by H. L. Burke
“Half-god, a bastard unwanted by mortal and immortal alike.” Gan sneered.
The twinkle died from Cibron’s eyes. His brows furrowed, and he gestured to Calen. “So, are you going to lop off your son’s head? You’re good at betraying your own flesh and blood. Tell me, how did you make the choice? Was it simply the inconvenience of his half of the curse? Did that make it easy to decide which of your children to abandon?”
“You are the last one to judge me, you who engineered this entire mess to nurse your injured pride.” Gan spat at his brother’s feet. “You were always weak. I did Carta a favor when I ousted you. Was it easy to choose which of my children survived? No, but I did it for the good of the kingdom, so I could have a strong heir who would lead this land to greatness.”
Laidra glanced from Zephia, who stood silently observing the brothers, to Calen who still watched the guards with glinting eyes. Perhaps they could slip away.
“It doesn’t have to be this way,” Zephia said. “I come from Mt. Olyna. The gods are willing to grant me a hearing.”
“The gods will not undo my work,” Cibron snarled. “My cause is just. The punishment fits the crime.”
“Crime? What crime has Calen committed?” Zephia squared her shoulders. Her eyes flashed as wind swirled around her. “You struck him down as an infant, never giving him a chance to be heard as a man. He grew up exiled from any who might show him mercy. His own father and brother were willing to slay him to protect their political power. How is that just? Give him a chance to speak for himself.”
Gan snorted. “It's a bit late for that.”
“You have the power, Cibron.” Zephia’s stare burned into the half-god.
Cibron stuck out his chin. “Perhaps, but I have no motivation. Why should I do anything to aid the offspring of my betrayer?”
A flash of light blinded Laidra. Several women screamed. A whiff of singed air burned Laidra’s nostrils as she leaned into Calen. Her hands rubbed against his scales the wrong way, tearing her skin. He hissed and drew closer to her. She braced herself against his bulk.
Her vision cleared, though dots still danced before her eyes. A tall man with ivory skin and an impressive beard that gleamed like pure gold stood before Cibron. The half-god quivered. The wind picked up and another man, dark of skin with wild black hair and ebony-feathered wings, descended. He placed his hand upon Zephia’s shoulder, and the queen beamed up at him like an adoring child.
“I also wish for a hearing in this!” a piping voice declared. All eyes turned to the crowd. A young girl, no more than six or seven, strode from their midst, golden-curled and blue-eyed. As she stepped forward, she grew, stretching into an elegant woman in a flowing white robe and bronze breastplate. Laidra’s jaw dropped. Ethna, the guardian goddess of Oleva, looked exactly like the statues scattered throughout the family temple. “He struck two of my charges, not my blood, but still my responsibility.”
Several folk, including Lucan and Ellea, fell to their knees. Others stood, mouths agape, quivering.
“Perfect!” Cibron said through his teeth. “Why don’t we summon the whole Olynan court while we’re at it? This is between me and my brother.” He practically spat the word.
“You overstep yourself!” the gold-bearded man thundered.
Cibron flinched. Laidra tightened her hold on Calen. If Jovan (for she assumed this man was the king of the gods) were as fickle as the stories told, he might as soon smite her with a lightning bolt as save Calen from his curse.
“These boys are my grandchildren,” the winged man, the wind god Phyrus, said. “They should never have faced such a fate without a chance to redeem themselves, whether through valor, wit, or character. That is not our way, striking the innocent. Everyone must have a chance to prove their worth.”
“They had a chance. The one survived.” Cibron still stooped as if afraid to stand straight before his father, but his expression was stony.
“A chance that allowed one to save himself at the cost of the other? I would say the one who didn’t take the chance is the one with the greater value,” Zephia said.
Volen growled.
“He would’ve if he hadn’t been foiled.” Gan stepped closer, still frowning. Perhaps being the half-brother of a half-god and the spouse of another strengthened his courage where immortals were concerned. Even Volen and haughty Perys looked small and frightened in the face of the powerful beings. “I will not have you convince them to restore Calen at the cost of Volen. That die has been cast.”
