Kingmaker. Truthsayer. Settler of scores.
In the silent, green stillness of pure magic, I feel the tapestry of my life overlap my body, all the threads the Fates wove for me, all their twists and turns. The Furies both gifted and cursed me with the power to discern the real from the false. They formed me in their own images and then sent me forth to punish those who break sacred covenants, those who betray life’s most valuable currency of trust.
“What’s more important than loyalty?” Griffin’s voice whispers through my mind.
“Made for me,” my heart whispers back.
My lesson was a long time coming, this unveiling of the truth. I think I’ve learned it now, after wading through the swamp of my own distrust and lies. I’ve finally stepped onto dry ground and can see the future before me.
“Punish those who swear false oaths.” New voices overlap in my mind, grating and dark, seductive and powerful, the voices of primordial beings that could boil my blood and flay me alive. In fact, they already have—an experience I have a feeling was much harsher for me than for most.
I look at Mother. Just like everyone else, even Griffin, she’s frozen in my flood of magic. And what I see is a parent whose children are pawns to her. And a queen whose subjects live in fear of her. Mother. Ruler. Her implicit pledges, the responsibilities that should have been anchored deep in her heart, mean nothing to her. Give birth but don’t protect. Hold absolute power only to abuse it. She is the very embodiment of betrayal.
A burning sensation flares in my wings, and I look over my shoulder to see the white feathers turn jet-black. A brass-studded scourge appears in my hand, a gift from my partial makers in the Underworld. The whip is wooden-handled and long, an ancient and vicious-looking tool. Dozens of thin leather straps trail in the blood and dust of Sykouri. I lift the weapon and feel the weight and sway of the studs as they clank against one another in a terrible, melodious dance.
I swing the whip up and crack it once, testing it. The menacing snap is still ripe in the air when my magic crashes to the ground, disappearing back into the fabric of the world just as suddenly and mysteriously as it appeared. A final ripple sends everything shuddering back into motion, and I fill my lungs with air that tastes of sweat and blood. I let out the inhale on a battle cry worthy of my terrifying benefactors.
Lightning strikes above my head. Thunder roars in response. Ground-shaking power pulses from me, and the remains of Sykouri gasp their last breath. The ruins on either side of the main thoroughfare collapse, imploding with a long, low groan. Stone dust clouds the sky, momentarily blinding. When the storm settles, everything and everyone is silent.
Around me, the ancient city is leveled. Newly opened marble gleams in the sun. The white stone contrasts sharply with my black wings, which suddenly seem too dark.
Mother staggers to her feet, having fallen from her shattered pedestal. She stares at me in shock, her mouth ajar.
I stare back, my mind filled with Fisans, Tarvans, and Sintans. I have them all. Everyone but Mother. I don’t want her.
“I took these people from you.” I don’t mean to sound any different, but my voice comes out powerful, layered, and deep, like an echo of thunder from the high peak of Mount Olympus. “And I give them back their free will.”
I slam down barriers behind me in each and every one of them as I exit their minds as fast as I can, leaving them fortified with my own natural resistance to compulsion. The move is impulsive and totally instinctive, but also very difficult. It shreds my power down to the deepest, rawest layers. I give so many people a piece of myself that there’s not much left when I’m done.
I hold very still, my spine straight and my shoulders back, not showing my loss of balance. “I just coated their minds with the armor of my magic. You cannot touch them ever again. No one can.” Not her. Not me.
My voice is normal again, evidence—at least to me—of power lost. I don’t let on. Mother sniffs out weakness like Cerberus sniffs out snakes.
At the same time, I can’t entirely regret what I just did. Right now, parceling out my magic to protect the survivors feels more worthwhile to me than black wings and a whip. Darkness and vengeance chafe against Elpis in my heart. I’m not sure there’s room for both.
Mother’s face flushes with anger—and maybe something else. Real worry. Her eyes dart from side to side, her hands clenching into fists.
The satisfaction of seeing Alpha Fisa scared is suddenly overcome by an intense throbbing in my shoulder. I forgot I’d been stabbed. Injury and magic fatigue start to plague me, but I’m not finished yet, and my reserves have never failed me.
I force the tremor from my hand and pull a knife from my belt. This fight isn’t over, and maybe it’s time to finally accept that Mother’s name is written on my blade in blood.
CHAPTER 22
I don’t hesitate. Unfortunately, neither does she. Just before I release the blade, Mother morphs into the shorter form of a Harpy, and the knife sails over her head. She shoves off with a beat of powerful wings and flies away, abandoning her remaining soldiers and contingent of Metal Mages without a backward glance.
Cursing under my breath, I watch her go, a mix of disgust and relief churning in my gut. I would have done it this time. But I didn’t. And I don’t know which sickens me more.
I don’t fly after her. Seeing to the welfare of the people right here in Sykouri holds more sway over me. Even though it galls me, dealing with Mother will have to wait.
No one resumes fighting. Everyone is too stunned. Or afraid. Or troubled. Or in awe. Mother’s soldiers lay down their weapons, not interested in pursuing a battle for a leader who literally just took off on them and is definitely not coming back. Or maybe it’s because of me. I’m bloody, winged, powerful. I wouldn’t want to fight me, either.
Behind us, I hear a shout to search for the wounded. It’s Lukos’s voice. At least someone is taking control like they should.
I whirl to face Griffin. “What is wrong with me?”
Griffin frowns. “What are you talking about? You did it. You got everyone back.”
I glare at him. Yes, there’s some positive. But this was also a colossal failure. “After half of them died!”
“Not half.” He sweeps a hand out. “Look around you. There are more injuries here than deaths.”
I refuse to acknowledge the pride in his voice and flex my empty hands. The scourge is gone. I didn’t use it. I chose healing instead, and the Furies took their ancient weapon back.
“Stop looking at me like I did something right,” I snap. “Sometime, somewhere else, all this starts again. Gods damn it!”
Griffin shakes his head. He looks terrible. There’s blood everywhere and a huge gash at his hairline. “No. She won’t underestimate you again.”