“Calix Darrow,” I said, fitting that puzzle piece together. That had never been written in our history books. There was minimal information on the gods, only that they existed and were the reason we were touched by magic. Even those who prayed to the gods did so blindly, unwaveringly believing in the power they were prophesied to hold.
But their time on our lands was consequently wiped from our records, forcing us to follow the words of mere mortals rather than the divine. I could not help but wonder what the justification for that was. Did the gods themselves not want their history written, allowing us to forge our own path? Or was it omitted due to the avarice of those chosen to lead?
“Correct,” Elios confirmed. Calix Darrow was chosen by the gods to rule over Kallistos. He was blessed by the goddess of wisdom, and held her favor. It was one of many reasons his rule had been as peaceful as it was—until, of course, it was no longer.
Relationships between the fae and the vampyres had always been tense, but it grew more so as the vampyres grew in greed, ringing in a new dawn of conflict. Arowan D’Arcy was a brilliant yet power-hungry man who sought more power than he had been bestowed. He did not think it fair that Calix ruled over all when his vision for the world did not match the one he dreamt of.”
“Not much has changed then,” Castor muttered.
With a snap of his fingers, Elios pulled us back to the present. He surveyed the room, stopping as he came to Castor. To both men’s credit, neither backed down, their gazes holding the same determined heat. I was unsure I would have the same confidence in facing a god.
Elios scoffed. “That is the kind of thinking that got your families into this mess. This prejudice,” he spat, waving his hand. “I will never understand the range of emotions mortals experience. Do you not comprehend that your words have meaning, no matter the intention? They are just as capable of starting a fire as a match. Once that fire is lit, there is no way to undo what has been done. It is the folly of your kind.”
Castor made a disgruntled sound but dropped his gaze away from Elios in submission, choosing to end the battle before he lost the war.
“We aren’t mortals,” Jasper said, raising his brows.
Elios turned to face him. “You are mortal to someone like me. I have lived far beyond any lifespan you can imagine. I am born of gods and have their power and blood flowing through my veins. To put it simply, I am infallible.”
“So, gods cannot be killed?” Sloane asked.
“Why?” he asked with a saccharine smile. “Are you imagining how nice my head would look atop a pike?” Sloane blanched, earning a chuckle from the god. “A jest, I assure you. The humor of a god does not always translate as I hope.” Elios slid his hand into his pocket and leaned against Calia’s armchair. “No, little witch. We cannot be felled in the way you think of, not by mortal defenses. As it happens, only one weapon exists that can slay our kind, and I believe your friends are already acquainted with it.”
Elios nodded toward Rowena, studying her curiously as realization dawned upon both of us. “Holy shit,” she breathed, eyes growing as wide as saucers. “Rion?—”
“Surprising, is it not?” he asked, tilting his head. “That so many consequences would happen to a group of people brought together by unsuspecting circumstances. I surely never assumed I would stand in a room with my demi-goddess daughter and her vampyric husband—becauseyes, Castor, theyarestill married under Kallistos law—whose family owned the single weapon which could kill me.”
Good gods, it was disturbing how little we truly knew.Our father’s knife. The one Rowena and I had both been preoccupied with as children and beyond, that had called to my sister to present it to Calia, was a god slayer.
How had that come to be in my father’s possession? And why had it been displayed as though it were a trophy? I hated to think about my father having any malice in his heart that would prompt the use of the weapon, especially when it contradicted the image I held in my mind.
But other happenings made more sense, knowing the gravity of the situation. Of course, my mother would not have torn the house apart for a silly heirloom, as she claimed. It had never registered with me, for I thought she had simply wanted father’s study to remain untouched until I assumed his position on the council.
And again, how she panicked as she beheld the knife in Calia’s possession.
I sat forward, meeting Elios’ gaze. “My mother knew about Calia, didn’t she? She knew about the knife—its origins and power—and Calia’s true lineage. That is…” I trailed off, running a shaking hand through my hair. “That is why she still believes she can break this curse. She knows Calia lives.”
Dread pooled low in my gut. Good gods, this was much bigger than I ever imagined.
In my mother’s hands, this weapon had the power to bring about the destruction of the gods and, with it, the world. This held so much more weight than the curse ever had, but what good was the power of the world if you could not act on it whenever you pleased?
A heavy silence descended, our faces paling as our guests looked on. “Yes,” Castor said gruffly. “Calia did not know the power of the weapon she possessed until later, but I had surmised Leonora’s knowledge from the panic I witnessed in her expression as she beheld the dagger in my hand. Though she knew Calia would survive the damage, it would not have been safe for her to return and be easily accessible.” He lowered his gaze, but I swore I saw a hint of remorse cross his features before it disappeared. “I could not risk her safety if your loyalty was aligned with Leonora.”
And gods, though I ached more than I had a right to, I understood his confession for what it was: an apology.
Castor was not the type to admit faults, for in his eyes, he had none. But recognizing what he had done was more than I ever thought I would receive. It was enough to know he had done it for Calia and her safety—even if it was out of doubt for where my loyalties lay.
I shifted my gaze to my wife, who refused to return the gesture. She stared at her lap, running the tip of a nail along the finger that once housed my ring.
The ring, which I realized, I had never confessed having painstakingly spent days selecting in the hope of capturing the spirit of a woman I had never met.
A territorial instinct reared its ugly head, but now was not the time for me to free it. Perhaps there would never be a time for it again.
“Of course, that is neither here nor there,” Elios said. “A tale for another day, perhaps. But this is where our story takes a turn. One of grave importance.
Calix tried, for many years, to dispel the vampyric uprising, until he had no choice but to beseech the gods for help. He asked for a solution to quell the turmoil plaguing his land that he had been unable to do on his own. However, the gods did not answer his plea.”
“But he was their chosen,” Rowena interjected. “Why would they abandon him in his time of need, especially when they didn’t want their time of peace to be broken?”
