K’xarr’s head snapped up, her words sobering him.
“You are with child?”
“I am, and it is yours,” she said, staring up at him.
K’xarr knew what that meant for Katrina. Her blood would turn, and she would become an outsider in her own land. Once the kingdom stabilized, she would be hunted by the Church. So would his child.
“I can promise you nothing, but I want you to come with me. Your place is at my side now.” He jumped down from the wagon and she kissed him passionately. K’xarr feigned a smile.
Katrina riding with him was one thing, but a child was another. He had seen how Endra and Kian had suffered with their brood. He wasn’t going to let that happen. He would find a place somewhere for Katrina and the baby to live, then leave them behind.
Even if he wanted it, K’xarr knew he couldn’t be a father or husband. He would never let a child or any woman come between him and his glory. For now, however, it was best to let the girl believe what she would.
“I am so happy,” Katrina said.
K’xarr stroked her hair and looked deep into her eyes. The lie came easy to his tongue. “I am too.”
On the clouded peak of Shadow Dragon Mountain, the gods of Saree had assembled. Each had found their seat around the great council table. The massive slab of onyx had been taken from the mountain itself. Ranjan had fashioned the massive slab just after the gods claimed the mighty spire as their home. Set in the huge basin of the mountain’s peak, the great table was the place where the immortals had first come to discuss how their new world would be administered. It represented unity and brotherhood. The table was a symbol of who they were, and a reminder of what they had overcome.
Hesperina sighed, remembering the dreams and high-minded ideas they all once shared. It had been a glorious time for all of them.
At least their smith had rejoined his brethren. Freed from Hell, Ranjan had taken his place among the immortals once more. Many of the gods were clad in armor and carried weapons of great power, convinced a time of blood was at hand. Taking her place, Hesperina glanced at Syann’s empty seat. She wasn’t sure they were wrong.
“What is the meaning of all this, Hesperina? Rumors abound that Octavian is free. I think it highly unlikely the Reaper has escaped the prison we put him in,” Amulus shouted tossing back his light blue cape. The Lord of the Sky frowned at his former sister-in-law as he leaned against the table and continued, “Even if that brute had managed to get out, he would not be foolish enough to return here alone.”
“There is nothing to debate about his escape. Octavian is free. Ranjan has seen him,” Hesperina said, gesturing to the smith.
Ranjan stood. The powerful god wore a heavy breastplate and a large hammer hung at his side. His dark bearded face looked resigned. “It is true. It was the Lord of Death himself who freed me from her,” he said, pointing to the Mistress. “She held me chained to the Stone of Subjugation in the veil of Hell, forcing me to do her wicked bidding. How he knew I was there is a mystery. Octavian just appeared, and without a word, broke the chain that held me. I swear it was he, Amulus. It could have been no one else.”
The assembly all stared at the Queen of Hell, murmuring about what Ranjan had accused the goddess of.
“She should be put on trial and tossed in the cage,” Amulus bellowed.
The assembly echoed the sky god’s outrage, and demanded that justice be done.
“We are not here to deal with my indiscretions. My husband is free, and that should be our only once concern at this point,” the Mistress roared over the others. “Will you sit here and argue over my conspiracies and permit the Reaper to maneuver unopposed?”
“She is right,” Hesperina said, holding up her hand and silencing all. “We can deal with the Mistress and her crimes later. I assure you she will pay for her actions. For now, we must focus on the mad god and what his plans may be.”
The God of the Sun stood, his golden armor drawing all their eyes. “If he dares come back to the mountain, we will all stand against him like we did before, sister. This time, we know how to defeat him,” Galames said boldly. “The Reaper will kill no more of us if we are united against him. He has fallen to us once and he will again.”
“Brave words, Galames, and easy to say when you’re not standing in his shadow,” Shiavaka purred.
“Are you questioning my courage?” Galames replied angrily.
“No, your sanity. My brother sat with us at this table, and he could do so again. The wise move would be to find a way to appease him.”
