Page 19 of Courting War
It symbolized the priestesses of the Sacrifice—the poor souls forced to aid the champions during the seven days of games. Often, they volunteered for the role, but just as frequently, a poor young soul was forced into the games—as punishment—their prognosis far worse than that of a champion, dying at twice the rate.
Theo looped her fingers around the torc and pulled, trying to loosen it and get the cursed thing off, but instead the torc magically tightened—choking her.
It wasn’t until she released her fingers and let go that the necklace stopped tightening. Theo coughed and clutched her throat, the phantom sensation of choking—dying—lingering.
A knot formed in her stomach. Could she die?
Theo didn’t intend to find out. She had to get out of this place and off this treacherous island. The only chance of reversing the curse rested in Theoden at the Temple of Sereni. It was where Theo kept all her artifacts, spells, and potions. It was where Hecate’s Grimoire was—a magical, sentient book that answered any question. At least if it were in the mood.
A steamship whistle blared as Theo sucked in a breath. She needed to get to the docks and on a ship set for Theoden.
Exiting the temple, Theo entered a cobblestone street, and two steps into her journey, she cursed loudly, a loose pebble digging into her big toe. Theo clutched her foot and let out another low curse. A tiny drop of red blood dripped onto a cobblestone.
Redblood. Not silver ichor.
She let out a string of impressively crafted curses—after all, she’d been working on them for 10,000 years.
The red was a visual symbol of her nightmares.
Her heart rumbled, and her palms grew clammy. She needed to find the docks quickly and escape this damned island. But to do that, she had to traverse the labyrinth of the City of the Gods.
The place radiated enchantment; the entire island a living, breathing trap. Buildings moved of their own accord, and streets twisted and hooked—built to ensnare. The city wasn’t built for mortals. It was made for monsters and protected by the gods.
It was composed of nine quarters and designed like a clock. At its center rested a palace formed out of an enchanted volcano.
The docks were on the outskirts of the Queen’s Quarter, which was laced with animated statues of monsters like chimeras, kelpies, merrows, and centaurs. Nefeli’s favorites.
Wicked little spies.
Ducking behind a pillar, Theo hid from a gilded statue. Statues, mirrors, and paintings talked, stalked, and watched—reporting their findings to the pantheon.
Finally, after thirty minutes, Theo found the marina, and nine titanic steamships docked along the piers. It was the Day of Arrival when the Nine Great Countries brought their champions and spectators to the sacrificial games. It was their last moments of freedom—the last before fate was written in the stars and scorched into stone.
An unwelcome jitter burrowed into Theo’s chest as her eyes searched the ships. At the third pier, a blood-red flag with a raven at its center danced in gusts of wind. The symbol of Theoden.Raising her chin, she sucked in a breath and tried to force power into this human body. Trying to awaken magic in her veins.
Nothing.
A raven feather floated in the wind, light glinting off the obsidian vane. It drifted as though it was the petal of a wilting rose. Lost and decaying. Each inch of its descent was a nail in its coffin. Each inch an inescapable distance from its home.
It felt like a metaphor for her life.
Theo ran her fingers through her midnight curls, lamenting the loss of her birds—losing thirty-five pieces of her soul.
Her mouth fell into a solid line. Theo wasnother magic. She was radiant and terrifying without it. She was War. Destruction. Sorrow. The devil that haunted peace. A mortal body wouldn’t change that.
Nothing would change that.
Her footfalls sparked with a profound arrogance as she walked up the gangway to the ship—to her deliverance. She reached the top of the ramp and stepped onto the boat deck and was greeted by the wheelhouse and crew. A man clad in a tartan sailor uniform obstructed her. “Miss, may I help you?” His accent was a thick brogue.
Theo’s lips curved into a jaguar-like grin. Dominance and entitlement oozed from her every nerve ending. “I demand passage to Theoden.”
The captain tipped his chin as if amused. “Miss, we don’t return to Theoden for another ten days—”
“I don’t care.” Theo didn’t let him finish. His lack of immediate compliance grated at her nape. No one denied a goddess. “You will take me to Theodennow.”
“Look, miss, I don’t know who you think you are, but I don’t work for you or answer to you.”
Theo rubbed her face—a face nearly identical to the Goddess of Death. But the resemblance wouldn’t matter now that she was mortal. Havyn could stand next to her, but a human wouldn’t be able to tell. The concept of a god in mortal form was so inconceivable it couldn’t translate into a mortal’s mind. Nettled, Theo saidthrough her teeth, “Who do you answer to?” Fire licked at the back of her irises. This man. This human was defying her. She lurched forward, unsure of what she was going to do. She wanted to hurt him—to show him what happened to men who got in her way.
