“So he doesn’t fall over in shock when I have a halfling in a few months.” The witch Mariketa had been the one to sense it, telling her: “You do know you’re totes preggo, right?”
Lanthe’s biological clock had cried, That’s right, bitches, remember my name!
Her first reaction had been a muttered “Fuck,” à la Thronos. But with each passing hour, she’d had time to grow accustomed to the idea. She was now officially elated—or she would be.
As soon as she located her kid’s father.
“Amusing, sister.” When Sabine saw that she wasn’t joking, she gasped, “Mother of gold.”
FIFTY-SIX
He must’ve damaged his head in the fall. He’s . . . different.”
“His wings were wasted by flame.”
“So how did the king come to be on that mountain?”
As Thronos completed his nightly patrol of the outpost, he heard his people’s whispers, had been hearing them for a week.
Some believed he’d traced to the mountain, as a demon might. Some believed he’d been ensorcelled with a protection spell—though Thronos had no idea what would make them think that.
All of his subjects were wary about their king and their future, and he couldn’t blame them—he wasn’t confident in either of those things himself.
My mind is not well. . . .
He descended through a profuse bank of fog, splaying his wings. Since they’d regenerated, flying had become excruciating once more, such a change from the inexplicable reprieve he’d enjoyed.
Gritting his teeth, he dropped to the landing of his elevated cabin, one of many in their outpost. Trees housed thousands more.
Jasen was already there awaiting him. Each night the two of them met to discuss the day’s events. The male appeared as exhausted as he felt.
Inside, Thronos took his place at his rough-hewn desk. “Any new developments today?”
“None.” Jasen sat on a simple wooden bench. “The people remain unsettled. They feel like we’re living on borrowed time.”
Thronos gazed out his sole window into the night; as usual he could see little past the blanket of mist that enveloped this forest.
But eventually the humans would find them here. Their wards would not screen them forever. A horde of Vrekeners couldn’t live in the mortal world. Not all together.
And our unity is our strength.
“There is some talk of dividing our numbers, my liege.”
“That will not happen.”
Jasen looked relieved by Thronos’s unequivocal reaction. “But in one thing, many agree—they want revenge for what we’ve lost. Cadmus stirs the pot for war.”
Thronos had heard those rumblings as well. “Revenge against a revenge?” he asked. “Did Aristo’s actions not deserve reprisal?” Thronos was more conflicted about that than most. After all, it was his brother who’d brutalized Morgana’s ward. It was his brother who’d waged a silent and relentless predation on her subjects.
“You’re saying we deserved this?”
“No, I’m saying that everything isn’t black and white. I’m saying that revenge is a zero-sum game. Especially for immortals. If we start it, we’d better be prepared to play it for eternity.” He exhaled. “Even if we come to decide on war, now is not the time.”
Thronos was in no shape to lead them. He’d been injured in the explosion, and had suffered some kind of damage to his mind—yet it wasn’t healing. He still had gaps in his memory, and his temper had grown short.
He could remember a meadow in the Alps of the mortal realm, where he’d played as a boy—but he couldn’t recall what he’d been doing ten nights ago.
When his thoughts wandered, they always turned to the demon plane of Pandemonia. He knew he’d been there for some reason, narrowly escaping with his life. There’d been dragons, hellhounds, and demon hordes.