Ascending through the clouds, her captor’s white wings, bare torso, and light-grey haired lower centaur body blended in flawlessly with the clouds. It was likely how her enemy had remained hidden from them as he hunted them down.
‘The poor pegasus. He did not deserve such an end.’
Tears welled in her eyes at the thought of the fierce, wild-hearted beast that met its end defending her. He had tried so desperately to fly them both to safety. Her kindred, strong-willed spirit who would never fly fearlessly again. Without Agnes to garner her enemy’s attention, he might have managed to escape. That thought sent guilt pooling in her stomach. She mentally added it to the list of all the things she needed to make amends for.
Agnes winced as another sharp stab of pain jarred through her as the pterocentaur banked a hard right. The King’s guard flared his wings to lower their speed, then glided silently onto one of the lower-level balconies of the castle.
They were not alone.
The pterocentaur guard dropped Agnes unceremoniously on the hard sandstone floor. Screaming from the impact, Agnes nearly fainted from the surge of agony as the arrow in her chest impaled further, breaking clean through her back. Stars flashed and her vision dotted as she gasped, tears tracking down her cheeks.
Had she not garnered the Goddess of Blood and Bone’s favor five years ago, she would have been subjected to an eternity of torment. Yet here she was in blinding agony, helpless, powerless. If the King commanded it, her fate would be worse than death. Agnes could not imagine such torturous agony for all eternity. She would give anything, do anything, for the pain to end. She wished desperately that Thorn would somehow find her and save her. He was the only one who would care if she were gone.
Agnes was done with all the games. She was sick of enduring. She wanted the pain and all of it to end. She didn’t care about her own life. As long as Thorn was safe it was all that mattered. She just wanted to close her eyes and never wake to another horrifying day.
With one steel-capped hoof, the winged guard kicked Agnes where she lay, flipping her over onto her back. She grunted as another wave of intolerable pain coursed through her body. Without warning, he grasped the shaft of the arrow, gave it a decent twist to entice even greater pain within her, and then yanked it out with one fierce pull.
Agnes screamed, her voice now hoarse, blood pooling from the wound in waves. In the absence of the arrow, a gaping hole in her chest remained. She had never wanted to be in spirit form so much as this moment. Agnes drew blood as she bit down hard on her lip, not wanting to give the guard the satisfaction of hearing her suffer anymore. She would not appear weak before those who wished her harm. She may have reached the limit; it was true she would welcome oblivion, but she would not give her captors the satisfaction of seeing her squirm anymore.
“Bring her here,” an ancient voice spat from within the confines of the room.
Fear and dread overcame her. Agnes knew that voice, knew that rich accent all too well. The voice that was so much like his son’s. A pang of heartache ripped through her chest at the thought of the God who was nothing like his sadistic father.
The pterocentaur grasped Agnes by the hair and yanked her across the hard floor through the balcony entrance. The guard’s hand, fisted amongst her blonde hair, tore hair from her scalp as he tugged her further into the room, discarding her at the foot of her enemy.
‘Holy rutting Gods.’
“You,” Archè growled.
All false pretense was abandoned as the true face of the King of the Gods stared down at Agnes. The same Deity who banished each of his children to different realms, so they could not challenge his seat of power. Before Agnes was a male who would do anything to save himself.
“Me,” Agnes droned in return, quirking an eyebrow.
She had nothing left to give but this one ounce of defiance. Her body ached, her wound was agonizing. Had she been human, she was sure vital organs would have been ruptured and she’d be dead long ago. Unfortunately, whatever miracle had prevented her from feeling pain upon her arrival had died off along with the Deities’ powers. Perhaps it had been the Gods and not the realm that had prevented her from such discomfort. It explained how Thorn had been able to harm her during her interrogation…
Quivering, battered and bruised and shielded behind her husband, was Aria. Beneath the firelight of the single lit candle, the Queen of the Gods was a mere shadow of the female she had been earlier that day. Agnes could not help the smirk that drew upon her lips at the sight of how far the pair had fallen. Even though she felt remorse for the role she had played in the countless innocent lives lost today, she was still glad to see their Rule come to an end. She had helped to bring down an entire dynasty, and now she would pay dearly for it, just like she deserved. She only prayed to the universe that Archè lost his temper and destroyed her quickly.
