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“What?” The god froze.
“A glass cock,” I said with a smile, driving the blade down.
The shadowstone cut just below the bulge of glass protruding from the base of his skull, silencing whatever the god was about to say. The blade cleaved through bone and tissue with little resistance, ending the rapidly building power.
Stepping back, I ignored the warm pulse of the embers—the urge to undo what I’d done. To restore life, not take it.
But that wasn’t going to happen.
Sword in hand, I turned to the door, finding a sunlight-filled hall—a breezeway of sorts. Closing the door behind me, my gaze darted to the leafy palms beyond the rounded archways. Ahead was another door, and to my left, a solid wall made of gold and marble. Fine cracks had formed webs all along the surface.
I didn’t want to go farther inside if this was Cor Palace. But what if Ash was being held somewhere in there? Kolis had ordered Attes to take him to the cells. The House of Haides in the Shadowlands had cells beneath the sprawling structure. So did Wayfair Castle, my home in the mortal realm.
“Shit.”
I probably should’ve attempted to question the guard first. Then again, that wouldn’t have been wise. It would’ve only given the god time to use eather, and that was something I couldn’t fight.
I had a choice to make, and I had to decide quickly. Go into the palm trees and see where that led, or travel farther into the palace.
Ash would not be in the palms.
Grip firming on the sword’s hilt, I stalked forward. A warm breeze wafted through the opening, sending several pale curls speckled with blood across my face. I reached the door at the end of the hall and yanked it open.
It was a chamber—a bedchamber—darkened by drawn, heavy curtains. The smell of stale lilacs was strong here, and I had a sinking suspicion this was Kolis’s room.
Situated against one wall was a large, unmade bed. Clothing lay strewn across the floor. White pants. Tunics. Bowls of fruit sat on a dining table. Crystal decanters were everywhere: on the nightstand, the table, and the end tables by a large sofa, some half full of amber-hued liquid, others empty.
Did Kolis overindulge to help him forget the atrocities he committed? I snorted. That would mean he actually felt bad about what he did, and from what I’d seen and knew, I didn’t think that was the case.
I headed for the double, gold-plated doors and pushed one side open.
A wider, absurdly long hall greeted me, windows and alcoves lining one side and doors on the other. Either luck or the Fates were on my side today because the hall was empty, and no hot, breathy sounds came from the alcoves as they had when Ash and I had first come to Dalos.
I went forward, trying each door as I passed. Some were locked. Those that weren’t were either completely empty spaces or contained only narrow beds, barely more than cots. Some rooms held four to five of them.
I didn’t want to even think about what those chambers and beds were for.
I kept going, searching for any door that may lead to a stairwell, all the while afraid that it would be like the House of Haides, where the entrance to the underground level was near the study and close to the throne room.
Well aware that Callum could wake at any moment, I picked up my pace, trying door after door until I found one that opened into a narrower corridor. I entered, scanning the numerous wider openings framed by gold-plated columns on both sides of the hall. My skin tingled as I picked up on the whispering sound of cloth.
My steps slowed when I neared an opening to my left. I peered around one of the columns and felt the air leave my lungs in an unsteady rush.
I had to be right about being in Cor Palace.
Because all I saw was white.
White robes and veils that covered nearly every inch of those inside the sunny, airy space. There had to be dozens of them. They stood by windows, sat on thick, ivory-and-gold-tasseled cushions. If any of them spoke, they did so quietly.
They were the Chosen, brought to Iliseeum during the Rite to serve the Primals and their gods. Because they were the third sons and daughters, they had more essence of the gods in their blood than their siblings did, which allowed them to be Ascended into godhood—a tradition revered in the mortal realm and once honored in Iliseeum for the purpose it served. It replenished the realm of gods with those who remembered what it was like to be mortal.
But none of them Ascended. Not since Eythos ruled.
Now, the Chosen were ushered into a waking nightmare.
Gemma, one of the Chosen Ash had saved, said that many of them went missing. Most didn’t return, but those who did? They didn’t come back the same. They became something cold and starved, moving only in dark spaces. Holland had called them Craven, what I believed the poor seamstress Andreia had been turned into.
Something clicked into place as I watched them lift their veils, only enough to drink from crystal chalices. Could the Revenants have been Chosen at one time also?
