But I don't stop. I strike again and again and again. Sweat drips into my eyes and then evaporates. The salty residue obscures my vision. But I am calm now. The sounds of onlookers frantically trying to get out of Mikkos’ way do not reach me. I strike and strike and strike, then parry, then strike again.
Fire meets Fire. I hear the hiss of Water as only a distant note. My mind is focused on Mikkos and Mikkos only. On ending this once and for all. On stopping the poison that my father is spreading throughout Pyrkagia. The poison I see in the Athanatos before me.
We battle. He begins to rage. The angrier he becomes the calmer I am. I am centred. Pyrkagia surges through me. It builds in a crescendo of Elemental power. It dwarfs all those around me. I have him; I know it.
And that is why I miss Melita as she ducks in under Mikkos’ arm and stabs me with a stiletto blade.
Nico stumbles after her. Battered and bloody, his clothes scorched, his eyes wild. For a second, the sight confuses me. Nico is not untalented in battle. He was never a Scout, but then Melita was never a warrior, either. But she has somehow bested him.
And as my vision wavers and my head becomes fuzzy, I realise she has bested me, as well. I stumble. A pain pierces through my chest. I look down and see the stiletto poking out of my left breast, above my heart. My knee hits the dirt. My Pyrkagia flickers. Blood stains my shirt in an ever increasing circle.
I look up at Melita; a woman I at one time loved. I do not see her. I see only the creature she has become. Melita is not who I thought she was. Not merely a betrayer but worse. She holds two more stilettos in her hands. She holds them confidently. She holds them as though she has fought with them for decades.
Or, perhaps, fifteen-hundred years.
Who is this Pyrkagia?
She smirks. Then steps forward. I realise I am still gripping my sword, but the blade is no longer wreathed in flames. I reach for my Stoicheio. But something is wrong. It’s as if it is blocked from me somehow. My free hand comes up to the stiletto. I feel the poison now as it seeps into my body. Works its way through my veins.
My heart beats erratically. Dark smudges appear at the edge of my vision.
I lick my lips. Melita laughs.
“Not so princely now, are you?” she sneers.
“End this,” Mikkos says dismissively.
He has a boot on top of Nico’s chest. My cousin looks unconscious or dead, I cannot tell.
I try one final time to reach my Pyrkagia. I feel nothing.
I cannot see Pisces. I can only pray to Aetheros that he and Aktor managed to get Sonya away. At least my death will count for something. At least Aether’s sword helped save a human. Casey’s human.
Casey.
Strength of a sort surges through me, but it is short-lived. It is only enough for me to lift my chin and whisper, “Hubris.”
I know my whispered word has reached those Pyrkagia still close enough to hear. Perhaps Aetheros has aided me somehow. But then a swirl of scorched dirt turns in lazy circles before me. Air assisted then. I can’t look for Hippolytos; my eyes are all for Melita.
But knowing the Aeras may be near gives me strength.
“Hubris,” I say louder.
“The Rigas is not here to face your accusations,” Melita snarls.
I shake my head. The world tilts alarmingly. Whatever the poison is, it’s working fast. I cannot reach my Pyrkagia. But I also know I am about to lose consciousness. Maybe the final act of the toxin is fatal.
“Not the Rigas,” I manage. “Not this time,” I say.
“End this, Melita,” Mikkos says, but I see it in his eyes. He knows my accusation has weight.
Hubris to the ancient Greeks is an act of shame. For many centuries, hubris has not been called upon in battle. But there are rules. Rules when two sides engage. Honour is important to an Athanatos.
And Melita has dishonoured herself in battle.
Perhaps she does not realise this. Perhaps, not being raised a warrior, she does know the old ways. She has clearly had training since we last met. But from whom, I cannot say. And they have failed her. Because Melita has made a grave mistake.
“Hubris,” I say again, this time it is spat at her.
She blinks. I do not spell it out for her. Using poison during an honourable battle is a death sentence. I can’t stand, but I manage to lift my sword enough to point the tip at Melita’s face.