A noise sounded at the door, drawing the room’s attention. Someone, or something, rattled the handle, trying to break the lock. Thumping sounded and the door shook as the mystery intruder tried to break into the room.
Archè launched for Agnes, grabbing her by the scruff of the neck to hold a blade to her throat. The blade would not kill her, but it would hurt, and it would convey his message clearly enough.
Perhaps decapitating her in this form could result in wiping her from eternity. Perhaps not only magic was needed to accomplish the task. For the first time, she had no answer, and despite her resignation that she was ready to depart the afterlife, it scared her.
There was so much more Agnes realized she wanted to accomplish, and there is no better motivator than death. Nothing more clarifying than facing down the blade. A flame awoke inside her, breathing purpose into Agnes despite the agonizing pain coursing through her. There were so many more experiences she wanted to have before she inevitably passed into the ether. She wanted desperately to spend more time with Thorn. She wanted to see what the future beheld for them both, either as a friendship or perhaps something more. Perhaps by some miracle there was the possibility of a better afterlife in store for her.
The pterocentaur guard stepped before his master and captive, prepared to do whatever it took to defend his Rulers at all costs.
‘If the stupid fool knew what was good for him, he would abandon his masters and seek refuge in the sky. He will die for his loyalty to these monsters.’ Agnes rolled her eyes despite her dire circumstances.
Then the guard drew the bow from his back and notched an arrow into place. Pulling the string back, he took aim at whatever was about to crash through the now splintering door. Aria hid behind her husband, as if she could make herself invisible through sheer willpower.
Finally, the door burst open, its hinges ripped clean off the frames. With a heavy thud it landed on the floor before them and in stalked the Goddess of Blood and Bone, riding Zeri in chimera form. Nushka’s shadows writhed with the promise of vengeance.
The Goddess of Blood and Bone grinned in feral delight, claws extended as fluid leaked down the pterocentaur’s hind legs. To his credit he did not balk at her presence as he released the arrow from its notch.
Nushka’s wicked grin only broadened as she stopped the arrow midair with her dark magic, turning it back on its wielder. The arrow found its mark in the guard’s loyal heart and the mighty winged centaur crumpled to the ground.
He did not rise again.
*
26
The Goddess of Blood and Bone
The battle, if you could even call it that, had been over just as quickly as it had begun.
Above, in the banquet hall bound with vines, the surviving Deities awaited their fate. Hyacinth fortunately remained amongst the living, though many of her coven did not. She was now in charge of over-seeing their captives. The High Witch’s gaze was now a little less bright.
Nushka felt a slither of remorse cross her blackened heart for the witches. Their clan had suffered the greatest number of casualties of all the wicked creatures in her army. As hard
as the blow would be to Hyacinth, she had known the cost of war, had likely anticipated this very scenario, and yet she had still led her clan into battle. The mighty wendigast race was now on the verge of extinction.
All those who died in service of the Dark Queen would be welcomed into Moor as war heroes. Quarters would be allocated for them in the bone castle, in the same wing as Nushka’s favored departed souls. In Moor, they would be free to live out their eternities in whatever depraved manner they saw fit. For many of her followers, that would be enough to placate their remaining living kin. For the wendigast clan, an existence in Moor without access to their former magic would not satisfy.
Nushka had pondered offering the departed wendigast souls the opportunity to ascend to the Afterworld should they wish it, but Hyacinth had objected to the idea. She assured the Goddess of Blood and Bone that her departed coven sisters, who would no longer have anything to fear from the lava plains, would be more comfortable amongst their likeminded kind in The Pitts. It could never replace the freedom and magic they had formerly treasured, but it was a good offer, nonetheless.
