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Lore considered telling Him that Nyxara wasn’t here, that She was taking a rest, that She had no interest in talking to Him. But the goddess was stirring at the back of her mind, a churn of darkness cut with moonlight, and Lore knew She wouldn’t stand for that. It’d been centuries since They had actually spoken to each other, as face-to-face as They could get, and it was long past due.
Please, Nyxara said in Lore’s head. Let me.
And Lore knew what she was asking. And she let it happen.
Like before, when she’d allowed the goddess to come forward to read the ancient script at the bottom of Anton’s prophecy, it almost felt like a relief. Like fishing a stone out of your shoe that you hadn’t even known was there, like soothing a muscle that had ached for so long you almost forgot about it. Lore was still present in her mind, still able to hear and see, but everything had the odd resonance of a voice heard underwater, and everything looked like comet-trails, like streaked ink.
But when He touched Her cheek, Lore felt it.
Nyxara in Lore’s body stiffened at the feeling of His palm, scarred with an eclipse. His touches could go from gentle to gouging so quickly.
“My love,” He murmured in Bastian’s voice. “I’ve missed you so much.”
You have a funny way of showing it, Lore said. But it was all in thoughts and feelings, and didn’t come out of her mouth, not while Nyxara had control.
The goddess said nothing, just heaved a shaky sigh.
Apollius stepped closer, His other hand cradling Nyxara’s neck, the same neck He’d so brutally twisted just hours before. “I know You still love Me,” He murmured. “You wouldn’t have done it if You didn’t.”
Done what? Lore asked.
Another shaking sigh, Her answer coming in mind rather than voice. My memories. I didn’t get far enough before the tomb collapsed. I can’t speak of them, I could only show them, and there is more you must know…
The goddess trailed off as Apollius’s finger traced Her lips—Lore’s lips—His eyes fluttering closed, His breath deepening. Lore wanted to shout, wanted to rail at Nyxara that She had to find a way to show Lore the rest of the memories, but it would be pointless. Nyxara was caught in Apollius’s thrall, again. Just like She had been on that island no one should’ve ever found, eons and eons ago. Just a girl who loved someone and was naively surprised to find that love returned, even if darkened, even if hurting.
His forehead tilted against Hers—Bastian’s against Lore’s—and He breathed in deep, like He could draw Her into His lungs, trap Her there. “And because You still love Me,” He said, His hands tightening to a bruising grip, “I’m going to give You one more chance.”
If Lore had been in control of her lungs, she would’ve gasped against the sudden pain. But she wasn’t in charge, and Nyxara just gritted Her teeth, as if She was used to this.
“Be the Sainted Queen,” Apollius murmured. His voice was still so soft, even as His fingers dug in painfully. “Be Mine, forever, like You promised.” He lifted Her hand, the one He’d crushed, and kissed it. Soothing the hurt He caused. “This world was made to serve Us.”
“But it wasn’t,” She breathed, contradicting Him even as She leaned in closer, all the things She loved and hated wrapped up in one being. “It was here before Us. The world, the Fount. They don’t serve Us.”
“They do.” Tightening, again, and She bit Her lip. “I will make them.”
“You will pull at the earth’s foundations and rip them apart.” Nyxara dropped Her eyes, looking at Her hand. At the ring She’d been given, so long ago, the one Apollius had somehow found again and put on this mortal finger. The human She was trapped inside, who loved the human Apollius had taken over. Too much, too much. “You will unravel the very thing You are supposed to rule in search of an eternity You cannot touch.”
“I can touch it. We can. With You by my side, Our power held together, Us and only Us. Death cannot touch Us when We become something beyond it.”
“I know death,” Nyxara said. “It cannot be conquered. Only delayed. And I’ve helped You do that, Apollius. More than I should.”
They stood locked together, a posture that could’ve been passion or pain. It was both. “Give me Your answer,” Apollius said finally. “Say it plain. Will You stand with Me, beloved? Or make Me an enemy?”
Lore wanted to scream, locked inside her own head, but all she could do was shout into the darkness. He doesn’t love You, Nyxara! He wants to own You! It’s not the same thing!
I know, Nyxara sighed into her mind. But they can live together, sometimes.
With Lore’s mouth, She gave Her answer. “No, Apollius,” She whispered. “I won’t.”
Even with the strange, muddled vision that being a passenger in her own head gave her, Lore could still see the sneer cross Apollius’s face. “Well, then,” He said. “What use are You to Me?”
His hand reared back, and curse Her, but Nyxara faded away, unable to face a blow from a god, leaving Lore in control again, screaming forward to take over as Apollius’s hand arced down—
The god snapped sideways just as His hand was about to crack against Lore’s face, the blow falling against a wooden pew instead of flesh with an audible crunch of bone. Apollius growled, low in His throat. Jax started forward, but the god threw out His other hand, halting him.
“You’ll pay for that, boy,” Apollius gritted out. But it was faint, even as His hand began to heal, the bones righting themselves and snapping back into place. He looked up, dark hair falling back from His face.
And the face was Bastian, Bastian looking out of his own eyes.