“I will never sit down with that butcher,” Tagas said. The God of Strength slammed his fist down on the table. “He slew my mother out of hand. The Reaper is a mad dog. He doesn’t need to be appeased or imprisoned; he needs to be destroyed.”
“Be careful of your words, Tagas,” Nikodemos said, coming to his feet and laying his huge battle ax on the table.
The God of Strength smiled wickedly at the Lord of Vengeance. “Perhaps our wrath should not just stop at the father. His spawn are little better. Look at what Syann has done to Tobiah. They are all animals.”
Nikodemos’s gauntleted hands clenched into fists. “You say too much, Tagas. When the time comes, I’m going to take your head.”
Hesperina slammed her hand on the table. “Enough. There can be no more fighting among us, I have forbidden it. This is what the mention of his name does. Within minutes, we are already at each other’s throats. We must come to an accord on what must be done without killing one another in the process.”
A clap of thunder boomed and a cloud of dark fog formed at the far end of the table. From the swirling gateway, Syann and her father stepped. The Lord of Death stood before them in familiar black armor, the great sword Tribulation hanging at his side. His face was hidden behind his dark helm, but all knew it was he who came before them. Syann too was in black plate, her silver sword naked in her hand. The goddess’s blonde hair fell to her armored shoulders, free and wild. What struck Hesperina was the terrible scowl Syann carried on her face.
The entire assembly was struck speechless. As the Reaper slowly stalked towards the table, the gods all leaped from their seats and backed away from his approach, save one.
“You killed my mother,” Tagas shouted. Filled with rage, the young god charged the massive immortal. As he closed, the Reaper reached out and grabbed the God of Strength by the throat and lifted him into the air. “Is this how I am greeted?” his deep voice growled. He slammed the young god down onto the table, sundering its center and sending wide cracks along what remained of the huge slab.
The great table was broken, and Tagas lay in a heap on the floor amid its broken pieces. Octavian removed his helm and tossed it to the floor. His black hair fell loose, and he glared at all in attendance with unforgiving eyes as dark as the deepest pit in Hell. “Death has returned to your precious mountain for a reckoning with his treacherous kin.”
“How are you free?” Hesperina asked, her voice shaking.
“I was never your prisoner. I escaped your magic box in a matter of hours. None of you hold power over me,” Octavian said, his voice low and sinister. “And I have been watching, Hesperina, and waiting.”
“You can’t stand against us all,” Galames said hotly. “We are united, and you are alone.”
“Am I, Galames?”
Syann was at his side, and Nikodemos joined them. From the foggy gateway that still lingered near the end of the table, the daughters of the Reaper came forth. Raven and her sisters, the so-called witches, took their place behind their father.
“Two young gods and a few mongrel witches are not enough,” Amulus said, thrusting out his huge chest.
“I stand with my brother,” Octavia declared, crossing the room to where the Reaper stood.
“As do I,” Shiavaka said, following her sister.
Hesperina looked around the room. Her worst fears were coming true.
Drusilla, the moon goddess, moved across the room and b
owed to the Reaper.
“I am yours to command, mighty one.”
“Drusilla,” Amulus called out.
The beautiful goddess turned to the sky lord, her face emotionless. “You are just my lover, dear. Octavian is my brother, and I won’t betray him a second time.”
Hesperina watched in horror as the Mistress hung her veiled head and moved to stand before her husband.
“What of me?”
Octavian reached out and ripped the veil from her head. The goddess’s long black hair fell loose, dropping past her shoulders. She looked up at him with smoldering dark eyes. Her thick ruby lips parted to speak, but she held her tongue.
The Lord of Death regarded her dark beauty for a moment then spoke. “Take your place at my side, Amaris…if you dare.”
“I am yours, husband. I always have been.”
The Reaper glanced at his other two siblings. “Fane? Valintina?”
“I have no quarrel with you, brother, but I cannot join you,” Fane said.
