Red Mortal

by Deidre Knight

  “I realize it is an unusual request, especially given my history with the Spartans,” he added stiffly.

  So that was it! He was uncomfortable because he didn’t think they would trust him—now she got it. He worried that he’d come to offer help, but his intentions would be misunderstood.

  “You did help us defeat Layla,” she reassured him. “They know you’ve turned light. You’ve given them tons of reasons to trust you in recent months.”

  He hesitated and then asked, “Would you see if they would have me come inside?” He pointed down at his hooves apologetically. “I’ll be very careful on their floors and carpets.”

  She couldn’t help it; she burst out laughing. “Yeah, it’s kind of crazy imagining you inside the house. I think we’d have to bring the meeting to you.”

  He actually looked affronted. “I’m not entirely a beast, you know. I once lived in a palace.” Like a fast-rolling wave, she felt his emotion at that moment, knew it in her empath’s heart and soul. Shame. He felt deep, horrible shame that he most likely couldn’t go inside the house. He hated her knowing him like this, with his half-horse body.

  She wanted to cry. Right then and there, she felt the tears prickle at her eyes in response to the heavy pain he carried. Without waiting for his encouragement, she flung her arms about him and gave him a long hug, wanting him to feel her acceptance. And knowing that she’d move heaven and earth now, whatever it took to gain him an invitation inside her cousins’ home.

  Chapter 12

  Daphne had worked her magic to restore her clothing and hair to pristine condition; some days it was certainly helpful to be a demigoddess. Like when you weren’t prepared for all of your friends and comrades to know you’d nearly made love with their king.

  Which raised another question: Was it even going to be possible to keep their love affair a secret for much longer? She’d have wagered a decent sum that they all knew about them anyway. Ari had figured things out a while ago. And, according to Leo, Ajax had learned the truth earlier today. This group gossiped worse than the ladies at Delphi had done back in the day—and she meant the men in the bunch. She supposed these warriors had learned the habit at an early age, leaving their homes at seven and going through the rigorous Agoge until they reached manhood.

  At any rate, Leo’s current predicament was breaking her heart, and she doubted that was something she could hide from anyone should things take a turn for the much worse. But for now, here again in the library, she wanted everyone to believe that she was their stalwart Oracle, concerned for the king they all loved. Nothing more—and certainly nothing less—than the formal relationship they’d always maintained throughout the millennia.

  Leonidas took position in front of all their comrades, immediately silencing the few whispers that were going on. Daphne had chosen to stand in the back of the room, wanting to blend in; she wasn’t sure that the flush had left her cheeks yet, even if she had righted her overall appearance. But Leo’s first words put an end to any shyness on her part.

  “Daphne, our Oracle.” He waved her toward the front of the room. “Come join me as we discuss your plan with the group.”

  She’d have sworn that his eyes stayed on her overly long, a significant warmth in the way he watched her move past everyone else, around the occupied sofas and chairs. Reaching him, she took her place by his side, primly settling the folds of her gown. But Leo caught her hand midgesture, seizing it in his own, and drew it to his lips. Without taking his eyes off her, he brushed a kiss over her knuckles, even though they were standing center stage.

  “Leo,” she gasped quietly.

  He only smiled at her, that scarred, half smile of his. Then turned to face the Spartans and the humans, still holding her hand in his own. “I believe you are all familiar with my lady love,” he announced quietly. “Daphne of Delphi. Our Oracle.”

  There were grins and murmurs of acknowledgment, but Daphne barely heard them. In fact, her vision swam a bit, making it hard to focus on everyone around her. She thought she’d faint dead on the spot, so unprepared was she for this moment. Leonidas hadn’t whispered a hint that he was ready to reveal their relationship, not when they’d agreed months ago to maintain things in secret. She was their Oracle, he their king. It hadn’t even been much of a discussion point that they not make a public display of their feelings, not when so many obstacles stood between them.

  Leo gave her hand a squeeze, continuing, “Some of you have surmised the truth of our relationship. What none of you know”—Leo turned to face her, taking her other hand in his—“is that I wish to make her my queen.”

