Page 18 of Courting War
“Do not mock me, girl.” Nefeli’s voice shook with her tone, the spark that would ignite a wildfire. “You’re human and vulnerable. Your pride will be your noose.”
“And what is yours?” Theo threw the comment back. Both gods were proud creatures. Pride was in their very nature. “You’ve come here for a reason—to say something. Perhaps you should get on with it.”
Theo shouldn’t provoke her mother. Especially not as a mortal, but thunderstorms raged in her blood.Being a human was vile.Even the idea made her want to spit at Nefeli’s feet.
“If you insist on speeding up our glorious meeting, so be it,” Nefeli smirked. “My intentions are simple. You will remain mortal until you can learn to respect the Sacrifice.”
“What do you want me to do? Prostrate myself for your sick pleasure?”
“Wouldn’t that be a sight?” Nefeli’s lips dripped poison. “But I don’t want to see you in pain, Theodra. Your villainy needs to be stopped, and you must learn your lesson. So, prostrate yourself if you want, but it won’t break your curse.”
“Villainy,” Theo scoffed.
“You will play the Sacrifice as Theoden’s Priestess, and you will finally aid your champion as you should have done for the last 500 years.”
Theo clenched her teeth. “I will not.”
She wouldn’t appease her mother. She wouldn’t give in, which meant she absolutely wouldn’t aid the Theoden Champion under any circumstances. Ever. Instead, she would spite Nefeli and find a way to break this wretched curse. Theowould notbend.
Nefeli chuckled and played with her fingernails. Each stroke a slow taunt. “You may try to undo my spell, but you will fail.” Nefeli ran a finger along her throne, her magic twirling around her like a ballerina on pointe. “Learn to respect the Sacrifice, and you will get your divinity back.”
With those final words, Nefeli vanished, leaving Theo alone in the cold, bleak temple, defiance coursing through her veins and a small trickle of fear biting her neck.
Mortality was a noose.
Theo smoothed her skirt for comfort and found a lovespoon offering within the pocket. She ran her fingers along the wood, comforting herself.
Theo had only one recourse available to her: no matter what happened next, she would resist her mother’s machinations and regain her divinity.
Inhaling sharply, Theo examined her mortal body. Disgusted, she flexed her toes, legs, and arms and scoffed at her dexterity. It was nothing compared to her immortal reflexes. She was slow, weak, and stiff, her human bones brittle and her muscles not nearly as defined.
It was unimaginable.
Her heart sped up and slowed down to the rhythm of her emotions. And her emotions were bombarding her like cannonballs. Ripping and exploding, leaving carnage in their wake.
Theo flexed her fingers and tried to feel magic surging in her veins. But nothing came. Not even a tingle.
She clutched her hair—where her magic ravens hid and slept when not flying around. She frantically felt for her birds. Her friends. Her family. But nothing. Herpoor carrion birds. They didn’t deserve this. To be turned to nothingness.
The only magic she had left was a raven Warmark—on her left wrist. The sentient tattoo stared with one obsidian eye, blinking, and taking her measure. Then it danced, flapping its wings in a comforting pattern before rubbing its beak against her skin, trying to preen—showing affection.
It wasn’t one of her usual ravens.
She had seventeen mates and one lone raven. But this one was new.
“Hello, pretty little one,” Theo said, running a finger along one of its wings. “What is your name?”
The raven puffed out its feathers and rubbed her with its beak.
“How about Dahlia?” Theo asked, gently petting the bird again. She got the sense that it was a girl. A precious and elegant one at that. Dahlia seemed a fitting name.
She puffed out its feathers again in agreement.
“Good.” Theo smiled and returned her attention to her plight.
Theo touched her neck. Around it was a raven torc necklace with the intricate knots and spirals of the Temple of the Sacrifice interlaced.
A death snare.
