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The Astra Planeta again. Motions clipped, Rathbone removed his apron, giving the mátia an unrestricted view of his guest. “Let me guess. You are a kind, benevolent being here to aid my quest to ensure Lore’s well-being.”
“I’m honest enough to admit I’m neither kind nor benevolent,” the god replied with a cunning grin. “But. I’m certain we can aid each other. I seek to destroy the Astra Planeta, after all, and you wish to obtain revenge against the one who killed your wife the first time...who just happens to be Azar. As you can see, our end goals are aligned.”
Rathbone arched a brow. “If you expect me to believe you or assume I need your assistance, you prove only your stupidity.” This wasn’t the first accusation to come forth against the supposed assassin. Those who wished to manipulate him into trouncing their enemies used to reach out daily. The claims had stopped when he consistently exterminated everyone involved, including the messengers.
“Oh, no,” Erebus said with a shake of his head. “I would assume nothing about you or anyone else. Iknowyou need my assistance. I’ve glimpsed a myriad of futures and without me, your darling Lore meets her ultimate end one way or another. And I don’t expect you to trust me—yet. That will come. Consider this a token of my good faith.”
Cunning smile reemerging, Erebus tossed something small and white in Rathbone’s direction. As it soared through the air, it slipped from the spirit realm into the natural, becoming solid. He caught it and jolted, his breath hitching. In his palm rested a metatarsal with a swirlingXchiseled in its center. The smallest mark of the Song of Life. Not a fake, either. Every cell in his body vibrated with welcome, as if a part of him had come home at long last.
“During your war with the Astra, I can be of further use to you,” Erebus said, confident. “How much further is up to you. For now, I’ll leave you with a nugget about your future. Once the warlords are officially informed of your involvement, Azar will pay you a visit. You will give chase. One day, you’ll notice your wife’s face tattooed on his body. When you do, don’t allow yourself to stare. You’ll become trapped in the memory of her death, and Azar will endyou.”
“Or the memory proves your involvement.” Always a possibility. “You fear me too much to take me on.”
Erebus chuckled. “Fear you, puppy? No. Heed my warning or don’t. Until we speak again, great king.” The god bowed at the waist then vanished by choice rather than force.
Rathbone’s mátia remained glued to the tiny bone resting in the palm of his hand. After all these centuries. For too long, his life had been a puzzle missing pieces: incomplete. Now...
One step closer.
Deep in the tattered remains of his heart, hope sparked anew. To bring Lore back...to finally taste vengeance for her death... He would doanything.
A sense of urgency bloomed. Rathbone closed his fingers around the precious bone and flashed to his secret room. A doorless chamber beneath his palace, with bejeweled walls, colorful tapestries, and ornate adornments collected across the ages. Two golden thrones perched upon a round dais. A his and hers. Lore’s remains were preternaturally anchored to her seat, bathed in eternal torchlight.
The moisture in his mouth dried as he lowered to his knees and set the metatarsal in its proper place, completing her right foot. Oh, the satisfaction...
Trembling, he petted her femur. “Forgive me for the delay, sweetness.” How he missed her gentle nature and even gentler touch. “Today marks a new day for us.” If any of what Erebus had said was true, the Astra named Azar was soon to die screaming.
Craving answers, Rathbone flashed to Harpina. Not to find Neeka, but to seek out this Azar. To observe and study. Having visited the land upon occasion, he had only to picture the palace to materialize inside it. He shifted his appearance mid teleport, arriving as a tattered book in the royal library.
A crowd of harpies stalked the aisles. As intended, none noticed him. Few beings ever did when he took an inanimate form. He looked and listened, hunting his prey. Flashing deeper into the palace, he transformed into whatever fit the aesthetic. A forgotten dagger. An oval mirror on the wall. An at-home guillotine. Eventually, his search proved fruitful. He caught whispered conversations about a “sexy slice of man beef,” which ultimately led him to the Memory Keeper’s private bedroom. Antique furnishings had been pushed against the walls to make space for gym equipment.
On the mantel in the shape of a cat figurine, Rathbone studied the object of his interest. A big man. Black and bearded. Azar wore a short-sleeved T-shirt, hiding any tattoos that decorated his torso. Different faces marked his arms. Those images moved, jumping from one location to another. None belonged to the unrivaled Lore.
Incredible power radiated from the Astra, creating a force field of some sort. He bench pressed over six tons at a speed almost too swift to track. Under his breath, he rasped, “Forget. Forget. Forget.”
Forget what?And how can I exploit the information?
Suddenly the Astra erupted from the bench, a tri-pronged dagger in each hand. He scanned the room, the tattoos on his arms freezing in place. Utter calm and icy determination overtook him.
Never, in all Rathbone’s days, had he beheld sharper focus on another warrior. No doubt this soldier cataloged every detail around him, large and small.
Azar’s gaze shot to the cat figurine and narrowed.
He senses me? Shock punched Rathbone. No one sensed him. Now, he simmered with indecision. Stay or go?
Better question: Had the Memory Keeper killed Lore or not? Would he come for her once her bones were reunited?
As the Astra stalked closer to Rathbone, vines of resolve pierced centuries of disappointment and frustration, growing thicker, harsher, bringing a new purpose to his existence. Suddenly, his objective became clear. Protect the bones he owned, whatever the cost, and locate the rest, finally gifting his kingdom with its queen. Then, in homage, lay Lore’s killer at her feet.
He refused to team up with Erebus, regardless of the god’s astonishing gift. The Deathless’s treachery was too well-known. But the harpy-oracle, Neeka... She was a mystery. A possibility.
Was she an ally worth having? He would find out. Perhaps she despised the Astra for what they’d done to her people and her world. Maybe she’d seen the future and opted to side with the winner. Whatever the reason for contacting Rathbone...
He would dig into her life, hunt her down, and force a face-to-face.
2
Neeka the Unwanted, harpy-oracle extraordinaire, gold star entrepreneur, and all-around genius, thank you, glanced at the ex-husband who despised her. She couldn’t blame him for his sentiment, considering she had murdered him on three separate occasions. Though she only accepted blame for the first death. Her version of a divorce. It wasn’t her fault the Phoenix lord continually rose from the dead.