  All around them were sounds of uproarious delight. Daphne’s face burned as she looked up into his mischievous, love-filled eyes.

  “You wished me to become more loquacious,” he laughed in explanation, his words nearly drowned out by the cheers of excitement. “I need but one word from you now. Will you be my queen, fair Daphne?”

  “You know that I will.” She’d already said as much earlier, even though they’d been teasing and intimate.

  “Yes?” He smiled at her.

  “Yes!” She burrowed her face against his chest, holding him as tight as she could. “Yes, yes, my love.”

  They were soon parted by their many friends who swelled about them excitedly, offering hearty congratulations and blessings.

  Shay and Emma rushed Daphne, squealing in delight. “We’ll plan the most rockin’ ceremony ever,” Shay promised. “Hey, maybe I’ll even get my band to play.”

  Emma didn’t like that idea. “Your band is way too modern and loud,” she said, placing an unconscious hand on her large pregnant belly. “We’ll have to think of something more elegant.”

  Before Daphne knew it, the cousins were taking over, planning a wedding that had only been announced five minutes earlier. She’d really have to talk to Leo about when and where she preferred him to be less quiet and circumspect—and when she favored bluntness.

  With a stolen glance, she could see that he was surrounded by his warriors, all of the Spartans exchanging embraces among one another.

  Ajax, though, was already making his way toward Daphne, a gleam in his dark eyes. “So my Goth girl snagged the prize among all of us, did she?” Jax bent, brushing a chaste kiss against her cheek. “You are worthy of him, dear friend,” he whispered, low enough that nobody else could hear. “He’s been lonely for so very long. Until you appeared in his life.”

  She pressed her face close to his ear. “We must save him.”

  He seemed ready to answer, but jerked upright when his brother slapped him on the back of the head. “Get your married paws off our Oracle,” Aristos teased, then swept her into one of his huge Ari-sized hugs, lifting her right off her feet. “Damned happy for you both!” he declared, and she thought she actually would faint this time, because Aristos had choked all the air out of her lungs.

  Thankfully, he released her with just as much enthusiasm, and she caught hold of his wife Juliana’s arm to steady herself.

  “Aristos doesn’t always know his own strength,” Juliana declared, giving Daphne a quick, more formal embrace. Her Victorian era manners had certainly begun to alter now that she lived in the twenty-first century, but certain things about her remained old-fashioned, including her etiquette.

  “Dude, what’s all the excitement about?” Sophie asked from behind them. Daphne turned to find that she had arrived in the midst of the chaos. The young woman glanced about in confusion. “Looks like my timing is as good as ever. So go on and tell me . . . what did I miss?”

  Sophie’s sister, Shay, waved her closer. “You’re here just in time.” Shay put an athletic arm around Daphne’s shoulders and grinned. “Daphne and Leonidas are going to marry. She’s to be his queen!”

  Sophie squealed, launching herself at Daphne. It was like being tackled by a fawn, both graceful and awkward at the same time. Sophie had a tendency to rush at life and the people she loved with almost more enthusiasm than the world c
ould handle.

  Daphne held her close for a minute, expecting Sophie to release her, but suddenly the fey girl pulled her much closer, holding on to her as if it were an urgent matter. “I’m so sorry,” Sophie murmured, and Daphne felt dampness against her own cheek.

  Why was Sophie crying? How could she go from being so ebullient, to sudden tears and regret? Unless . . . as a Daughter of Delphi, Sophie had just sensed something about Leonidas and their future together. She’d not been in the room earlier for his announcement about Ares’s curse.

  Daphne pulled back in alarm. “What did you see, Sophie? Or sense?”

  She wiped at her eyes, guiding Daphne off to the side. “Does everyone know?” Sophie asked. “About Leonidas and . . .” She didn’t finish, but wrapped her arms about herself as if chilled.

  “Sophie, did you see his fate? His destiny?” Daphne couldn’t keep urgency out of her voice.

  “I sensed your grief. That you believe he’s dying . . .” Sophie’s kind, lovely eyes welled with tears again. “You don’t know how to save him, either.”

