Mirrors abounded. Shadows and light danced for dominance. Glowing eyes peeked out from darkened passageways.
This totally looked like the lair of a capricious deity notorious for his games.
She also sensed a permanent portal down here. How to get Nereus to let them use it?
Their group eventually entered what must be an underwater gallery of sorts. There were enormous rounded windows at intervals, the way paintings might line a museum wall.
When Lanthe passed the first, her eyes went wide. Ships were piled up, as if in a junkyard. She turned to Thronos. —Are you seeing this?—
—It makes sense that a sea god’s home would have a vortex.— A mystical magnet. —We’re in an abyss; everything sinks to this level.—
At the next window, she squinted out into the dark, seeing gems the size of footballs scattered all over the sand. Schools of mercreature sentries glided by. They were humanoids to a degree, but instead of legs, the mermaids sported fishtails, the mermen collections of tentacles.
The next window revealed a submarine with Russian lettering on its hull, and what looked like part of an aircraft carrier. This was too wild!
For all the suffering Lanthe had borne just to reach Sargasoe, she was excited to behold such an exotic place. But what was in store? Nïx’s prediction echoed in her mind: In one realm, hurt. In one realm, leave. In one realm, cleave. In one realm, shine.
So was Lanthe supposed to cleave here? She bit her lip, glancing at Thronos. Cleave was a word with several meanings, one of which was to separate.
She’d already sensed a portal. What if Nereus offered two different rides: one to the Skye and one to Rothkalina?
Was she ready to part from Thronos? Despite all her blustering and denials earlier, the thought made her chest ache. If only a relationship between them didn’t pose so many insurmountable odds.
When they passed a mirror, she turned away, not wanting to see her reflection. Yet suddenly all the injuries over her body began mending. The restraints around her wrists disappeared, and she felt as fresh as if she’d recently bathed. With a gasp, she peered down at herself.
She now wore a black leather skirt, mesh hose, and leather boots. Her top was a halter woven of gold and silver strands—with denser weaves of metal over the front to conceal her br**sts. Sleek metal gauntlets covered her hands and forearms, and she detected a mask over her face.
Sorceri formal dress! Her hands flew to her necklace. Still there!
She whirled around to the mirror. Her mask was sapphire blue, accentuating her eyes. Her hair had been twined around a substantial gold headpiece, with wild braids framing her face. No more bob cut in the back—long locks had grown out, left to curl down her back.
She felt more like a sorceress—less like food. She was starting to enjoy Sargasoe’s amenities! She turned to Thronos, and her lips parted.
The Vrekener was . . . drop-dead gorgeous.
His recent injuries had disappeared, and he was dressed in new clothes. Leather breeches and boots. A wide leather belt to highlight his narrow hips.
A crisp, white lawn shirt molded over his muscles and wing stems as if tailored. Which she supposed it had been, by a divine hand.
She was entranced by her tall, built, devilish, demon lover. Or would-be lover. He had the physical attributes to attract any female—but Lanthe also admired how he stood so proud and stalwart, ready to do battle once more.
She and Thronos continued to be challenged; they continued to overcome, protecting each other. Maybe he was right; maybe they were the Vrekener/Sorceri couple who could beat those odds.
“Is this real?” he asked, gazing back at their guards. “Between the loops and Feveris, I’m unsure.”
She was used to magics like these, Thronos not so much. “I think it is.”
“Follow the sounds to the feast,” the Stheno leader said, using her trident to point down the corridor. “Do not entertain ideas of escape. For your kind, there is only one way out of Sargasoe.”
When the cadre turned to slither away, a thought occurred to Lanthe. “Wait! Where are my clothes from before? There was a lock of hair—”
“Your offering has been received,” the leader said, her head snakes wavering. “It’s the reason you live yet.”
“Oh.” And then Lanthe and Thronos were alone. “Hope Nïx didn’t need that back.”
When he canted his head at her, Lanthe realized he hadn’t seen her looking this put-together in forever. “Sooo, what do you think?”
“Your garments are revealing. It won’t bother you to attend a feast half-naked?”