Page 23 of The Gods Time Forgot

Twenty-Three

Deep breath , she told herself as she glanced around the room. Just breathe.

Cold, angry faces stared back at her, their loud whispers dull against the blood pounding in her head.

She searched the crowd. There was no one she knew. The Harringtons, Finn—they had all abandoned her, fleeing before things got worse, before the pitchforks were taken out.

She was more alone in this crowded room than she’d ever been on her own.

The accusations had no merit, but they resonated with the guests all the same. They were delighted to punish her because she was new and she was different.

She took one small step forward and then another as the room threatened to close in on her.

People shuffled and pushed each other so they could move out of her way. As if breathing the same air would prove fatal. Every last one of them spewed bitterness. So pathetic. Feeding off one another’s uncertainty.

A familiar roar of anger, too long kept at bay, flared deep inside her, and it was reaching precarious heights. She was going to snap.

“Oh, just look at her eyes, the witch!” a woman shrieked.

“Pure evil, I say!”

That was the moment fury took over. She stepped forward and glared at the crowd, daring another to speak out.

In her anger she was free. There was nothing she couldn’t do.

She let out a strangled cry as she walked onto the battlefield. The sounds of war thundered around her. Rain pounded against the earth while the men clashed their swords, swinging and slashing without purpose.

She wore no armor. She sported no shield. She alone was enough.

Rua walked among the mortals, pulling their hearts from their chests and the eyes from their heads. When she was done, the battle was won.

Those closest to her gasped and jumped back, while the room divided leaving her path unobstructed. An insidious grin spread across her face. Cowards, all of them.

She didn’t stop until she reached the balcony. She pushed past the curtains and slammed her fists down on the cool marble railing, not bothering to halt the frustrated scream that escaped her. Weeks of pent-up stress and failed effort boiled to a head. There was so much rage churning inside of her, she could see only red.

Everything went dark.

At first, she thought it was just in her head—that her anger had momentarily blinded her. But when she turned back around, she found the ballroom in complete darkness.

The guests screamed their panic.

“She did it! That wicked sorceress is responsible!”

“She’ll kill us all!”

For a silly moment, she almost felt responsible. But it wasn’t possible to will darkness into existence.

The cries in the ballroom intensified as the room descended into chaos.

She looked around for her options, realizing she’d chosen the wrong balcony from which to flee. She was trapped with no access to the small garden below.

Returning to the ballroom was out of the question, so she did the only thing she could think to do and hoisted herself over the balustrade. The cool limestone tore at her silk gown as she fell. It was farther than she’d thought it would be; she hadn’t really considered the potential consequences. But she landed upright on her two feet, surprised she hadn’t shattered her ankles. She ran through the garden, knowing there must be an exit to the street somewhere.

Like all gardens in this world, it was perfectly kept and large enough for a statuary and trimmed hedge. She wanted nothing more than to burn it to the ground.

Her hands shook as she thought of Flossie’s face. They were going to send her to an asylum. There was no way Flossie would live with the shame. And Finn, he had made his choice, one that had cracked her heart wide open. Tears burned her eyes. She needed to get as far away as possible.

“Rua?”

The traitor’s voice stilled her.

“What do you want?” she seethed.

“I came to see if you were all right.” Finn approached her the way one might a wounded tiger. He stopped beside a marble statue of a naked Hercules. Tremendous in size, it should have towered over him. Instead, they were comparable, each one a specimen in his own time.

Incredulous, she repeated the words back. “See if I’m all right?” She wanted to rip his eyes out.

He grimaced but did not falter. “It’s the truth,” he said. “I’m sorry for what happened.”

The moonlight offered little by way of light, but she could make out enough of his face to see that he looked genuine. Or perhaps it was just the guilt eating away at him. Either way, it didn’t matter. The damage was done. He had broken her.

She took a step closer. “How dare you leave me standing there. How dare you! You are nothing but a coward, playing dress-up in a world you are unfit for,” she spat. Her anger flowed through her, driving her movements, propelling her forward.