  Daphne’s shoulders slumped, a sense of hopelessness washing over her. If Sophie’s prophetic reading of their situation was this grim, would they even be able to help Leo? She was their other healer, after all, another avenue that they might explore to help Leonidas—although he’d probably never allow it. He’d already expressed concerns about her mortal body; asking Aristos was one thing. Sophie, though, was always severely weakened after using her healing gift.

  Still, Daphne would’ve hoped for positive visions from Sophie, not such sadness. It didn’t bode well for Leo’s fate.

  Sophie misunderstood the pain that must’ve filled Daphne’s eyes. She bowed her head, sniffling loudly. “I’m so sorry. I’m such a freak . . . and so embarrassed. You’re the one who’s hurting . . .”

  Daphne shushed her, sliding a comforting arm around her shoulders. Sophie’s particular prophetic gift was empathy, which meant that she literally felt strong emotions from others—if those feelings were messy or painful, she received a direct hit right in her heart. Sometimes she couldn’t even withstand the assault physically, and became drained or fainted.

  Daphne guided her toward the sofa. Emma had caught sight of what was going on with her sister and rushed to help. “She’s going to be okay,” Daphne reassured Emma, but she didn’t seem fully convinced, hovering over her sister like the mother she was soon to be.

  The others had begun filing back to their seats, and Leo again turned to address the group. His first words chilled Daphne to the core. They were stark, true, but almost more reality than she could handle right now.

  “And so you see the full ramifications of my predicament. If I’m to wed,” Leo announced softly, looking right into Daphne’s eyes, “then I must find a way to live.”

  His words were met with a fearsome silence. Their group could often be rowdy, with everyone sharing opinions and fighting to be heard. Not now. The only audible sounds came from the house itself. The slow ticking of the grandfather clock by the door; the familiar vibrating hum of the attic fan in the hallway. Spring night sounds drifting in from the veranda.

  But not one warrior uttered so much as a word.

  If I’m to wed . . . then I must find a way to live.

  Daphne could have spoken the very same words herself. For if Leo did indeed die, she knew her soul would perish with him.

  Sable trotted back and forth in front of the plantation house. He’d begun wearing a groove in the sand, he had paced so long. Sophie should’ve returned long ago, either to invite him inside or to say that Leonidas had forbidden his participation in their meeting. But this protracted absence concerned him, and it wasn’t just about the arrangement he’d struck with Ares.

  Sable didn’t want Sophie healing the king because she might get hurt—a prospect that caused his heart to beat wildly and his palms to sweat. He’d meant everything he’d said earlier: She was a walking disaster, so thoroughly naive that it was a wonder she’d lived as long as she had without tragedy befalling her.

  And now that Ares had noticed her, Sable’s sense that she might come to harm was stronger than ever—yet another reason for his dastardly bargain with the god. He’d sealed the arrangement, not just so he could regain his body, not just to have his wings again . . . not even because he hoped for Sophie’s love. But because Sable feared that if he didn’t take the offer, Ares would knock Sophie off the chessboard without so much as blinking his golden eyes.

  It was an untenable situation, no matter how he weighed things.

  He stared up at the brightly lit house, longing to be within and at Sophie’s side like a normal male. Not necessarily human, but definitely a man with two legs and zero equine parts among his anatomical traits. But how would he ever keep from losing Sophie in the process after lying to her and working against the Spartans?

  A noise from the thick forest instantly had Sable summoning his swords. He stood poised, silent and still, listening. Whoever it was, they weren’t bothering to tread very quietly, instead crunching leaves and brush just off the main drive.

  Sable lifted his nose, sniffing . . . and nearly retched. Demon scent, but it wasn’t a demon. The wards hadn’t been compromised, so it couldn’t be a diabolic entity. No, it was definitely a human, he could tell from the odor—but a human who’d spent far too much time among demonkind.

  He trotted closer, weapons summoned and ready.

  “Sable,” a rough male voice called. “Sable . . .”

  “Who are you?” He raised both swords even higher. No fiendish associate of his would’ve ever made it inside the compound, and he couldn’t think of any human filth who might know his name. Whoever this man was, he definitely had some nasty acquaintances to convey a stench like that—it carried all the way from the trees.

