The veins in Syrena’s neck tightened, straining as she tried to reel in her temper. She hadn’t told Esmyra the truth of velsinyte’s antidote.
Velsinyte was forged from the blood of Asyris, the Divine of Life and Death, the source of all divinity and destruction. Infused with that ancient essence, velsinyte wasn’t merely designed to harm gods, but to unravel them to their core. By body, soul, and magic alike. Once it entered a god’s veins, it corrupted from within, twisting their very nature until their power began to devour itself.
Without removal, overtime the substance would turn its victim into nothing more than a living husk, even without being stabbed in the heart. A god without power would be a shadow of divinity, cursed to remember eternity while bound by mortality.
The only known cure was just as rare and divine: the blood of another god, freely given. Only something born of the same origin could counteract the rot left by the curse.
And of all the gods of Rymelle, only Naerysa and Kaelypso possessed the ability to draw the cursed substance from its victim’s veins. Their magic, with their ability to wield the tides, could slip between the folds of spirit and flesh to gently pull the poison free.
It was how Syrena was able to heal Esmyra’s cut when she first arrived in Maerinys. But that had been a mere, shallow flesh wound. This was now something entirely different, and Esmyra’s body was riddled with holes and lesions.
“What is he talking about?” Esmyra asked.
Syrena blinked through her racing thoughts and cleared her throat before lowering herself to the floor next to them. “These wounds have been left to fester, and their edges are blackened. There’s a possibility even the cleansing tides of Naerysa’s power may not be enough to reach the heart of this infection, dear sister.”
“Indeed,” Azarian added. “But only if the velsinyte’s essence has rooted itself too deeply.”
Esmyra swallowed. “Andbloodis the only cure for this?”
“The blood of another god. Obviously it cannot be your own, for that is what’s being corrupted.”
Esmyra let out a huff and dramatically threw her head back. “Why can’t any of these things be fixed with a normal salve and call it a day?”
Syrena and Azarian both just stared at her in silence, unamused.
She slowly brought her stare back to them and sighed. “Aye, then. If you must.”
Syrena held out her webbed, taloned hands above Esmyra as she lay between Azarian’s legs, summoning the velsinyte curse to extract itself. Slowly, the onyx veins plaguing her body began to retreat to the sites of the wounds. Her sister let out a hiss, wincing a few times from what she could only assume was pain. The vile black substance lifted from them, levitating in the air above Esmyra, and Syrena guided it into a nearby vase perched on a column.
The once vibrant florals it held wilted the moment she placed the poison within it.
“Gods, that’s disgusting,” Esmyra said, squeezing her eyes shut. “I’ll never get used to that.”
“And hopefully it’s not something you’llhaveto get used to.”
“Thank you,” she said, though a slight tremor remained in Esmyra’s body as the curse leisurely faded from her darkened veins.
The velsinyte’s stench stuffed itself in Syrena’s nostrils. It was sharp, metallic, acrid with the memory of their past long buried. The sight of it writhing beneath Esmyra’s skin pulled something jagged from her chest.
The feeling wasn’t pity. She would never have it in herself to feel that for anyone, let alone the sister she loathed.
It wasfear.
Syrena’s—or Naerysa’s—memory of the last time this poison had been unleashed upon them had bile climbing her throat. She remembered how it ate through their power like acid, how even the screams of gods had gone silent once it was plunged into their hearts.
Her eyes dropped to Esmyra, chest rising and falling rapidly as her body healed. Syrena couldn’t help but think how her sister deserved this.
Kaelypso was radiant, desired by the only male Naerysa had loved, and her power was untouchable until that male betrayed them both. And then Esmyra had lived several lifetimes thriving above the waves while Syrena rotted in the pits of the depths.
“They deserve this agonizing living death.” Naerysa’s thoughts surfaced like a bitter tide.
Kaelypso and Esmyra deserved it. Every inch of pain. Every crack of failing power.
But they couldn’t die. Not yet.
Syrena hated this. HatedEsmyra, but she needed her. They needed Kaelypso’s power to complete what Naerysa had set out to do long ago.
Once the healing was finished, she glanced down, watching as Esmyra’s flesh mended itself. Which meant the velsinyte curse was no longer in her bloodstream.
