Worse still, she couldn’t steer them. Even though she had the keys, those portals were permanently pointed in one direction like subway tubes—and she had no idea where they led.
“I can’t believe you’ve seized these.” Thronos reached for her chain, raising the keys. He inspected the engraved ends, one depicting dripping fangs and one those vines. “Why do you remain here? Were you . . . had you been coming back for me?” The hopefulness in his tone tugged at something inside her.
She snatched her keys back. “Nope.”
Scowl. “Then why are you still here?”
“Because the portals are more complicated than I expected.” Not because she hesitated to abandon Thronos on a hell plane.
Not at all.
“I don’t want to rush anything.” She might be better off in the Zero-G Glade for another day. She might be better off waiting to create her own portal.
She gazed past him. Dawn was finally breaking. Her crime-playtime was over for the day. In any case, before she made another foray into either camp, she should probably recharge. Remarkably, she hadn’t tapped out her persuasion, but a top-off wouldn’t go amiss.
Without a word, she headed back toward the glade.
“Where are we going?” he asked as they neared the brush.
We? Optimist. “I just burgled the two most valuable possessions in this realm.” She cast a wary glance over her shoulder. “Eventually those demons are going to want them back. I’m returning to the glade.”
“I’d fly you there, but the dragons will be out foraging soon,” he said. “I’ll guide you back.”
“Clearly, I don’t need your help.” No sooner had she said that than they reached a junction where the path forked out three ways, engraved stones marking each. She didn’t remember this from before.
Mental shrug. Eeny, meeny, miny . . . She turned toward the one all the way to the right.
“You don’t want that one.”
She faced him with pursed lips. “Why not?”
“The marker reads: The Long Way. Which doesn’t sound very promising.”
“And the other ones?”
“One reads: To the Frozen Lake. The other: Hell Beast Trail.”
She headed toward the frozen lake, intending to step off the path as soon as things got close to chilly.
He remained by her side. “Melanthe, I need to talk to you about what you told me. About my brother.”
“You’ll find out the truth for yourself soon enough. Everything I’ve told you can be verified.”
“You were young, and it was so long ago. Perhaps you mistook him? Aristo’s talons are silvered—his wings would be like any other knight’s.”
“He used to swig from a golden flask.” When Thronos paled, she said, “Oh, so you remember it? Even if I could forget his face, I’d never forget his gold.”
Thronos swallowed. “Maybe he didn’t mean to hurt you in that haystack.”
“After my hand got stabbed, the next pitchfork jab nicked my ear. Before another one could land, Sabine ran to distract them. If not for her, your brother would have gored me to death. Look, I don’t care if you believe me—”
“I . . . believe you.”
“You do?” In spite of how gut-wrenching that must be. “Then do something about it. You should go to the Skye—and clean house.”
“I intend to. I will make my brother see reason when we return.”
She stutter-stepped. She didn’t know which part of his statement mystified her more—the fact that he still intended her to go with him, or that he planned to rehab Aristo. “I hate to tell you this, but your brother is evil. EVIL. The kind you can’t rehabilitate. Face it, Thronos—in the brother department, we both lost out.”