had spent years cultivating these plants, just as he had his human food sources. Also snaking through the room was a thin stream of water that let off enough mist to keep the room moist. But by far the most unusual adornment was a throne-like chair constructed of rock, mud, and bone.
“Ashur gives new meaning to the term self-sufficient,” Lucian said.
“He’s going to feel the edge of my sword for this.”
At that we heard a shuffling of feet and the sound of chain being dragged along the ground. My first impulse was to attack, but Lucian pulled me back into the shadows.
“Let us first see what we’re up against,” he said with maddening calm.
I ground my teeth and watched as the beast came into view, carrying what appeared to be a small boulder. Beastborn were known for their strength, and this one was powerfully built with long, curved horns that tapered to fine points. But he didn’t appear to have any physical weapons on his person. There were, of course, tools in the room that could be wielded toward violent ends, but I was good with a sword. And my desire to kill throbbed like a heartbeat.
Ashur set the weight at the foot of the throne and tugged on the chain. You entered a moment later with timidity. When I saw that your ankle was cuffed, I surged forward in a fit of rage, but Lucian blocked me yet again.
“Wait,” he commanded, barely keeping me at bay. “We can interrupt them at any time.” I didn’t know if his argument was sensible or if he was only delaying our attack out of perverse curiosity.
At last, you came fully into view. Your movements were cautious. Your lower body had been wrapped in a delicate linen fabric, and on your head, an Egyptian headdress, adorned with a gold-banded uraeus. You were an exact replica of a pharaoh from antiquity, including the smudged kohl rimming your eyes. I searched your body for any indication that you’d been injured or mistreated in your captivity and found none, but that did little to assuage my anger.
The beast gestured to the throne, and at his insistence, you awkwardly climbed and sat upon the faded azurite pillow. The massive chair dwarfed you, and yet, the vision of you on high seemed utterly fitting.
Once you were seated, the beast tilted one of his lamps toward you. You squinted from the assault of light, and he shifted it toward one of the mirrors instead, so that you were bathed in a warm golden glow. But it wasn’t only a trick of the lighting, your skin was shining—a metallic shimmer in the light. I was dazzled by it, so rich, it was as if your skin had been painted. So much like…
“Sunborn,” Lucian whispered at my side.
Sunborn. Of course. You had all the markers of a tribe thought to be extinct. As Lena had been worshipped by the Etruscans, Bastet was the lion-headed goddess of ancient Egypt, rumored to have blessed their leaders with the divine wisdom of their forebears. Her patron was the sun god Ra, known for his vengeance and benevolence, in turn. In our kingdom, we called him Sol. As a child, I recalled Lena telling stories of the ill-fated sunborn, who had waged war against the Order of Angels and lost. Their punishment had been severe, an entire tribe hunted down and executed. But here was evidence that the bloodline had not disappeared entirely.
“Ashur is worshipping him,” Lucian muttered quietly as the beastborn knelt at your feet. I noticed then the fresh fruit, flowers, and a chalice of blood arranged like offerings at the base of the throne, the beast’s attempt at creating an altar.
Now seemed as good a time as any to vanquish Ashur and reclaim you, but just as I was preparing to charge, your damned cat slunk out of the shadows. Your eyes darted from her to the corridor where we were hidden. The bull raised his wide snout and sniffed the air. I could hesitate no more. I bounded into the room intent on beheading the animal in one smooth stroke of my blade, but at the last moment you jumped down from the throne and threw yourself in front of the beast. I hardly had time to slow my momentum. I yanked my shoulder violently and nicked the apple of your cheek. A long red gash spilled over with blood—your precious blood.
“What has he done to you?” I bellowed. Your response