Page 15 of Courting War
Present
ARS ATROX, SIMARK
Screams were Theodra’s anthem. She was the villain of the gods—or at least one of them. A part she played admirably. However, this time, the screams weren’t only from the pathetic humans but also from a banshee. The beautiful woman with snow-white skin and blood-streaked cheeks. The omen of impending death.
A creature forged in the courts of War and Death.
“Please, I have children.” The wretched man begged at Theo’s feet, his hands clawing at her legs. She shuddered. Men were utterly disgusting. “Please, I beg you, their mother is dead, and I’m all they have.”
Men were clichéd creatures. Always begging, pleading, bargaining, and blaspheming. All crying useless speeches at the end.
Speeches that would never suffice.
The sky darkened and twisted behind Theo to the march of her wrath, her ravens and cat familiars on the prowl. Thefamiliars were her nine enchanted cat spirits, and much like her ravens, they morphed with magic to sizes, colors, and ferocities of their choosing.
“Perhaps you should’ve thought about that before,” Theo said, her voice as haunted as the shores of the underworld.
Instead of focusing on the man before her, she examined the carved wooden lovespoon between her fingers. It was an offering from one of the mortals of Theoden. The raven ones were her favorite. She received them every week from a loyal devotee. Lovespoons were decorative wooden carvings in the shape of a large spoon given as a romantic gift—symbolizing courtship. Theo never wanted to be courted, but there was just something about the spoons. Typically, she hated offerings, but she was drawn to these. So much so she had a pile of them on her nightstand in her bedroom. Gods didn’t need to sleep, but having a bedroom made her feel . . . something.
Connected? Home?
She shrugged. It was always so unclear.
“Please, please, I beg you. I don’t want to die.”
Theo cocked her head in a birdlike manner . . .Oh,the human was still here. She’d fallen into thought again.
Theo slid her lovespoon down her bustled skirt as raven feathers cupped it, forming around it like a pocket—to hold it for safekeeping.
Right now, she had to deliver a punishment.
A vicious smile climbed to her lips, and she snapped her fingers, stealing the man’s voice. She was over listening to him. What was there to say? He was a murderer, and his sentence was set in stone—already whispered on the wind and written in the clouds.
The banshee screamed once more and sealed the deal. This man would die for his crimes, and Theo wouldn’t be swayed.
From the darkness, Theo braided a rope of shadow, forming it into a sword, and with a flick of her wrist, she sliced it across the man’s throat, spilling out his life force.
This was justice.
Blood rained down, pooling in the dirt, and Theo felt nothing. She never did. Staring down at her justice, she wondered if she’d ever feel anything again. Was she forever empty, forever cursed to a life like this?
“Have you no mercy?” A reprimanding voice formed from pure power danced along the streets.
“Not for them,” Theo answered her mother.
The darkness parted, and from the setting sunlight spilling over the country of Simark, the Queen of the Gods stepped out. Her presence foretold peace or horror and nothing in between. A goddess with no middle ground.
Nefeli’s half-black, half-white hair framed a falsely soft expression. “Would you show mercy if I told you that man’s death would cause a chain reaction leading to catastrophic events?”
“Not even you can predict the future, Mother,” Theo said, bored and pretending to pick at her fingernails.
Nefeli shook her head. “Where did I go wrong with you?”
Theo bristled. What right did Nefeli—of all the divine—have to question her actions? Nefeli was just as wicked as her daughter, if not more. Nefeli bathed in the Sacrifice—in killing innocent humans for sport. At least Theo killed for justice.
“What do you get from your crusade against men?” Nefeli asked. “What’s the goal?”
To feel something. Revenge. “I have no goals.”