She looks to Mikkos. His face is blank.
I pull the sword back, and it is when I have the tip at its furthest point, readying for the strike, that she acts.
Darting forward, she raises one of her stilettos and lets out a cry of rage.
Mikkos shouts something. It’s not a warning to me but to her.
It is too late.
I roll to the side, just missing the poison coated tip of her weapon, and swing my sword with what is left of my strength.
I am thankful my eyelids are too heavy to remain open. And then I chide myself because even in death, Melita deserves to be looked in the face. But I cannot open them. I cannot move again. I lie on my side, expecting Mikkos to end me.
Melita may have deserved her sentence, but I also deserve to pay.
Chapter Fourteen
Do Your Worst
I hear Pyrkagia screaming. My people wail and rage. For a moment, in my compromised state of mind and body, I think their fury is at me. But there are swords clashing, and Stoicheio swelling, and an answering fury that ignites the atmosphere as if Pyrkagia itself is about to combust.
I struggle to open my eyes. My chest is aching. The stiletto fell out during my final confrontation with Melita, but the wound still bleeds. I am lightheaded. Nauseated. My blood beats sluggishly through my veins.
Then Noah’s voice reaches me. His hands are gentle but urgent. He rolls me onto my back, and I let out a pitiful groan. My eyes flicker open, my breath catches. I shudder as pain consumes my body.
“Easy, your Highness,” Noah says.
And still there are swords clanging and Pyrkagia flaring and my people wailing.
“I have to stop this,” I mumbled.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Noah rebukes.
“Pyrkagia,” I whisper.
“There’s nothing you can do for it now.”
My eyes close on those desolate words. I have failed my people. I don't even know if my actions saved the human. If I’ll reach Casey ever again and bask in her gratitude. Right at this moment, it feels like I have failed everyone.
My father still lives. Mikkos is killing my friends. And the poison is slowly killing me.
“Do you trust me, your Highness?” Noah is saying.
I shake my head.
“Well,” he adds, “you’ve really not got much of a choice in the matter.”
He’s not wrong. I can no longer feel my legs. I try to clench my fist, to determine if I am still holding on to my sword. But I can’t feel my fingers, either.
Noah looks down at me, the night sky full of so many stars behind his head. He holds my gaze for a long moment. So long, I expect at any second for Mikkos to make it through my guard.
“Let him have me,” I whisper.
Noah’s turn to shake his head.
“Not on my watch,” he says, then adds, “She is ours to protect.”
Casey.
I blink up at him, but the pain is too much now; it distracts; makes it difficult to see anything but a haze of red.
“And if she is ours to protect,” Noah says. “Then her sword is, too.”
“What?” I manage.
“Forgive me,” he says, and then whispers, his voice sounding strange, “strychnos toxifera.”
And I feel nothing. Can do nothing. The bastard Alchemist has used a Gi toxin on me to paralyse my frame.
I can see. I can hear. I can think. But I cannot slay.
“Now,” he says, and then I see Hippolytos.
Has the Aeras betrayed me, as well?
Where are Nico and Isadora? Is the Nero monster in on this
too?
I struggle, but the effort is only in my mind, my body does not obey. I stare daggers at the two men above me. My vision better now that I cannot feel the pain.
And then Hip’s eyes flash white, and his hand grips my shoulder. Although I cannot feel it, I can certainly see it; fingers digging into flesh.
And then lightning strikes and takes me away.
From the ring of metal on blade, from the swell of Pyrkagia surging. From the fractured camp and my broken people. The Aeras guide takes me away.
I am yelling when we land wherever it is that he has taken me. I swear every curse word I know in English and then repeat them all in Greek. If I could move, I would be swinging fists. Unexpectedly, my sword clatters at my side and the temptation so close but so far out of reach is infuriating.
I growl, low, “I will have the Alchemist’s head.”
It does not occur to me that I can speak. That Noah’s administration of the toxin is so precise. That he allows me the concession of a voice. I keep talking, keep hurling threats that I cannot possibly carry through with. I start in on his family. His mother, his sister. Hell, I even go so far as to call him a son of a cyclops. Then follow that up with comparing him to a sphinx.