“That is not what I desire either.” Zephia lowered her head and approached Jovan. “My king, please, release my son, if only for a moment. Let him state his case.”
“No! He shall not be restored!” Cibron stamped his foot, his face darkening.
“Silence!” Jovan smashed his fist into his palm.
Cibron subsided.
“You can let the boy speak without releasing him,” Ethna said. “It is within your power, Cibron.”
Cibron shuffled his feet then flipped his wrist at Calen. The serpent swayed and toppled to the ground with a crash.
“Calen!” Laidra gasped, but before she could kneel beside him, a green mist rose from his body. It coalesced above him, forming a transparent apparition—tall, broad-shouldered, with close-cropped black hair and beautiful brown eyes. Instead of his usual nakedness, he was clad in a tunic as green as his scales.
Volen drew a staggered breath.
Laidra had only ever gotten quick glances at Calen, but now that he stood close to his brother, it amazed her that she’d never noted the stunning resemblance. If not for subtle differences—and Calen’s current transparency—they would’ve been mirror images.
However, Calen’s mouth was softer, his expression more open while there was a tightness around Volen’s eyes that was absent in Calen’s visage.
As if their souls have shaped their appearance, Laidra thought.
She put out her hand, but it sank through Calen like vapor.
He stared at her, wide-eyed. “Laidra, I’m so sorry. I never got a chance to say good-bye.”
Her eyes misted. “Good-byes can wait. We’re going to get you home.”
He traced her cheek with his palm, his hand melting through her veil. For a moment, she could almost imagine she felt his touch. Then he turned to face his father and the gods.
“Are you aware of why you’re here?” Jovan asked.
“Vaguely—my perception as a snake is muffled at best, but I know you have been discussing my fate. Whatever you decide, leave Laidra out of it. She’s gone through enough.”
“I’m staying with you.” Laidra stepped forward, almost tripping over his slumbering snake-body in her eagerness.
“The Olevan princess has her own curse which must be addressed.” Ethna tossed her hair.
Phyrus scoffed. “My grandson’s predicament is of greater urgency than your subject’s cosmetic concerns.”
“Both curses were direct retaliation for wrongs done to me.” Cibron was one foot stomp away from a full-on temper tantrum. A tinge of satisfaction pierced Laidra’s worry.
“Father!” Volen pushed out his chest. “What’s done is done. Calen’s fate has been decided.”
Calen opened his mouth to speak, but squabbling broke out and overwhelmed his voice. Gods, half-gods, and mortal royalty all speaking at once sent the scene into pandemonium. Calen’s shoulders rose and fell in a great sigh. He turned to Laidra, a slight smile playing over his face.
“At least I can see you again. I’ve never really had a chance to look you in the eyes,” he whispered. “Take off your veil, my Laidy.”
Her stomach churned at the thought of revealing herself to gods and men alike, but Laidra pulled away the thin cloth that masked her face. Calen’s gaze drew her in.
The corner of his mouth quivered. “I’ve missed you. Your voice and touch are weakened by the scales, but I’ve savored every bit that slipped through. Oh Laidy, we could’ve been so happy.”
&nbs
p; “We will be—someday.”
A roll of thunder sent the observing crowd fleeing for shelter.
Jovan slapped his hands together, creating another flash of white brilliance. “Silence!”
The fighting subsided. The various petitioners formed a half-circle around Jovan, who in turn faced Laidra and Calen.
Calen swallowed, but he managed to hold the god’s stare.
“I have an understanding of all aggrieved parties, but you—why should I give you a second chance?” Jovan tilted his head.
“Because I never got a first.” Calen drew himself taller. “All my life I have been called a monster, but my only desire has been to avoid harming others. I fought my curse, mastered it as best I could. In return, I received only loneliness.” He hovered his hand over Laidra’s shoulder. “I can’t even touch the woman I love, who in turn has lived in isolation and derision through no fault of her own. You want me to prove myself?” His mouth hardened. “God or not, I fail to see why you require proof. I ask, rather, what I have done to deserve this fate?”
