Gods, but he couldn’t get the little girl’s words out of his head. Each time he looked at Acacia he saw the surprise in her eyes at Marissa’s premonition. He understood Acacia didn’t believe it. He knew otherwise.
A heavy weight pressed down on his chest, making it hard to breathe. Though he knew what was expected of him, had even accepted what he would do for his race, the thought of Acacia’s fate had never once been a question in his mind. The Elysian fields, yes. Perhaps even the Isles of the Blessed—the afterlife where the blessed heroes dwelled—because of her connection to the royal family. But not once had he considered the fact she might be condemned to Tartarus.
And why hadn’t he? It made perfect sense that a pact made by Hades would not end well for the loser.
“I think we’re getting close,” Acacia said from up ahead.
Shaken from his thoughts, he looked up to see the soft sway of her hips as she moved. They’d made good time, even with Marissa in tow, but Acacia’s pace had slowed the last mile or two. He knew she was weak and growing weaker by the minute. Just as he knew there was nothing he could do to help her.
A lump formed in his throat at the thought, that weight in his chest multiplying. Marissa sat perched on his shoulders, her hands and cheek pressed to the top of his head, where she’d been sleeping for the past hour. Working to keep the child balanced was the one thing that had distracted him from thinking too much about Acacia. And about what he was doing to her himself.
He never should have touched her. In her house, in her room at the colony, last night in that dark and sultry cave. Just the thought of the way her body felt, so soft and moist and giving, jacked him up and made him think about what it would be like to sink inside her and forget about the rest of the world. Never before had he met a gynaíka—or a woman—who’d made him forget his duties.
Why did it have to be her?
“Do you hear that?” Acacia stopped in his path. Theron nearly ran into her before realizing she was intently listening to something in the distance. She reached a hand behind her to stop him. Just the slight brush of her fingers against his chest sent electricity zinging along his nerve endings.
He forced his mind away from what those fingers could do and drew in a long breath. He smelled fresh wood and fire, and the unmistakable scent of burning flesh.
Alarm bells rang in his head even as Acacia turned questioning eyes his way, and he realized she smelled it too. “What is that?”
He had a feeling he knew. And skata, he didn’t want to tell her.
Worry rushed over her features as she read his expression. Then she turned and rushed ahead down the path.
“Acacia!”
From above, Marissa was jolted awake. She sat up taller on his shoulders. “What’s happening?”
“Nothing, child. We’re almost there.” Theron gritted his teeth as he ran after Acacia and tried not to lose Marissa.
They reached a clearing, and the trees opened to an area void of shrubs and brush. A circle had been outlined in rocks, and at the center sat a large, blackened stone, four feet high and as long as a man, flat on top as if it had been chiseled to form a table. Around the base, piles of wood fueled flames that leapt and licked at the stone tablet and the body that lay on top, burning in the dawn.
Nick stood with his back to them, something bunched in the hand at his side. On the far side of the table, a small group of people huddled together, weeping as they watched the body burn.
Mourners. The burning of the flesh was said to release the soul to the afterlife, but it only worked if the heart remained in the body.
Let there be a heart.
“Oh, my God,” Acacia whispered at his side.
Theron eased Marissa to the ground, and a woman came racing their way. He recognized her from the day they’d arrived in the colony.
“Marissa!” the woman screamed.
The girl was swept up into her mother’s arms. The woman muttered incoherent words of comfort as tears streaked down her face and she clung fiercely to the small child. She mouthed a thank-you to Acacia and Theron before turning back to the group of mourners.
Nick turned slowly to look their way, and Theron saw what the man held. A jacket. Bright red. Leather, with shiny silver grommets running up and down the sleeves.
Acacia saw it too. Her hand went to her mouth as the blood rushed from her cheeks. “Dana. Oh, God, Dana. No.”
She swayed on her feet. Theron caught her before she went down. And cursed himself and those bloody daemons. He glanced up to Nick for help, not understanding Acacia’s link to the woman, but knowing instinctively that they’d been friends.
Nick shook his head, and though there was murder in his eyes at what had been done, there was also heartfelt regret. He turned back to the fire.