“Good freaking God,” someone says. “What have you done to him?”
And then Sonya appears above me, dishevelled, a little blood splattered, but alive. Breathing. Colour in her face.
My mouth hangs open, my eyes blink, and then Noah gently pushes her away.
“He’s dying,” he says.
“Doesn’t look like it,” she mumbles.
“He can’t feel the effect of the poison, but believe me; it’s doing something to him in there.”
“That cow poisoned him, too? Like she poisoned Nico? What a freaking bitch!”
“I’ll need your help, Miss Marin.”
“Like before?”
“Exactly.”
“OK.”
“Not OK,” I say.
“I see you have some fight left in you, then,” Noah points out.
“Where is my cousin?”
“Recovering,” the doctor says. “He only received a scratch, but it was enough for Melita to best him.”
“Melita,” I growl.
“Yes,” Noah says, and then turns toward me with a syringe and needle.
“Don’t you dare,” I growl.
“Really,” he mutters.
“Why’s he able to talk?” Sonya asks. “Nico only glared daggers at you.” She bites her bottom lip. “And me,” she adds, a frown marring her face.
“Clearly a mistake,” the doctor says. “Serves me right for trying to be diplomatic.”
“I’m not sure Theo sees it that way,” Sonya deadpans.
I stare at her, and she shrugs her shoulders.
“He’s on the good side. Not the dark side.” She nods towards Noah. “Really; he’s OK.”
Noah smiles at her and then the smile falls from his face.
“And if he tries anything funny,” the human says, picking up my sword and awkwardly brandishing it at the Alchemist, “I’ll stab him with this.”
I try not to laugh, but I can't help it. I feel so goddamn terrible, and yet Sonya makes me puff out an amused breath.
It is strange to have such a strong sense of relief at having the little human here. To know that she will guard me when I can not defend myself. I acknowledge that despite what has happened, despite what may become of Pyrkagia, I cannot regret my actions.
Even Melita’s betrayal does not touch me so much when Casey’s Sonya flashes her blunt white teeth at a startled Alchemist.
“All right,” I say. “Do your worst.”
Noah huffs, but he doesn't say anything. He simply lifts the syringe towards my neck, making me cringe internally. And then gently slides the needle through the skin and depresses the plunger.
“Tomorrow,” he says. “You’ll be right as rain.”
I suck in a breath. Tomorrow is a long way away.
Where is Isadora? Aktor? I want to ask, but the toxifera or the antivenin steals the words away.
Chapter Fifteen
It Should Have Been Filled With Ouzo
I wake up to the sound of someone eating. Noisily. And the smell of fish.
I blink my eyes open, noting the harshly angled slab of concrete above my head. For a moment, I just stare at it; making sure it isn’t about to come crashing down on me. And then the sounds of rending flesh makes me turn my head.
Pisces in his sea creature form - part horse, part man, part fish - sits off to the side, sharp teeth tearing into a raw fish. My stomach twists unattractively, and then I realise I’m no longer paralysed. And aside from the nausea of witnessing Pisces’ dining habits, I feel surprisingly all right. A little stiff. A lot weak. But not dying.
I’ll take that as a win.
I sit up, and Pisces stops his teeth gnashing, then when he sees me upright, nods his head.
“She will be pleased,” he says.
“Who will be?” I ask.
“Aether.”
Casey.
“You’ve spoken to her? Is she OK?”
“She wanted to come here, but Aktor managed to convince her Alchemist brother that was not a good idea. Gi still needs her. And you are a prince. You can survive an impaling.”
“I sincerely hope Aktor did not tell either of them that.”
“No, of course not.” Thank Aetheros. “I did.”
He resumes his fish mauling.
I stare at him and then think better of it when a fish’s backbone gets stuck between two particularly long, sharp teeth.
“So, Aktor’s here?”
Pisces nods.
“Sonya, Noah, Hippolytos and Nico?”
Another nod of that huge head.
