Page 89 of Scion of Chaos

“What is it?” I demand. “What are you hiding? If I’m going to keep trusting any of you, I need to know.”

He sits up all the way, his big wings shuddering and straightening themselves against his back again. His gaze has turned wary and he glances at the door to the prison as if wishing for someone to rescue him from this conversation. The look pisses me off, but I bite my tongue.

“Was I really just brought here to be everyone’s fuck toy?” I snap. “Tell me the truth!” His hesitance to talk is making me frantic, my voice turning shrill. Have I made a monumental mistake coming here?

His eyes widen and his head snaps back around to look at me. “What? No! We were all surprised by your very existence. None of us believed we could ever have a fated mate, yet here you are. You are not a slave, Nemea. If I could help you leave, I would, though it would break my fucking heart. But it isn’t within my power.”

His voice breaks and his eyes go glassy, but it does little to assuage my rising agitation. Did Vesh really lie to me when he said I could leave whenever I wanted to?

“What are you holding back?” I grit out, chilled to the bone as I brace myself for his answer.

He winces again when I glare at him, and that’s when the entire prison seems to shudder. I blink in alarm, because I’m almost positive it isn’t me; I’ve managed to gain enough control over my power not to cause earthquakes without meaning to.

“He’s afraid you’ll hate him for keeping it from you,”comes Typhon’s resonant voice within my head, the shaking subsiding once he speaks.“There are three of us, besides Vesh, who are capable of leaving. We just choose to stay because there is nothing in the human world for us.”

I refocus on Chrysaor. “Typhon told me three of you are able to leave. Which of you can go? Are you one of the three?”

He clenches his jaw and he shakes his head, then closes his eyes and takes a deep, fortifying breath. “The Brothers Bane can leave if they choose—Vesh, of course, since heisthe prison, and Typhon and Erebus. The third is Alcides, who was never a prisoner to begin with, unlike the rest of us. Myself and the other guards were conscripted.”

“Did you know he was keeping me here?” I yell, directing the thought as forcefully as I can at the two brothers as well as Vesh, wherever the fuckheis right now. All I know is he’s nothere,and the fact that he kept this from me leaves me hot with rage.

No one answers, but I guess it was a rhetorical question. They must have known. Typhon projects back regret and disappointment, and I soften my harsh thoughts toward him. He didn’t know. That’s something, at least.

I stare at Chrysaor accusingly, only slightly moved by the hurt in his eyes. “Did you know he told me I could leave whenever I wanted? Well, now I want to go.” I raise my head again and yell at the top of my voice. “Did you hear me, you asshole? Now I want to go! Take me the fuck home!”

Still no answer, but I can sense alarm and uncertainty from my bond with the others.

I scramble off the bed and hurriedly dress.

I fucking hate feeling this way—helpless, trapped. This is the one thing I never wanted to feel again, and for a brief moment, I believed I finally had all the choices in the world. All the fuckingfreedom. Or was on my way to claiming it. But I guess it was all just another fucking lie.

I head back the way we came in as Chrysaor scrambles off the bed, calling after me. When I fling the glass door open and am faced with the winding dungeon corridor, I curse and slam it shut again. The glass vibrates under the force, but doesn’t shatter, though part of me wishes it had.

“Where’s the fucking way out?” I snap, pacing back the other direction. Asterius led me through a different door when we first entered his chambers, so I go back past Chrysaor’s bed and the wall containing his collection of intricate masks. I recognize a few as representations of the other guards. Were they all hiding behind masks? Is it uncharitable of me for thinking that when I haven’t evenmetthem all?

I find the door just as he catches up to me. He grabs my arm. “Nemea, don’t. You can’t leave. Please, don’t leave.”

“The fuck I can’t. Watch me.” I yank my arm out of his grasp and slam my hand against his chest. He goes flying halfway back across the room, stunned and frantically flapping his wings to keep from falling flat on his ass. I turn back to the open entry—just like Asterius’ room, there’s not a proper door, just a wall that obscures an open entryway. Beyond that is a corridor leading to the stairs.

I’m running when I reach them, heading up and winding around and around toward the top. I’m not even winded by the time I reach Vesh’s room. I grab my bag and head up the stairs again, toward the uppermost bridge and the monolithic black doors I saw when I first arrived.

If there are doors, then theremustbe a way out.

41

Nemea

Darkness swirls in denser and denser tendrils around me as I climb to the top of the tower.

“You don’t understand what you’re about to do. Go back, Nemea.”Erebus is in my head, his voice insistent, but I ignore him. He doesn’t try to stop me, though I know he’s likely strong enough to.

If there are doors, that means there’s a way out, and I intend to walk through them and leave. Let Vesh come find me, assuming I matter that much to them.

I push through the iron gate at the top, and the doors are within sight. They pulse with an eerie purple glow, and the magic protecting them makes the air feel thick when I step off the stairs.

Last chance, asshole, I project, already pulling power from within me to do whatever I can to unlock those giant doors.

I’m so focused on the enormity of them I almost miss the big man standing halfway between me and my escape. He’s not quite as massive as the others, but nearly so, with bulky, rippling muscles shining golden despite the purple light filling the area around him. He’s dressed similar to Chrysaor in a leather kilt with heavy boots, and across his shoulders is a cloak made from animal hide with a thick, bushy collar of golden fur that mingles with his mane of darker hair. I almost don’t see the eyes of the lion’s head staring back at me from within that mass of fur. A giant club rests on the opposite fur-covered shoulder, his feet are planted wide, and he watches me approach with piercing amber eyes.

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