His hard eyes fell on the Goddess of Love. Valintina simply turned away and said nothing.
The Reaper appraised all who had joined him. “You see, Galames? I am not alone.”
“No one wants a fight, Octavian. Those that raised their hand against you did so because you were mad. You slaughtered your fellow immortals without cause. You had to be stopped,” Hesperina hastily explained. “What would you have had us do?”
The Reaper studied her for a moment, his fierce gaze unsettling the queen to her very core. “Without cause, you say? Cem, your sister Penelope, and the others planned to betray us all. They were seeking a way to bridge the Forever Sea. Your precious sister and traitorous husband wanted to let my father and his hordes cross into Saree and destroy all we have built here. I had no choice but to kill them.”
“The king knows where we are?” Hesperina asked, a cold chill running up her spine.
Octavian took a step forward and lowered his voice. “Yes, Father knows, but you are safe for now. If he does ever find a way into this world, I will meet him head on. I will not return to the darkness, no matter what the cost.”
Hesperina’s mind raced back to when Cem had ruled them, the things he had said, and the perplexing things he had done. Now some of his actions made sense to her. Perhaps the Reaper wasn’t lying. She believed there could be some truth to his tale. Cem and Penelope often discussed the wisdom of coming to Saree, and she knew her husband missed their true home. “If there was a plot among some of the immortals, why didn’t you come to us?”
“I need no permission to protect what is mine,” Octavian shouted. “And you would have never agreed to what needed to be done.”
“This is all a lie,” Tagas said, rising from the floor. “My mother would never do such a thing. This conspiracy is just an invention of yours to justify the atrocities you committed.”
Octavian’s dark eyes fell on the God of Strength. “If you interrupt me again, I will kill you.”
Tagas shrank back, his lip curled in a snarl.
“Why should we believe you?” Hesperina asked.
“I don’t care if you do. I offered you an explanation. What you do with it is none of my concern.”
Hesperina smoothed her dress and stared at the Reaper as regally as she could. The situation needed to be settled before it got out of hand. There was still a chance to keep the Reaper’s return from splitting the pantheon. “If what you say is true, then we should end this feud.”
“How can you suggest such a thing? She was your sister,” Tagas raved.
Octavian struck without hesitation or mercy. Tribulation’s heavy blade cut through the air and removed Tagas’s head from his neck. Black blood pumped from the terrible wound as the God of Strength’s body collapsed to the floor.
“A vile deed,” Hesperina said, her voice low.
“He was warned,” the Reaper said evenly. He pointed his black sword at the God of the Mountains. “Mantel, he was your son. If you want vengeance, speak now. I will be more than pleased to send you to join your foolish boy.”
The God of the Mountains lumbered forward, hands balled into fists and eyes wet. He looked down at his dead son, then glanced at Hesperina.
The queen subtlety waved her hand at Mantel, trying to keep him from making a fatal mistake. She didn’t want to see another of them fall before the dark-hearted killer.
The god looked up into the Reaper’s cold eyes, tears running down into his heavy beard, and shook his head.
“What of you, Airius? Tagas was your brother?” Octavian challenged.
The dawn god lowered his head and said nothing.
“Must you be so cruel?” Octavia said, touching her brother’s arm.
Octavian regarded his twin sister and sheathed his blade. “Hesperina, we will speak in time. Till then, do not forget who we truly are.”
“Father,” Syann said, looking up at the death god.
“There is one more matter,” Octavian said, nodding slightly. “You locked my daughter in the cage. It is time to settle that debt.”
“She tried to kill another god,” Hesperina asserted.
“Yes and she failed.” Octavian looked at his daughter. Without warning, Syann marched across the room and beheaded Tobiah.
Valintina screamed as the gruesome head rolled across the polished stone and came to rest at her feet, her son’s dead eyes staring up at her.
The God of Death moved to his daughter’s side as the blonde goddess slowly sheathed her silver sword.