Nushka had promised Hyacinth that, unlike many who resided in Moor, the fallen wendigast would never be subjected to pain of any kind. Later she would decree it in writing with her blood; a binding contract in the eyes of the immortals. It was the least Nushka could do to repay them for their service and sacrifice.
The Dark Queen, as a rare gesture of good will, then extended an open invitation to Hyacinth to return to Moor as she saw fit to help her fallen sisters’ transition into their new homes. It was the only time she had ever treated her entrusted souls with genuine compassion, and she could tell Hyacinth appreciated the thought, though neither would speak of it. To acknowledge such kindness would be weak, and the two women were anything but.
Astride Zeri, Nushka surveyed the room and its inhabitants with utter revulsion. Two peuchen, at her telepathic summons, landed on the balcony on the other side of the room, sending aftershocks through the floor. They informed their Dark Queen mind-to-mind that the pegasus and their riders had been dealt with. There were no survivors. The Goddess of Blood and Bone nodded her head in acknowledgement. The ruthlessness of their actions sent a chill of delight down her spine.
‘You have done your Dark Queen a great service,’ Nushka praised them in return.
All exits were blocked. Not that Archè or Aria stood a chance of escaping. Deprived of his powers, her father sneered at her, dagger pressed to Agnes’s chin.
“What in the Afterworld do you think you are doing, Archè?” Nushka asked perplexed, whilst scratching behind her pet’s ears. Her sharp claws remained extended in warning.
Archè arrogantly straightened, drawing Agnes closer now, droplets of blood beading at her neck. A large, open wound gaped in her chest.
‘Interesting…’ she mused.
“What is it that you hope to achieve through this ridiculous display?” she chuckled darkly. “I hold your people captive. Your pterocentaur guards are all dead. No one is coming to rescue you.” She smiled wickedly, savoring the bloodlust still coursing through her veins.
Aria tried and failed to make herself even smaller behind her husband. Such a coward. From Ruler of the Gods to powerless immortal. Such a fall. The thought filled Nushka with wicked delight.
Nushka tilted her head, pressing her lips together in thought.
“Once all this is over, I wonder if I should keep you, Mother, as a pet of sorts. Or, perhaps, you would prefer to be my own personal servant? I could even give you the choice if you like. Pet or servant? Which will it be?” the Goddess of Blood and Bone taunted, a smile twisting upwards, fangs gleaming.
Nushka’s writhing hair paused as it, too, contemplated which mode of action would be the most fulfilling.
Archè shoved Agnes roughly, drawing a hiss from lips.
“Let us go or I will chop your wretched lover into a million tiny pieces. I do not need magic for that,” Archè spat, pressing the blade further into her neck. A slow stream of blood began to trickle emphasizing his point.
“Lover?” Nushka laughed, sounding perplexed. “Is that what your think she is to me?”
A full belly laugh escaped her, the cruel edge of her humor echoing through the castle. She couldn’t remember the last time something so preposterous had made her laugh.
“Oh, you stupid fool. Why would you think she is my lover?! She is a dispensable pawn in my plan. A toy.” Nushka’s lip curled as Archè’s pupils dilated, her amusement making him see red.
“Go on! Do it then!” she urged, clapping with glee, beaming from ear to ear at the prospect of witnessing such wicked savagery. “Don’t make me wait. Carry out your threats and butcher the girl! I would love to watch. It will save me the effort of having to reward her for helping. You’ll be doing me a favor actually,” she admitted, her face darkening, her shadows uncoiling at her feet.
Agnes’s eyes widened with fear, the hope in them dimming.
To prove her point, Nushka lowered herself gracefully from atop Zeri’s back and stalked toward Agnes. A protective shield of dark shadows formed around her like a second skin. Death would come to any who attempted to penetrate it. Nushka hoped the King would be so bold as to try. It would save her the trouble of getting her hands dirty.