Pride warmed Laidra's chest.
Jovan’s expression grew grim. “Bold, yet I find myself unable to answer. Cibron, this curse is your doing. What do you say?”
“He is his father’s spawn.” Cibron sneered. “No more proof is needed. By blood, he is deceptive, disloyal, and deviant. Look how he charmed the ugly one, offering her false hope in an attempt to save himself. Do you think he really loves her? Or she him? The girl is with him out of desperation, for no other will have her.”
“That’s not true!” Laidra burst out.
Jovan glanced at her, and her leg muscles melted.
Knees knocking, she stammered, “I have given my heart fully to Calen, and I trust he has done the same for me. He saw me when no one else did, and I would give my life for him. Strike me down or strike us both down together, but do not doubt that I love him, or he me.”
A smile flickered across Jovan’s lips. “And are you willing to fight for that love?”
“With my last breath, if need be.” The steadiness of her declaration surprised her, but she held her expression in check.
“No, that burden should not fall on her.” Calen stepped between her and Jovan. “You will not put her in danger.”
“So you are reckless enough to command a god?” Jovan chuckled. “Fear not. She will not be alone. The task I have in mind is for both of you.”
“They are mortal, Jovan.” Zephia’s lips pursed. “Be merciful.”
“I will not assign them an impossible quest, though it may bring them to a breaking point.” The king of the gods drummed his fingers on his hip. “Are there any objections to a trial to solve this once and for all?”
“If he is cured, who receives the Cartan crown?” Volen asked, sounding very much like his uncle.
“Why not grant Volen and myself Carta and Laidra and her prince Oleva?” Ellea stepped forward. “Father has no male heir, after all.”
“I would accept that.” Lucan nodded. “If the prince were fully restored.”
“What sort of trial?” Zephia drew closer to Calen.
“Beyond the caves of the Gorgons, there is a mystical pool, said to be a tributary of the very stream that fed the Garden of Life at creation.”
Cibron gaped. “The Pool of Wisdom?”
“No, the price of drawing from its waters is too high!” Phyrus held up his hand.
“There must always be a price,” Jovan said. “If they are truly worthy, they will find a way to pay. They will go to the pool and bring me a flask of its waters with no interference from the gods or their offspring.” He wagged a finger at Zephia and Cibron.
Laidra swallowed. What price could be so high as to frighten a god? If such power guarded this pool, how could she face it? Somehow, she would have to find a way.
Cibron’s eyes glinted with pleasure. “It’s an impossible task.”
“You’ve always underestimated your opponents, Cibron.” Zephia frowned. “If any can do it, they can. I have faith in Laidra and my son. However, if this is to be their trial, I would have some promises.”
“State your conditions.” Jovan shrugged.
“First, once the curse is lifted, both Laidra and Calen, as well as their descendants, have the gods’ promise of protection.” Zephia pointed at Cibron. “No waiting a generation and swooping down to transform their children or grandchildren into worms or other vindictive nonsense.”
Cibron put his hand to his heart. “You doubt my honor?”
Zephia laughed. “Oh Cibron, I doubt you in so many ways.”
The half-god flushed.
“That will be decreed. And what else?” Jovan asked.
The queen’s expression softened. “Let him hold her again.”
“Done.” Jovan snapped his fingers.
Calen’s being darkened and solidified. He grasped Laidra’s arm, and she jumped. With a strangled cry, she flung herself into his arms.
His embrace tightened until her ribs begged for mercy, but she slipped her arms about his neck and held on. His warmth rose through his tunic into her skin.
“You’re not naked this time.” She laughed.
“Jovan’s doing, I’m guessing.” He smiled. “Oh Laidy, you feel so good.”
