The Mythean Arcana Box Set

by Linsey Hall

  Camulos stood within, the icy wind whipping at his cloak, tossing his hair. Her breath caught at the sight, fear and admiration surging through her. She lowered her bow, unable to help herself.

  But he raised his. The breath lodged in her throat like a great boulder, and in her mind’s eye she saw Hafgan cutting down her brothers if she didn’t accomplish her task.

  Fear clinging to her back with demon claws, she swung her bow up, sighted, released. The bow twanged, a sound that she would normally find glory in now turned dark and bitter. The arrow cut through the air, dragging with it her guilt and regret and shame until it punched through his flesh.

  At the sight, something pierced her heart. Something sharp and so cold that it froze the organ in place.

  Oh, gods, what have I done? No, no, no.

  She gasped, then ran toward Camulos’ body. The snow dragged at her legs, slowing her until she wanted to scream. Finally, her knees hit the ground in a small puddle of blood that had melted the snow beside him.

  “No.” The word tore from her throat as she laid a hand on his chest, his cheek. She’d had to do it to save her brothers, but gods, this was terrible. She’d cared for him. Maybe even loved him.

  But now his eyes were closed and his skin was so pale. His cheek was cold against her fingertips, somehow colder than even the snow beneath her.

  “Wake!” She shook his shoulder as hot tears froze on her cheeks.

  She’d had to do it. She’d had to.

  But her arrow protruded obscenely from his chest, straight through his heart, because her aim was too good to be off-target. The sight made bile rise in her throat.

  Done. It was done.

  Grief and self-loathing crowded her mind. She’d saved her family. Made herself a god. But at what cost? Was this what the glory of being a god felt like?

  She clenched her hand in Camulos’ cloak, but she couldn’t get a grip on it. His body had begun to shimmer, going clear in places. She watched, mouth agape, as he disappeared, leaving only the red snow in which she knelt. Desperate for him to return and for the horror of what she’d done to be erased, she gripped handfuls of icy snow.

  “You’ve failed.” A harsh voice cut through the wind, tearing her from her stupor.

  She looked up. The dark-haired goddess loomed over her.

  “What?”

  “You’ve killed only his mortal form. Not his godly one.” Anger crackled in the goddess’ eyes.

  “But I—” Andrasta held up a handful of bloody snow. She had no idea what she wanted anymore.

  “You didn’t use the arrow he gave you. He enabled you to kill him when he gave you one of his own arrows. You, the one mortal with the weapon to kill a god, did not use it. How could you be so stupid?”

  “What? I thought—I thought it was my skill that you needed.”

  The goddess glowered, her hair whipping in the wind. “It was. But the arrow as well.”

  Hope and horror flared within her chest. She hadn’t killed him? She hadn’t killed him.

  “You have to finish.”

  “What?”

  “Kill him, or he will kill your family. Kill you.”

  No.

  “Or we will kill your family. He’ll know you were sent by other gods. He must be eliminated.”

  “But—”

  “He must.”

  Heavy gray clouds began to roil above Andrasta's head, rare winter lightning striking trees all around her. The air grew so cold that her blood seemed to freeze in her veins, her knees to the ground. Visions of her brothers dead flashed before her eyes. Even her heart froze in place, fear stopping the beats until she was stone within.

  “How?” she whispered.

  “Go to Otherworld. Kill him in the land of the gods when he’s in his godly form. You’ll destroy him permanently if you use his arrow there.”

  “But only the dead can go to Otherworld. How do I?”

  “How do you think?” The goddess tossed a small knife into the snow and disappeared.

  Andrasta stared at it, mouth agape, as her vision swam. This was what her life had come down to? A blade in the snow?

  Tears spilled from her eyes, but from behind them she saw images of Marrek bleeding into the snow. Before she could back out, she grabbed the knife and sliced it along her wrist. She gasped as the pain shot through her, and she fumbled the blade. Her hand shook as she recovered it and tried again. Eventually, enough of her blood poured into the snow that she began to drift away on pain and sorrow.

