Thronos fell silent, seeming lost in his own thoughts.
Though Lanthe’s skin was gradually healing during their long walk, she was drained from keeping up with the fast Sthenos. Their lower halves were fat snake coils, kind of like Cerunnos, except Sthenos gorgons were all females. Plus they had hypnotically wavering snakes for hair. Oh, and brass hands and claws.
Whenever Lanthe tripped in the shifting sands, her Stheno personal guard would heft her up, those claws digging into her arm.
After the belly of the beast, this was nothing. Right?
Wrong.
A blast of ocean wind buffeted her. When Lanthe tottered and got clawed yet again, she snapped, “Watch the claws, bitch!”
—Melanthe?— She could all but see Thronos raising his eyebrows. Just because he was cool and collected didn’t mean she had to be. He’d had his tantrum—his mantrum—on the Order’s island, and it was now her turn.
—I have no more f**ks to give. Okay, Vrekener?— She’d hit her limit. She was sick of portaling, sick of getting captured, sick of being food or potential food.
—We’re going to escape once more. Worry not.—
—Why are you so calm?—
He was quiet for long moments. —It’s my nature. What you saw those first nights and days was not . . . me.—
She’d figured calm was his default setting. So to all his other attractive attributes, she could add not psycho.
Finally, their entourage slowed, entering some kind of echoing space. A sea cave?
They descended for what must be miles. When pressure made her ears pop repeatedly, she realized they were deep beneath the ocean. No flying for Thronos, even if he got free.
She felt sympathy for him. His fear of depths was like her fear of heights. She couldn’t imagine how difficult this must be for him.
Probably as difficult as she would find the Skye. Still, she asked: —You okay with this?—
—It’s temporary.—
In other words, he wasn’t, but he would handle it.
In Pandemonia, she’d told him about crazy stuff going down with Sorceri kids, and he’d confidently said, “We can handle it.”
We.
She and Thronos did work well together.
Gods, she did not need to conclude that the Vrekener would be a good father. Her biological clock cried, The best. None better!
Suddenly Lanthe heard gears whirring, cogs clicking, as if a gate was opening. They entered a warm, damp area, and the gears whirred once more. Behind them, a seal closed with a hiss. The scent of brine pervaded everything.
Off went the blindfolds. Thronos swung his head around to face her, as if he’d been hungry for a single look.
—I’m okay. Still standing.—
When he gave a grim nod of encouragement, she dragged her gaze from him to survey Sargasoe, the legendary lair of Nereus.
This hall had been carved from rock with glittering coral-pink and blue striations. A sheen of water poured down all the walls, but it seemed to be by design.
The area was lit with . . . sconces—basically raised glass bowls where luminescent jellyfish shuttled in circles. Rippling reflections abounded, as they did underwater, making the walls seem to sway.
“Forward,” the leader commanded, the Sthenos slithering behind them.
As Lanthe and Thronos trudged deeper, huge sections of the stone floor would shift and retract, revealing the sea. The construction of this place was spectacular.