Page 16 of Courting War
Nefeli’s eyes raked over her daughter, and a frown littered her features, but as usual, her true feelings were buried deep beneath an impenetrable veil. “Are there any good men, in your esteemed opinion?”
“No.”
Goodness and men couldn’t peacefully coexist.
A silence soaked the air between the goddesses, leaving the aftertaste of traumatic family memories and untamed nightmares.
The women glowered.
The Queen’s violet eyes were a tempest of sadness, and Theo’s were an echo of brokenness. Yet still, neither shattered the quiet. Instead, they talked with their magic, with the manufacturedtwirling of the Queen’s hair and the dance of Theo’s ravens.
“Well, I didn’t come here to reprimand you, darling,” The Queen’s face lit up, and she spoke with an unsettlingly cheery voice. “I wanted to talk to you about the Sacrifice.”
“I’m not going.”
“Oh, I know, darling, but hear me out.” Nefeli snapped her fingers, and time and space lurched together, pulling the two goddesses to The City of the Gods and to the Palace of the Sacrifice—to Nefeli’s quarters and office.
Theo stumbled a step as she got her feet underneath her. Whirling around, she glowered at her mother. She hated when any god did that to her—without permission. It was unconscionable. Fury bubbled from Theo’s pores, and blades formed from the morphing feathers in her hair. She looked like Medusa, but instead of her hair being formed of snakes, it was composed of black-feathered daggers.
“Calm down,” Nefeli said, noticing War’s hostile bearing. “I wanted liquid courage for this conversation.” She ran a hand through the white half of her hair, exasperated. “Please, sit. It will be fast, I promise.”
Theo sucked in a breath and searched for patience. Plucking a blade from her hair, she caressed it as she sat down, appeasing her mother. It was better to get the conversation over with. The last thing she wanted was to get into a battle. It would take far too much energy, and Theo had no interest in wasting her precious fuel.
She ran the feather blade along her lip and froze as her mother said, “I would like you to play in the Sacrifice this year.”
“No.” Theo didn’t bother saying anything else. She’d made her opinions about the Sacrifice abundantly clear. She may have helped her sisters broker the peace treaty, but she had no interest in playing along and killing innocents—especially not innocent women.
Theo only killed the guilty—men.
Two thousand years ago, during the Clash of Mortality,humans fought the gods and refused to worship them, causing their power to wane almost entirely. Realizing their dire straits, War, Death, and Light—the Divine Death Triplets—brokered a peace treaty. The gods agreed to reduce their acts of terror if and only if the Nine Great Countries worshiped them properly and sent a champion every four years to the Sacrifice Games.
Nefeli loosed a belabored sigh before crossing the room to her liquor cellarette and filling two glasses with absinthe. She took a sip from one glass and handed the other to Theo, who eyed it with suspicion.
“Do you think I'm going to poison you?” Nefeli asked, grasping the glass in question, and taking a swig from it, her eyes locked on her daughter. “See, it’s fine.”
Theo took it but still refused to sip, stroking it with her knife tip and causing a loud reverberation—a sound Nefeli loathed.
“It’s absinthe,” Nefeli said, “your favorite.”
Theo had no urge to respond. Instead, she sat silently, waiting for this torture to end. Eventually, it would. It always ended. It was how all her conversations with the gods went.
“As I was saying,” Nefeli continued, “I would greatly appreciate it if you joined us for the Sacrifice this year.”
Theo sucked in a breath. Her mother was getting repetitive and exhausting, and she was sick of it. How often did she have to tell the other gods she’d never attend the games? Theo changed her mind about the alcohol. She needed it for this, so she took a massive gulp from the absinthe, feeling nothing as usual.
She never felt anything.
Except—
Theo clutched her throat, the glass falling through her fingers. A surge of heat stroked through her body, and the blade feathers of her hair evaporated—fading from existence—leaving only ink-black strands in their place.
“What have you done?” The world swam, and rippling colors invaded War’s senses. Pain poured through her head as ichor dripped from her nose.
How could Theo be so foolish? Rule number one, never trust a god.
Never trust a god.
Her mother had poisoned her—herown mother.