  The throbbing in her wrists faded as soon as she opened her eyes. But the tears still fell, obscuring her vision of an unfamiliar oak forest. When she tried to sniff her tears into submission, she was greeted by the smell of the sea mixed with the green scent of the forest.

  She scrubbed her eyes, then inspected her wrists, her stomach clutching at the sight of the long scars. It felt like so long ago that she’d knelt in the snow and dragged the little knife across her flesh. One hand gripped her bow. Of course the gods had allowed her to bring it. She’d need it for her terrible task.

  She rose on unsteady feet, her soul feeling pulled to the west. In her heart, she knew that she would find her ancestors there. It took everything in her power to resist. She turned east and away from temptation, determination leading her in search of Camulos.

  Andrasta wandered the forest for what felt like days. She felt no hunger, no exhaustion. Nothing but determination to finish what she’d started so that she could save her brothers. The image of Marrek’s blood soaking into the snow flashed constantly through her mind, followed shortly after by images of Camulos.

  Would she be able to kill him again when she saw him? Would he kill her first? If she wasn’t strong, if she didn’t remember that she fought for her brothers’ lives, she was afraid that she would let him.

  “Are you looking for me?” The deep voice came from behind. She stumbled in surprise after so many days alone.

  How had she gotten to be so clumsy that he could sneak up on her? She spun to face him, fear leaping in her heart. Relief followed, for he was, in fact, still alive. Her wrist twinged. Perhaps alive wasn’t exactly the word for it. But here, in the land of the gods, he looked hale, though he lacked the otherworldly quality that he’d had on earth.

  Perhaps because I am in his world now. She raised her bow, ashamed to feel her arm quiver. She swallowed, sighted down the shaft of the arrow he had given her.

  Why would he not raise his bow? He just stood there, strong and still and calm like an oak.

  “Raise your bow.” Her voice cracked under the strain. She had to kill him.

  But she didn’t want to. She wanted to go to him and take one of their walks again. To talk and laugh and forget this terrible situation. Her brothers flashed through her mind again.

  “Raise it!” He had to. She couldn’t shoot him if he didn’t at least raise his own bow. Something horrible started to rise in her chest, fighting with her determination. She could finish this. She could save her brothers. Her arm shook.

  Damn it. She had to pull herself together. But as her breath tore in and out of her lungs, she realized that she… couldn’t. She wanted to scream, to tear at her hair, to return to earth and forget that she had ever met this man.

  “Lower your bow, Andrasta.” His voice was too kind, his eyes too understanding.

  It broke something within her, and her voice rose in a harsh sob. She released the arrow, pulling her bow to the left at the last moment so that the arrow thudded into an oak a dozen feet from him.

  She collapsed to her knees as the darkness of what she’d done converged on her. She was here, in Otherworld, with no escape. If she didn’t destroy the soul of the man in front of her, her brothers would die. He’d brought her to this, by watching her. But she’d brought herself here too, when she’d confronted him in the forest and then spent so many hours with him that she’d grown to care for him.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him sit, prop his arms on his knees,
and hang his head between his arms.

  “Why didn’t you kill me right away?” Her voice broke. Would it have been preferable to this? Yes. She gripped her bow tighter, but it did nothing to soothe her.

  “I… couldn’t.”

  She looked up to see him staring down at his bow. He chucked it away, disgust and longing etched into his face. She watched the bow slam into a tree and crack in half. Her hand closed reflexively around her own bow.

  “Why couldn’t you kill me? And why did you do that?”

  He met her gaze, but didn’t answer her question. “You’ll be fine here. You’ll find your way. One day, you’ll be clever enough to sneak back to earth occasionally.”

  “What?” Why did it sound like he was rushing to give her last-minute instructions?

  Regret shone from his eyes as he looked at her. She shifted under his careful regard, under the longing that she thought she saw in his eyes. Confusion raged like a storm around her, buffeting her back and forth as it would a small boat far from sea.

