Nereus kept advancing on her. She backed away from him, darting a glance out the round underwater window to her left: no help there. She was about to turn from it—until she heard a muffled shriek that vibrated the glass.
Chills broke out on her skin as she scanned the depths. A field of glittering gems drew her gaze. Her lips parted with shock.
Like the rays of the sun, the gems radiated out from a female . . . who was shackled to an anchor at the bottom of the ocean.
Her long black hair streamed across her na**d body and floated above her head. The strands were coated in phosphorescence, illuminating her pale, corpselike face, her haunted violet eyes.
It was the queen of the Valkyrie, Furie, so named because she was part Fury—a fire-winged Arch-Fury. Rumor held that she’d been captured by the old vampire king, who’d cursed her to this existence, trapped alive underwater, hidden from her Valkyrie sisters and allies.
As a Lorean, Furie would drown every few minutes before her immortality revived her; she’d been missing for more than fifty years. Five decades of breathing water into her lungs.
Lanthe had almost drowned earlier—once—and it had been horrifying.
The Valkyrie locked eyes with her. Furie’s violet gaze was filled with madness—but also blankness. As if she couldn’t comprehend where she was or how she’d gotten here.
Flames ignited behind her—Furie’s unique fire wings splaying.
Only to be extinguished.
Lanthe had been wrong. There was another sky-born here at the bottom of the ocean.
Realization dawned. As with the other realms, Nïx had wanted Lanthe here. She was the planted spy, conducting Valkyrie recon.
“Do you like my new acquisition?” Nereus asked, as if he’d just pointed out a vase. “I found her along the ocean bed.”
Lanthe turned to him. “Truly an original,” she managed to say with Sabine’s composure. “But really, I need to get back to Thronos.”
“He’s occupied at the moment. You’ll remain with me.”
The god’s ominous tone filled her with fear. “Nereus, I don’t want this.”
“Of course you do. You think I cannot sense such a thing?”
“If you’ve sensed anything, it was my need for Thronos.”
“A shame he doesn’t return it.”
She straightened. “What does that mean? I know he does. He has for centuries.”
“He’s with Nereids right now.”
“That’s not possible.”
“They’re seducing him as we speak. For those centuries, how many times has he prayed to be free of the bonds of matehood? To collect his own sexual experiences, as you have? I’m merely answering a prayer.”
Nereus and his games. He’d known Lanthe and Thronos’s story all along.
“Here in Sargasoe, matehood holds no sway. The Nereids now exude your scent. His body and instinct are as free as if he’d never met you.”
So, physically Thronos could stray. That didn’t mean he would. In Feveris, he’d told her he would be true to her.
Except Feveris wasn’t real. You said so yourself, Lanthe. Still . . . “He won’t go through with it.”
“No one has ever resisted them.”
The god didn’t understand; if there was any male out there who would prove loyal, it was Thronos. He was upstanding, principled, and forthright. He made tough choices. He was going to try to rehabilitate his evil brother, for gold’s sake!
Lanthe straightened her mask. Sorceri were gamblers. She would bet on Thronos to be, well, Thronos. “Care to make a wager on that score?”