She stopped an arm’s length away from where Archè held Agnes hostage. Beads of perspiration dotted his brow. She could almost feel the anger radiating off him—an echo of his power trying to escape its confines from deep within. But her magic and Hyacinth’s serum had been too thorough. It would take nothing short of a miracle for someone to unravel the spell and, by then, there would be no one left alive to benefit from it anyway.
A sword of solid obsidian emerged in Nushka’s hand, her extended claws wrapping tightly around the hilt. She could end this and pave the way for her new dynasty with one sweep of her sword.
“Stop!” Aria yelled from behind her husband. “You don’t have to do this, Nushka.” She quivered, rising from the ground to stand beside her husband, putting herself directly in harm’s way.
“Lower your weapon, Archè,” Aria commanded in a steely tone Nushka didn’t recognize.
The Queen of the Gods placed a hand reassuringly on her husband’s back. A faint glimmer of pride stirred in Nushka for her mother finally showing some backbone. It was quickly replaced with nausea at the reason why. Archè and Aria’s eyes connected, and Nushka wondered if they could somehow still communicate telepathically despite losing their powers.
“Let her go, darling. We need to surrender. There has been too much bloodshed already. If you do this, she will kill you,” Aria warned, tears welling in her eyes. “And I love you too much to bear existing without you. I could not endure it.”
Disgust crossed Archè’s face at the idea of surrender.
“I will never surrender,” he spat. Aria’s eyes flared alarmingly.
Nushka doubted he had ever surrendered or backed down on anything in his entire existence. The possibility of her parents submitting was not an option the Goddess of Blood and Bone had considered. She was already imaging how she could use her father as a source of entertainment for her wicked subjects. A reward for all their service.
“What a prize you would make… King turned Jester for my beasts,” she cackled. “Well, I suppose I could be merciful… How about this: if you surrender, I promise not to kill you both. I will even allow you and your wife to remain together as a sign of my benevolent kindness. That’s a surprisingly good deal! What do you say?”
Relief washed over Aria’s race and she released the breath she had held. “Thank you Nushka! Thank you! We will do whatever you want. Just please don’t harm us!” Aria begged.
The King flinched, his nose crinkling as his face contorted into a sneer of disgust. “Did you not hear me a second ago?! Do not make promises on my behalf,” Archè reprimanded his wife.
He turned his attention on Nushka, rage welling within him, veins throbbing in his neck as
his face flushed.
“I will never kneel before a whore! You are no daughter of mine. I would rather be abandoned to the ether than kneel to such a wretched beast,” Archè roared.
Zeri growled menacingly behind Nushka, loyally defending its master’s honor. She knew that her pet would delight in ripping the King to shreds and would feast on his flesh and bones afterwards. All she needed to do was call upon them.
Nushka’s lips twisted into a hateful grin, her eyes dark as her blackened heart. She raised her blade reveling in the fear radiating from her parents and handmaiden.
“You won’t surrender?” Nushka asked tauntingly. “You’d rather die than show you daughter an ounce of respect?”
Nushka clucked her tongue, shaking her head.
Eager to teach him a lesson, the Goddess lashed at the King with a whip of her shadows, the strike conveniently also hitting Agnes who he still used as a shield. Both hissed in pain. The latter bowed, causing the knife the King held to slice her neck even deeper. A grimace of pain elicited as tears fell freely from her eyes. The Soul looked pitiful and Nushka took great pleasure in her suffering.
Archè paled, his eyes darting to the blocked balcony exit. The peuchen hissed, slithering slowly closer as if readying to attack.
Aria dropped to her knees, clasping her hands together, begging her, “Stop Nushka! You don’t have to do this! You can have whatever you want, just please let us go.”
Heaving sobs escaped the now hyperventilating Queen as she trembled in undiluted fear. Nushka had never seen her mother beg for anything in her life and to witness her pathetic hysterics was a priceless gift.
“There is nothing you can give me, that I have not already taken for myself. The time for negotiation is over,” she replied with deadly calm.
Her shadows, sensing her growing anticipation as she stalked her prey, gathered around her, inhaling and exhaling in waves of dark magic, ready to strike.
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