  “You cared for me.”

  His eyes jerked to hers. “I did. I… do.”

  A smile might have pulled at her lips any other time, but it couldn’t now. She’d wanted him to care for her as she’d grown to care for him. But now it didn’t matter.

  “We’re in a mess.” He rose.

  Her gaze followed him as he walked to the tree where his blue arrow had lodged. He yanked it free and returned to her. He sat again, this time only a few feet from her. The heart that no longer felt like hers fought to be free of her chest.

  He reached into his cloak and withdrew a small bottle. Carefully, he unstopped it and poured a few drops of opalescent liquid onto the tip of the arrow. He held it out to her.

  “What is that?” she asked.

  “Nothing important. For the pain.”

  Did he lie? But his face brooked no argument, and she was so out of her element that she didn’t question.

  “Take it,” he said when she hesitated.

  Swallowing hard, she reached out and curled her fingers around the arrow shaft. So close were their fingers that she swore she felt the heat of his. She looked at the arrow, then back to him.

  “What am I supposed to do with this?” Did he not want to kill her? She couldn’t let him, fearing that the gods would carry out their vengeance upon her brothers. But how could she stop him when she didn’t want to raise her bow against him?

  But when she met his eyes again, she realized that he wouldn’t be killing her.

  “You’ll shoot me with it. As you did before. Don’t miss,” he said.

  A tear leaked from her eye, trailing cold and lonely down her cheek. He reached out to wipe it away. The warmth of his hand burned through her. How had she come to be here, in this utterly indecipherable, inescapable, intolerable situation?

  “Why?” She wanted to reach out and grab his hand. Instead, she tightened hers on her bow.

  “I’d prefer to leave Otherworld on my own terms.”

  “Leave? You mean, you really won’t kill me?”

  A chuff of strange laughter escaped him, loaded with so much emotion that she couldn’t decipher. His eyes raced over her face, down to the hand that clutched her bow.

  “No,” he said finally. “I’ve done enough harm to you.”

  “Harm to me? But I killed you. I escaped lightly.”

  “Neither of us has escaped. Spend long enough here, and you’ll learn that.”

  “I would become a god if I do this.”

  “You wanted to prove yourself.”

  “Not like this.”

  He gave a bitter laugh. “It seems you don’t have a choice.”

  “But you want me to destroy you with the arrow, as the gods said?”

  “I’ve lived a long time. I’m not meant for Otherworld. The other gods are determined to see me dead. They’ve wanted it for a long time, and now they have a way. I could fight them, but at the risk of you and your brothers.”

  “You’d do that for me?” She searched his handsome face, trying to decipher anything from the gray eyes that watched her so closely.

  “For you, for me. For the only way to get out of this disaster on my terms and without your soul being destroyed.”

  Andrasta shivered. Once a body died on earth, the soul went to Otherworld, the land of the gods. She was proof of that, sitting here in the grass across from Camulos.

  It was almost impossible to destroy a soul in Otherworld, however. But she’d killed him on earth, had the permission of the other gods, and had his arrow. That was no ordinary magic. It gave her the power to destroy him. He was a god, which gave him the power to destroy her. It was a power that the other gods possessed as well. There truly was no way out.

  As she weighed her miserable options and the trap that she’d built for herself, she looked down at the arrow. Her stomach lurched at the idea of sending it through him.

  But there was no other choice. “This is what you want?”

  He nodded, and her heart clutched at the resignation in his eyes. He rose. Shaking, she followed suit.

  “But first. One thing.” He approached her. The breath caught in her lungs at the intensity of his face. “A kiss.”

  She stared up at him, her voice stolen, lost in the wildness of emotion swirling in his eyes, emotion that wasn’t reflected in his still form. Her lips parted in soundless invitation as her lost heart threatened to beat its way out of her chest.

  His big hand cupped the side of her head, his heat burning through to her errant heart. Tension vibrated from him as he pressed his mouth to hers, warm and firm and so lovely that her mind stopped. Too soon, he drew away. He closed his eyes, leaned his forehead against hers.