Valintina screamed in his face and the Reaper slapped her to the floor. The love goddess crawled backward as fast as she could, but it wasn’t fast enough. Octavian snatched her up by the hair and lifted Valintina from the ground. “You should have stood with me, sister. You might have been forgiven.” He tossed her to the floor before Airius. “Keep your bitch on a chain or next time, I will cut out her black heart and feed it to you.”
“Mother, how could you?” Helana shrieked.
Syann looked away, refusing to meet her daughter’s gaze.
“Obey your mother, granddaughter, or suffer the same fate as your lover,” the Lord of Death said, moving closer to the young goddess. Helana’s eyes grew large and she stifled her sobs as Octavian leaned down into her face. “Your mother was my daughter long before you came along, girl. I will always take her part over yours. It would no more grieve me to kill you than it would to swat a fly.”
Helana burst into tears and sank to the floor beside Tobiah’s lifeless body.
The Reaper collected Tobiah and Tagas’s heads, holding them up for all the gods to bear witness. “I will smoke these dogs’ heads on my altar tonight. If you want to continue your war against me, I will be waiting.”
The gods stood in silence. Hesperina knew none would challenge the savage god. He had cowed them all once again.
Octavian glared at her across the room. They both knew it was he who truly ruled.
“My grievances are settled, for now, Hesperina,” the death god said coldly.
Octavian and all that had stood with him vanished into the mist of the gateway, leaving the other gods to mourn their dead.
* * *
It was infuriating, but the Mistress couldn’t keep from smiling. Octavian had been magnificent. He had brought those arrogant fools to their knees. Even Hesperina, with all her decrees and laws, had not dared to try and impose her will upon the Reaper. Now things would be different.
It had surprised her that he hadn’t killed her. It was imperative that she find out if Octavian had truly forgiven her betrayal. It was she that had led the pantheon against him, yet he had allowed her to stand with him when he defied the others. She had to know why.
It was no easy task to quell the fear that gripped her, but there only one way to know for sure. The Mistress knew if she wanted a place at the Lord of Death’s side, she would have to swallow her pride and use all of her feminine wiles to win back her husband’s trust. Even after all the centuries, he
r anger was still raw, yet there was a part of her that longed to know death’s love once again.
She crossed the Bridge of Fallen Enemies, her soft boots making no sound against the bones of the dead. The Queen of Hell knew she would find her husband on his island, the center of his power, and the point of origin for the underworld’s creation.
Her long black hair had been brushed, and she had traded her funeral gown for a thin, low-cut dress of simple black that would highlight her exquisite breasts. With her porcelain skin, the goddess had chosen to paint her full lips a deep red, and trace the outline of her eyes in black. Her dark beauty would be undeniable, even to the Reaper.
Stealing across the bridge, she saw Octavian sitting on the throne of skulls beneath the Tree of Torment, its twisted branches and corrupt trunk devoid of victims. Now that he had returned, the death god would fill it with anyone who displeased him. The ghastly cries of those poor souls would make the tree sing its terrible song of despair.
The god lounged on his fearsome throne. How many elven noblemen’s heads had it taken to construct the seat of power for the mightiest of gods?
The stench from the lake of blood was heavy in the air, but she could still smell the perfume she had dabbed on her neck. Hurriedly crossing to the small island, the Mistress began to fear. Her husband was not known for his forgiveness. She thought of running, but the act would only prolong her dilemma. It was best to get it over with, one way or the other.
Octavian still wore his heavy black armor, and Tribulation leaned against the side of the dreadful throne only inches from his hand. She moved across the island’s dead grass, while the unparalleled warrior’s dark brooding eyes regarded her approach.
The Mistress stood before her husband, posing as penitently as she could. Expressionlessly, he looked her up and down. She had never been able to guess what was behind his intimidating stare. None had ever known the true workings of his mind, and she wasn’t sure anyone would want to.
“Why are you here, Amaris?” he asked.
“I am here to offer you one of two things, husband: my love or my head.”
The Star Of Saree Page 50