“A world I’m unfit for?” He raised his voice. “You flit about ballrooms like a tornado, destroying anything in your path. So long as your needs are met, you don’t care who might suffer.”

Fury rushed through her, unimpeded by rules and decorum. The stress of the evening, of the last few weeks, had worn her down to the bone. There was nothing left.

Wrath was her weapon as she reached upward, meeting Finn’s worried gaze. Rather than wrapping her hands around his neck, she grabbed the statue, pulling at the side of Hercules’s marble neck.

“What are you doing?” Finn shouted, though he did not stop her.

She was lost to the darkness, guided only by rage. An exasperated cry escaped her, and the cool stone crumbled under the stress of her palms. With one ruinous tug, she ripped the statue’s head clean off. The statue wobbled, on the verge of tipping over, dislodged by her violent strength.

She stared at the once-glorious demigod, horrified by the damage, tears flooding her eyes.

Finn grabbed her by the waist, pulling her from the falling statue’s path.

It crashed to the ground, and Rua shook in Finn’s arms. She didn’t have the strength to pull away. So drained and distraught, she was ready to collapse. Her body felt foreign, her strength and resentment a raw nerve.

She buried her face in Finn’s chest and began to cry. He rested his palm against the back of her head, holding her tightly to him as the stress of the evening, of the last few weeks, spilled out of her. For a quiet moment they stood under the cloudless sky, pretending everything was going to be all right.

Finally, Finn spoke. “I’m sorry, Rua.”

His words were a reminder of his treachery. She pushed herself out of his arms.

“I thought it was the best course of action,” he said, trying to defend his mistake.

“Best for who?”

Finn didn’t answer.

He didn’t need to. He’d stood by the woman he was intending to marry, and Rua felt idiotic for expecting something different. She’d known from the start that he was courting Annette. But deep down, she had hoped he would choose her instead.

“I wanted to remove Annette from the situation,” he said, “as I thought your dance partner was going to do with you. I didn’t think he was going to abandon you. Please, forgive me. I misjudged terribly.”

“Your apology means nothing.” She could hardly stand to look at him.

He shook his head, rubbing his hand roughly against the back of his neck.

“What you did in there.” She hesitated, her voice was barely more than a whisper. “Leaving me like that, it was so much worse than anything Annette ever could have said. You stood by while she called me a witch in front of an entire ballroom, and then you walked away with her. Your silence validated her accusations and confirmed my status as an outcast.”

“Rua, that was never my intention.”

“I don’t care what your intentions were! It’s what you did that matters.” She stared at him. She could handle her status as a leper; she could handle their scorn. But she could not handle Finn picking Annette over her.

The pain of it tore at her insides and ravaged what was left of her soul.

Though she was loath to admit it, somewhere buried in the dark corners of her mind was the knowledge that she and Finn were supposed to be together. All of this, the struggle and the loss, all of it was so she could find her way to him.

But on the other side of that clarity was the truth, where the guilt and uncertainty thrived. Where her mind was still keeping secrets from her. A dangerous reality that she knew would threaten everything.

“Rua, I have something to tell you.” Finn’s face was grave. “It will explain the majority of my actions tonight.”

Her stomach turned, thinking it could only be something terrible.

He loosened the cravat at his neck.

“Annette threatened to tell everyone about everything that happened at Greene Street.” He stepped toward Rua again.

She tensed. “I thought you told me it was taken care of?”

He looked at her, pain etched in the lines of his face. “It is now. Officially.”

“What?” She met his eyes and saw the truth. His sudden change of heart. “No. Finn, you can’t.”

“It’s already done.”

“No,” she said, her voice stronger, more desperate.

Feeling the familiar pang of loss, she shut her eyes and held back her tears. Annette Fitzgerald had won and taken every last morsel of hope and crushed it between her gilded fingers.

Rua had to leave. Tonight.