  His hand tightened just briefly in her hair as he murmured, “Enough.”

  He stepped back, and though she wanted to reach for him, the finality in his eyes stilled her. He walked backward from her, his gaze never leaving hers, until he stood ten yards away. So close. Too close for her to put an arrow through his heart. How could he think she’d do this to him?

  “Now, Andrasta.” His voice was harsh, the emotion in his eyes replaced by determination.

  She shook her head, panic beginning to well within her, threatening to flood her brain.

  “Now! For your brothers. For yourself. For me.” The desperation in his voice, the finality of it, made her raise her bow. Her arms shook and tears spilled from her eyes. She desperately tried to blink them away.

  “I—I can’t.”

  “You will. I want this. You want this. Do you want to see your brothers dead? For the gods to destroy their souls? Or yours?” His eyes were stone serious, committed to this path.

  She drew in a harsh breath, tried to memorize his face, then let go of the arrow. It flew straight and true, and so fast that her desire to yank it back welled immediately, but not sooner than the arrow pierced his chest. He disappeared, along with the arrow.

  On a sob, she collapsed to her knees. He was gone. And she was here. A god. More alone than she’d ever been.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Bruxa’s Eye, Present Day

  Ana filched the cell phone out of the back pocket of the bruiser leaning on the bar and slipped toward the exit. She’d left the hotel room an hour ago, intent on finding a way to call her friend Esha. She’d called her from Cam’s phone the other day, but she wanted to check up and didn’t want to have to ask Cam to borrow his phone again. The bar down the street had seemed like the perfect place to find a phone, and the big ugly brute who was currently berating the bartender fit her criteria of people she didn’t feel guilty stealing from. And stealing was the only option, considering that pay phones weren’t exactly plentiful in the middle of the Amazon.

  With the phone clutched in her hand, she pushed through the side door of the bar. The alley outside was narrow and dark, but it was perfect. She didn’t feel like company right now, and the quiet would allow her to hear anyone sneaking up on her.

  After
a bit of cursing and fiddling to make the phone work, she punched in the number of her one and only real friend. And she could really use a friend right now.

  “Esha?” she said when the ringing ceased and the line clicked.

  “Ana? What the hell are you doing with a phone? Moved up from blenders?”

  Ana laughed. Esha thought her obsession with the modern technologies that Otherworld lacked was hilarious. It was the reason she knew Esha’s phone number even though she didn’t actually have a phone. When Esha had gotten her cell, Ana had insisted on calling it a dozen times from the home line. Thank gods she remembered the number now. “Fates, I miss you!”

  “Then come see me!”

  “I wish.” Normally she aetherwalked to visit Esha, popping in to see her for a few hours whenever she could. "How’s Warren?”

  “He’s good,” Esha said. “Says hi.”

  “Hi back. Anyway, I was wondering if you found out anything about the Druid priestess called Druantia.”

  “Yeah. She’s the top Druid priestess. Most powerful one alive. She’s creepy, too, from what I hear. Her magic is legendary, though I think she’s fallen on hard times.”

  “I’m most interested in her location.” Though Ana had never met Druantia before, she too knew of her, and everything that Esha was saying was spot on. Druantia had once been extraordinarily powerful, the only mortal capable of contacting the gods directly. She hadn’t stayed mortal, though Ana had no idea how she’d made the switch to immortality. But she was grateful for it now. Druantia would be her ticket out of Otherworld. She had to be.

  “I don’t have that yet,” Esha said. “I’ve asked around and someone will get back to me with something soon, I’m sure. This is about getting out of Otherworld, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “There’s something wrong. What is it?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Whatever. I can hear it in your voice.”

  She hesitated, unsure of how to bring up any of the hundred things that were bothering her.

  “I found Camulos,” she blurted.

  “Really?” Nerves tinged Esha’s voice. “Are you okay? He doesn’t want to kill you, right?”