“Isadora?” I say, but even I hear the note of resignation in my voice.
Pisces looks up at me.
“She did not make it,” he says.
“Not make it,” I repeat.
“Mikkos has her.”
“Alive?” I breathe with a dizzying wave of relief.
“As far as we know.” Pisces puts the last of his fish aside and cleans off his hands on a dirty looking rag. “We suspect she will be used as bait.”
“That would make sense,” I say.
“You will attempt to rescue her,” he says, but it’s not a question.
I nod my head anyway.
“This is foolhardy,” he observes.
“She’s my Second.”
“Then she knows her place. She would not appreciate you walking into a trap when so much is dependant on you surviving to face your father.”
He’s not wrong. Isadora would kill me herself if I got killed trying to rescue her before I challenged my father.
“Maybe we can combine the two,” I mutter.
“They will not allow that to happen,” Pisces says. “They will kill her before you get within a foot of the Rigas.”
I stare at the Nero.
“Well,” I say, standing up and making sure I don’t show the weakness I am still feeling. “Thanks for the company, but we’ll take it from here.”
“Who? You and two Pyrkagia?”
“This is a Pyrkagia issue, so…yes.”
I’m being obstinate, I know it. But I don't appreciate Pisces’ observations. Aetheros knows he’s only just emerged from a sunken island. What in Hades’ realm would he know about Pyrkagia?
“This is not just about Pyrkagia,” he says. “This is about balance.”
And again the big guy is not wrong.
I run a hand through my hair.
“Very well,” I say, making a decision. “Let’s strategise. Where is everyone?”
Pisces nods his head and then lumbers up onto his four legs. He towers over me. And when he reaches for his trident, I force myself not to take a step back. There’s not much room in this makeshift shelter. He takes up more than his fair share. But I’ll be damned if I give him a
ny of my space.
I smile up at him, flashing teeth, and then purposefully walk from the room, placing my back to the monster. He doesn’t make a sound as he follows. As if his hooves aren’t on land and he’s instead swimming through water.
Even I, a three-thousand-year-old Athanatos, find that rather strange.
We come out of the bedroom with the collapsed concrete ceiling into a larger room with a larger collapsed concrete ceiling. This just gets better and better.
A fire is blazing in the centre, Aktor is stirring something above it in a beaten up pot. Hippolytos and Noah are talking, heads close together, steaming mugs of coffee, I think, in their hands. Sonya sits off to one side with Nico. He has his arm around her back, outspread palm perilously close to her arse. I snort, and all eyes turn to me.
“Oh, thank you, Aetheros,” Aktor murmurs.
“Well rested?” Noah asks. I nod.
“Hey,” Nico manages, looking about as weak as I feel.
Not too weak to be unable to cop a feel, though.
I grin at him and take a seat across the fire. Immediately, Pyrkagia fuels me, making my skin glow and my eyes flare golden.
“You’ve heard?” Aktor says, handing me a mug of soup. I have no idea what it is, but it’s hot, and it doesn’t smell like fish. I start drinking it enthusiastically.
“Yes,” I manage to say between sips.
“And we're going after her?” Nico asks, although the tone of his voice clearly suggests the question is rhetorical.
I don’t answer. I drink my soup. I fuel my Stoicheio. And I try to puzzle this problem out.
The Council still needs to be called. Despite Melita’s broken pact and her hubris display.
I glance up at my cousin. “Melita?” I query.
“Dead.” Nico does not look in the slightest upset about that.
I'm not sure what to feel. There is history there. Some of it good. Most of it bad. Part of me wants to hold onto the memory of the woman I fell for. But I have not loved Melita for many centuries. When you have your heart torn out and then cut into tiny pieces, it’s extremely difficult to forgive the perpetrator. I haven’t thought of that time for over a thousand years. Well, if you don't count the time Casey found out about her from Isadora. But even then, I never told Casey exactly what Melita did. In a way, I protected her. Because if Casey knew what Melita had done, what the consequences of Melita’s actions were, she would have ached.
The Eternal Edge Of Aether Page 7
