Page 217 of When Sisters Collide
She didn’t know which goddess he was cursing, and right now, she didn’t care. Not when he’d mentioned her mother.
Laran blinked, visibly irked by her sudden reaction. “What did I do? Nothing.”
Katell’s hands clenched into fists. “But she was the Rebel Queen.”
“Yes.”
“A Westerner,” she snapped. “Yourenemy.”
A slow grin curved Laran’s lips, his presence filling the space with an almost tangible weight. “Yes.”
His utter nonchalance grated on her nerves. “It makes no sense.”
The Rebel Queen and Laran.Together.The thought alone made her stomach churn. How could she possibly be their daughter?
But then the answer hit her, sharp as a blade to the gut. Her breath caught, her blood turning to ice.
“You…” She swallowed hard, nausea rising. “Stars be cursed, you…”
Laran sneered, his looming presence pressing in on her. “Go on. Say it. Say what you’re thinking.”
His voice was low, almost mocking, but there was a flicker of something else—offence, perhaps?
Katell clenched her jaw, refusing to be intimidated. “I know what the gods are capable of,” she shot back, revulsion curling in her gut. She’d heard the stories of the Achaean Twelve—everyone had. “Did you force yourself on my mother?” She failed to keep her voice steady. “Am I the result of an assault?”
Laran’s expression darkened—not with guilt, but with cold indignation, as if her accusation was beneath him.
“Force myself?” he echoed, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve never had to force a woman to my bed. And certainly not your mother.” His lips twisted into a smug grin. “They come willingly, daughter. Every single one. Who do you take me for? One of those Achaean cowards who kidnaps mortals against their will?”
She didn’t know what to believe anymore. But he still hadn’t answered her. “The Rebel Queen would never have taken a Rasennan god to her bed of her own accord. You must have done something.”
Laran let out a dark chuckle.
Without warning, he extended his arm, and the massive sword resting on his throne whistled through the air, closing the distance in an instant. He caught it by the hilt and slung it over his shoulder with ease. “Of her own accord? That depends onhow you define it. Let’s just say… I can be very persuasive.” His smirk deepened. “And I don’t like to lose.”
A ghost drifted forward, silent as smoke. His head was cleaved almost in half, his bronze helmet failing to contain the ruined flesh beneath. Despite the grotesque wound, his milky gaze remained fixed on Laran as he whispered in his ear.
“Now?” Laran asked, almost bored.
The ghost gave a slow, solemn nod before fading back into the crimson-tinged air.
Laran pivoted on his heel, sword balanced across his shoulder, leaving Katell staggered in his wake.
“Wait!” she called, scrambling after him. “Where are you going?”
Laran didn’t answer right away. Instead, he watched her, tilting his head with a trace of amusement. “Don’t you want to see what’s happening?”
“Happening where?”
“In the mortal world.”
Katell stopped, her mind catching up in a sudden rush.
Memories slammed into place: the temple, Leywani at Velthur’s mercy, Laran’s priest urging her forward, the black pool that had swallowed her whole…
Her stomach dropped. “Am I… am I dead?”
Laran snorted, rolling his eyes. “You think I’d kill my own daughter?” He leaned in, lowering his head until their gazes locked. “The Pool of Tears didn’t kill you. It set you free.”
