Page 127 of Kneel Before Me

He frowned. Kronos had not been that close to death. It should not take just one siphoning to drain him of all his power. That meant something had gone wrong. Either someone else had killed Kronos in the short time since Caspen left him or he had gotten an influx of power that was strong enough to heal the bite. His frown deepened.

Caspen stood, crossing to the fire and pouring himself a glass of wine. Basilisks could not get drunk on anything other than elixir, but he had always enjoyed the taste of wine. He sipped it slowly, staring into the flames.

This was a problem. Of that Caspen had no doubt. If he was unable to siphon from Kronos—if the Seneca had somehow figured out a way to counteract the bite—Caspen was left with fewer options than he had started out with.

By the time Caspen finally managed to sleep, he was worried.

By the time he woke up, he was in a state of panic. What if the bite did not debilitate Kronos? What if somehow it made him more powerful? There was magic here at work—magic Caspen himself did not understand. Perhaps it was the will of Kora. Or perhaps it was something else. Something stronger. How had the Seneca managed this?

Caspen rose and quickly walked through the passageways, his mood growing darker with every step. The vial room was packed full of basilisks; Caspen had to push through them in order to reach the vials. His father’s vial was full to the brim, his blood dark and viscous, pulsing gently against the glass. Caspen scanned the other vials, his heartbeat slamming in his chest. There was no question: the second highest belonged to Kronos. Worse still, Apollo was right after him. Caspen closed his eyes. It was a disaster beyond comprehension. Whatever Kronos had done to protect himself from the bite had increased his rank. This was very very bad.

“You did not do as I said.” His father’s voice came from behind him. “You did not crest him.”

Caspen opened his eyes. “I could not,” he said simply.

“You would not. We are the choices we make, Caspenon.”

Caspen only shook his head. He did not want to be this choice.

Before he could reply, Apollo appeared. A slow, smug smile stretched his cheeks as his eyes scanned the vials, falling finally on Caspen’s. “Losing your touch, Caspenon?”

Caspen rolled his shoulders. Here, standing between his father and his brother, he was trapped.

“Not only are you ranked below Kronos,” Bastian continued, “but you are ranked below your own brother. Perhaps Apollo would be better suited for the task. Shall I ask him to take care of the Seneca in your stead?”

His words cut Caspen like a knife. He had always been the better brother, the more capable brother. Apollo was not the one their father turned to in times of crisis—he was not the one who could get things done. That had always been Caspen. He was the older brother—the one who was capable of great things. Now he wondered whether that was truly the case. Had he simply crested Kronos, this would all be over. Had he simply done the thing he feared doing, they would not be having this conversation.

“You can trust me, Father,” Apollo said.

Caspen closed his eyes. This was unacceptable. There was no world in which Apollo would step up when he did not.

“Or perhaps,” Bastian continued, his voice cold, “I have raised sons who are incapable of doing what it takes to be king.”

The knife twisted. Caspen knew he had what it took to be king. But he was beginning to wonder whether the path there was worth traveling. He turned to Apollo.

“Is that truly who you wish to become?” Caspen asked, ignoring his father and speaking only to his brother. “Someone who kills their own kind?”

Apollo straightened. “The Senecas are not our own kind.”

Caspen shook his head. “As king, you would rule over both quivers.”

“And what do either of you know about being king?” Bastian interjected. “You cannot even obey your own father.”

“My father,” said Caspen pointedly, “asks the impossible.”

“My son is a coward.”

Tense silence fell. Apollo’s mouth was twisted into a smirk. Caspen knew he loved every moment of this.

“The next time I tell either of you to do something,” Bastian growled, “you had better fucking do it.” He disappeared, leaving Caspen and Apollo staring at each other.

“You disgrace our family,” Apollo said.

Caspen let out a blunt laugh. “And you disgrace yourself.”

“How? By offering to do what you cannot?”

“By being a sheep.”