon. I just wanted to ask you something.” He settled opposite her, pushing back his dark locks.

Her heart melted at his hopeful expression. Gods, he looks just like Theron. “What’s the question?”

“Are you angry at Dad?” he asked, holding his breath.

Calliste froze. “Who said that?”

“He came to talk to you and was sad later. I heard him tell Uncle Lykos that you asked him to leave. Was my dad unkind?”

“No.” Her stomach twisted painfully. “No, of course not. Your dad is the kindest person I know.”

The boy grinned, his expressive eyes lighting up. “I knew it. So you’re not angry with him?”

“No.” She exhaled. “Not with him. I just miss… something dear to me.”

“Oh, you’ve lost something?” Kalias tilted his head, his forehead scrunched in an effort to puzzle out the problem. “I can help you look for it.”

She laughed and ruffled his hair. “That’s sweet of you, Prince. But what I’m missing cannot be found.”

“Why?”

“Because I received it from the goddess I serve. It was a gift, and when I received it, this gem was bright green.” She lifted her pendant.

Kalias focused on the cracked gem. “How did you lose it?” He leaned forward, concentrating.

“I offered it in exchange for...” She couldn’t take her eyes away from him, how he resembled Theron and yet he was his own person, bright and sweet, with an air of mischief—and one day, he’d be a king shaping the future of his realm.

“I offered it for something far more important than my gift, and I don’t regret it. But I miss it a lot.”

The boy nodded, satisfied. “I understand.” He thought for a moment. “You’re not angry. You’re sad.”

“Yes.” She looked at him from her mountain of sorrow, a warm feeling threading through her chest. “You’re very good at this, Prince.”

Kalias brightened and sat up straight. “I’m an heir to Hesperis. Dad keeps telling me I need to learn how to solve problems. So…” He slowly reached out and lifted her pendant between his two fingers, examining it. “This can’t be fixed. Where can you get a new one?”

She stared at him, the answer leaving her speechless.

There was a gentle knock, and someone pushed the door, which she realized Kalias had left slightly ajar. “Kalias?”

“Dad.” The boy slipped off the bed and hurried across the room to the threshold. “I just wanted to help Calliste.”

“I know.” Theron opened the door. “Come,” he said calmly. “Calliste needs to rest.” He took his hand. “And you need to be in bed.” He began closing the door.

“Theron,” she called.

He paused.

“A word,” she said, her face heating up.

There was a brief silence. He didn’t open the door enough for her to see his face. “Let me put Kalias to bed, and I’ll be back,” he said. “Say goodnight, Kalias.”

“Goodnight, Calliste.” Kalias poked his head in and waved.

“Goodnight, Prince. You’re really good at solving problems,” she said.

Kalias’ face lit up as he looked up. “Dad?”

“I know that already,” Theron replied, and then their footsteps faded down the corridor.

Calliste closed her eyes, taking deep breaths as she listened for Theron’s footsteps again.

A little while later, he knocked again, pausing in the doorway before crossing the room to sit in the armchair beside her bed, his gaze dropping and staying on his hands in his lap.

She studied every plane of his face, her pulse fluttering.

This was the same king and warrior who had stood by her side, fighting horrors in the darkest corners of the Underworld and the same man whose touch had led her to a bliss she never knew.

But the bronze of his eyes seemed dulled and he held himself stiff and guarded.

All my doing. Silence bled between them, and only she could stop the bleeding. “Forgive me for pushing you away.”

“Why did you?” His voice carried a steely edge.

She faltered, but forged on. “I had to go through this alone.”

“Why? To torture yourself over things you cannot change?”

His bare, unvarnished honesty made her flinch, but it was also what she loved about him, too. She pulled her knees to her chest and hugged them. “That’s how I’ve always healed myself.”

“But you didn’t have to suffer alone.” His sleek black hair caught in his beard, as usual, so he tucked it behind his ear. “In the last thirty days, I wondered, well, I feared you regretted what you did to save Kalias.”

“What?” Ice churned in her stomach. “No. Not at all.”

“Fortunately, I’ve heard what you said to him.”

She swallowed. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat.

But… not feeling her presence anymore, as if she’s abandoned me…

” Her voice faltered and broke. “It hurts so much.” She tried not to dwell on the image of a charred hole in her chest, her colorless hair.

“And what hurts more is knowing that I have nothing left to give—”

“What?” he said, disbelief thick in his voice.

“You gave everything, because you never give less than that. But divine power aside, you still have plenty to offer—your knowledge as a healer, your wisdom, your kindness—who you are, Calliste.” He paused and exhaled, as if deflated. “You don’t believe me.”

No. I do not. “Look at me again.”

His gaze was unwavering, fiery. “I see a woman who has risen from the ashes more than once. A woman who is as strong as she is compassionate—”

“No.” She forced down a sob. “Maybe I used to be that woman. But now I’m just ruin and ash. I know you’re being kind—”

“It’s hardly kindness.” Steel glinted in his eyes. “I’m truthful, as I always have been. I’ve never lied to you, and I don’t intend to start now.”

Her explanation caught in her throat, hard to swallow, challenging to spit out.

He spoke of her as a healer, but the truth was that she was only a priestess in title now, no longer empowered to heal as she once did.

What remained was a scarred, hollowed-out woman who feared she was no longer desirable.

She noticed that he didn’t draw closer. Didn’t even try.

Perhaps thirty days apart had cooled his affection to mere gratitude.

The last thing she’d do was to beg for scraps of love. She retreated behind her silence.

“You still don’t believe me,” he said, resigned. “Perhaps you need to hear it from someone else, then. Maybe… from Leontia?”

She froze, not having expected him to bring that up, her suspicions rising, deep and hot in her gut.

Getting rid of me already? Something splintered inside her, but she could play that game, too.

“She needs to know she no longer has a successor, so she can train and appoint someone else.” The words felt like broken glass in her mouth.

“And… I’m still a priestess of my order, so I need to seek her guidance about my future. ”

“Can’t you decide for yourself?”

“She’s like a mother to me—”

“If you see her as your mother, let me tell you, parenthood isn’t about burdening your child with expectations, but helping them soar.”

The stark truth was that she could no longer lead the Sisterhood—or heal. She could be a scribe, or an assistant… Who am I fooling? “I owe Leontia my life. It’s not to say that she will decide what to do with it, but—”

“But you need to speak to her, at the very least. I agree.” He raked his hand through his hair. “That’s why I’ve already made preparations.”

Another surge of fear. Of course you have. She kept her face neutral. “Excellent.”

His gaze flickered away, back to his white-knuckled hands, clenched into fists, as if he was overwhelmed by the effort of this conversation. “We can leave when you’re ready.”

“We?”

“I owe Leontia an apology for my behaviour last time.”

“Oh. It’s not like her to hold a grudge.”

“Doesn’t matter. I took you away, and I’ll personally bring you back.” He uncurled his fingers and drummed them against his knee. “If this is all I can do for you, and if this is what you want.”

What she wanted seemed to have vanished from his heart, now that she was all broken edges and smoldering ash. Not that she had expected anything different. “I’d be grateful.”

“Do you want your own horse to ride?”

She paused. “I’ve grown fond of Rebel.”

His eyes flicked to her face. “You want to ride with me? ” His surprise was evident and hurtful at the same time.

But if he was going to take her back to Mount Hellecon and leave her there… She wanted to have some last memories of him. “Yes. I want to ride with you.”