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Another fissure cut through my chest. “Yes.”
Eather crackled from his eyes as light began streaking through the swirling shadows winding up his back. The breath I took formed a misty, puffy cloud in the space between us. “Your training. Your grooming.” The tips of his fangs became visible as his lips peeled back. “All of what you’ve done from the day you were born until this very moment was to become my weakness?”
Pressure clamped my chest. I couldn’t answer. It was like all the air had been sucked out of the chamber, and what was left was too cold and thick to breathe. A burn started in my core, spreading to my throat as the eather-laced shadows took shape behind him, forming wings.
I was going to die.
I knew that then as I stared into those so-very-still, dead eyes. I couldn’t even blame him for it. I stood before him because I’d planned on killing him. I’d always known my death would come at his hands or because I had ended his life.
“You,” he said, his voice a whisper of night, his hand sliding over my jaw. His palm pressed against the side of my throat. He tilted my head back, and I was no longer looking up at Ash. This was a Primal. The Primal of Death. He was Nyktos to me now. “You had to know you would not have walked away from this, even if you had succeeded. You’d be dead the moment you pulled that fucking shadowstone blade from my chest.
“Ash,” Nektas said, his voice close.
The Primal didn’t move. He didn’t blink as he stared down at me. “Does your life hold no value to you at all?”
I jolted.
“Ash,” Nektas repeated as Reaver made a soft sound.
The eather lashed through his eyes. The mass of shadows collapsed around him as he slowly lifted his hands from me. He stood there for a moment, his features far too stark, and then he took a step back.
Knees weak and heart racing, I sagged against the wall. “I…I’m—”
“Don’t you fucking apologize,” Nyktos snarled. “Don’t you dare—”
A horn blew from somewhere outside, the blast echoing through the palace. Another sounded. I jerked away from the wall. “What is that?”
“A warning.” Nyktos was already turning away from me. “We’re under siege.”
Chapter 36
“The ripple of power was felt.” Bele was on her feet.
I peeled away from the wall as the rest of the gods rose. “Do you think it—do you think it’s Kolis?”
No one looked at me. Only Nektas. “He would not come himself,” he answered as Jadis lifted her head, yawning. “He would send others.”
“If he did come for you, you would get what you so desperately seek for yourself.” Nyktos looked over his shoulder. “Your death.”
My chest twisted as the iciness of his words fell upon me. They stung. There was no denying that.
“Saion—go find out what you can. I will meet you by the stables. Rhahar. Bele. Go with him. Speak no word of what you’ve learned in here. None,” Nyktos ordered. “Understood?”
The three gods obeyed, quickly leaving the room. None of them looked in my direction.
“I will take the younglings to safety.” Nektas motioned for Reaver to join him. “Just in case I was right about who has come to our shores. We will join you as soon as they’re safe.”
Nyktos nodded, his back to me as Nektas went to the door. Jadis’s head rested on her father’s shoulder, and she gave me a sleepy wave as she passed. The little wave… I didn’t know why, but it carved at my heart. The look her father sent me froze that knife in there.
I think I will call you one of my own.
I sucked in a shrill breath. I doubted Nektas felt that way now. Why would he? I came here, plotting to kill the Primal that he considered family.
Aios rose, sending a hasty look in my direction, “I’ll go check on Gemma. Make sure the sirens haven’t woken her and deal with that if they have.”
“Thank you,” Nyktos replied, taking one of the short swords from the wall. He secured it to his hip then grabbed a dagger next, sliding it into his boot. A long, sheathed sword went over his back, hilt downward.
“What are we going to do with her?”
My head jerked to Ector, who had asked the question. “I can help.”
Slowly, Nyktos faced me as Rhain’s brows flew up. There was nothing but endless coldness in his stare. I fought the urge to step away from him.
“I can.” I forced my voice steady. “I’m trained with an arrow and sword.”
He sneered. “Of course, you are.”
I flinched as the sharp, slicing motion cut even deeper into my heart, leaving its own kind of mark. The burn returned to my throat, crowding my eyes as a burst of something bitter and hard swelled inside me. I couldn’t take in air. The rawness clogged my throat. I couldn’t allow it. I shut it down. Shut it all down. Breathe in. In my mind, I slipped on that veil. It was harder than all the times before, and it felt flimsy and sheer, in a way it never had. Hold. I became nothing but the blank canvas, an empty vessel that couldn’t be hurt by words or actions outside of the ones I caused myself.