  “Our common associate sent me,” the voice rasped. “He has a gift for one of the warriors.”

  “Not good enough. Who are you?” Sable repeated, growing impatient. The common associate could well be Ares . . . or this might be a trap of some sort.

  “It is an item of great interest to those inside the house,” the male said. His voice was strange, almost hollowed, as if there was no one really there. Sable heard danger in its unearthly, icy tone.

  Moving closer to the trees, he knew he needed to prevent this man from getting any closer to Sophie, no matter who he was. “Show yourself now,” Sable demanded, “or I will charge you. I’m assuming that being trampled by a stallion holds about as much appeal as being run through by my swords.”

  A man emerged from the brush, human in form, but unlike any male of that species Sable had ever seen. It was as if all the life had been sucked out of him. He didn’t appear to be elderly, not precisely, but his face was sunken and vacant, his limbs grotesquely spindly. He almost looked like a sack of bones with a tight veneer of skin wrapped about it.

  “Your name.” Sable pointed a sword at him in accusation. “And place your weapons at your feet.”

  The man held up empty hands. “I am unarmed. And I’m Caesar. Caesar Vaella.”

  “Why do you have demon scent all over you?” Sable sniffed at the night air. “You’re human, I can see that.”

  Caesar smiled and Sable really wished he’d not done that. His rotten teeth looked like the man smelled. “I traffic in souls. Trade them to demons.” For the briefest moment, horns sprouted atop Caesar’s head, the kind a human could only obtain after long association with demonkind. He tapped one of the horns proudly. “They like me . . . the demons do. And they like what I offer even more.” The horns retracted again, his point made. He had powerful, dark associates who’d respected him enough to crown him with their mark.

  Caesar stepped closer, extending one bony hand. “Took this off a female when I was working a trade back in 1893.” Something gleamed in the center of his withered palm. “That item’s of great value to the warrior Aristos . . . and his new bride.”

  So this trader knew that
Ari had recently married. Interesting. Sable kept his swords drawn. “Who sent you?”

  “The god you serve.”

  So he was one of Ares’s lackeys. Sable didn’t like that fact one bit because the last thing he wanted was a creature like this—one under the power of the god—sniffing around Sophie.

  Sable nodded toward the creature’s palm. “What is that?” he asked, although he could plainly see a bobble sparkling in the moonlight, antique by the look of it. “It’s a ring, but what’s the significance?”

  “Go to the warrior Aristos.” Caesar’s pale, lifeless eyes narrowed. “Present this to him. Tell him you’ve seen me . . . and that you know how to find me.”

  “Find you? And how would I do that? Why would I do it? I have concerns here that require my attention.” The last thing he’d do right now was abandon Sophie, or abandon the assignment Ares had already given him. Why would the god pull him off the case, anyway? That alone made this trader’s motives entirely suspect in Sable’s opinion.

  “The order comes from Ares himself,” Caesar announced. “A trail has been created . . . you’re supposed to get them started on it and after me.”

  Ares’s words from earlier rang in Sable’s ears. Don’t worry about Aristos . . . I have plans for that warrior.

  This chase would lead Aristos far away. Ares was up to something—when, apparently, the Spartan king most needed healing. Surely Aristos would see through this ruse.

  Sable shook his head. “Aristos won’t leave his king at a time of need. There’s not a chance in Hades that he will be torn from Leonidas’s side.”

  Caesar handed Sable the ring. “I took this from his Juliana’s hand the night I drove her to suicide. I didn’t get to trade her soul to the demons that night. I was robbed. Tell Aristos that I want what’s my due. Tell him that I plan to claim her soul . . . that I can still control her mind, and I promise you, Sable, that Spartan will follow you.”

  Sable stared down at the antique ring, at the intricate curio design—it was the image of a Roman warrior. He supposed Aristos hadn’t been able to locate a Greek one. He weighed the jewelry in his hand as if measuring his own fate. He could feel Ares’s trap tightening about him—a part of him craved the thrill of deceiving Aristos this way. Closing his eyes, he could taste the intoxicating brew of murder and suicide and suffering. He’d stay high for weeks if he drank that long, cool elixir.