His mouth pressed against hers. A sigh escaped her, followed by a gasp of pleasure as his teeth gently squeezed her lower lip. She didn’t care that the whole court watched or that her twisted face was exposed. Calen held her, and nothing else mattered.
When their kiss ended, she laid her head against his chest and listened to his throbbing heart. His hands ran up and down her back, soft and soothing.
“I love you so much,” she whispered. “So very, very much.”
“We’ll get through this.” His breath tickled her ear. “If I have to fight to my last drop of strength, I will. We will be together again.”
“Enough!” Cibron's harsh voice broke the spell. “Are we going to start this trial or let them cuddle like a pair of lovesick rabbits?”
Laidra shot the half-god a glare but kept her cheek pressed against Calen. His fingers worked into her hair.
“I’m ready to begin,” he said, his voice steady. “But I need to know how. Where do I find the Pool of Wisdom and how do I get there?”
“He should not go in this form.” Cibron waved at Calen as if assessing his manner of dress rather than his body. “Let me restore the curse until this is over and he has proven himself.”
Calen gripped her harder. “How can I prove myself if I don’t even know who I am? As a snake, I have no concept of my humanity or what matters. I’ll be incapable of completing the quest.”
Jovan yawned. “Really, this is taking a long time to sort out. Are you capable of making him a snake without depriving him of his mind, Cibron?”
“Yes,” Cibron muttered darkly.
“Then do so.”
Calen’s lips brushed across Laidra’s forehead before he faded like mist in her embrace. She cried out, but he was gone. The snake at her feet stirred to life. Calen slithered to her side and raised his broad snout to her hand. Recognition flickered in his glowing eyes. Her heart faltered, but she stroked his scales in hopes of comforting him.
Phyrus strode over to them. “You said none of us were to aid them in their task. However, if you allow me to guide their boat as far as the Towering Shore, it will speed things along. If they are forced to walk or beg for passage on a mortal’s vessel, it could draw this out for weeks—needlessly.”
“That is acceptable.” Jovan nodded.
“Might as well get this over with.” Cibron sniffed. “I will be watching to make sure none of you violate the terms.” With a flash, the half-god disappeared.
Volen cursed under his breath and stomped into the palace. Ellea glanced from her fleeing husband to her sister before following him.
Phyrus cleared his throat. “And once they reach the Towering Shore, the passage into the Forbidden Gardens—”
“No, I draw the line at escorting them to the shore.” Jovan shook his head. “The last three trials—the cliffs, the dragon, and the Gorgons—they can deal with themselves.”
Laidra’s head spun. Cliffs? Gorgons? Dragon? How would they ever get through any of that?
“They’ll need provisions for the journey.” Laidra’s jaw nearly dropped as her father stepped forward. “At least let me provide those.”
“What you mortals do doesn’t concern me. Ethna, let us depart.” Jovan beckoned to the Olevan goddess.
She rolled her eyes. “Yes, Father.”
Apparently, gods weren't exempt from family squabbles. Thunder rolled and lightning raged. When Laidra’s vision cleared, Ethna and Jovan were gone.
Lucan approached Phyrus, wringing his hands and looking far older and frailer than Laidra remembered him. “You spoke of a boat for their journey. I can also provide that, if you wish.”
Phyrus stuck his chin in the air. “Take me to your vessel and I will inspect it for worthiness.”
“It’s at the port.” Lucan pointed over the roofs of the Cartan capital.
“Ah good, let us go.” A blast of wind sprang up, wrapping around Lucan like a giant fist. The king shouted in surprise as the wind god whisked him away.
Perys, who had been silently observing the debate, raised an eyebrow. She scowled at her daughter. “Laidra, your veil! Put it on.”
Laidra dropped her gaze. The veil lay at her feet like a dead bird. Rebellion rippled through her. She narrowed her eyes at Perys. “I think not.”
Her mother flushed. “If you are to potentially be queen of Oleva—”
“Then I would hope what matters would be my character, not my appearance.” Laidra straightened her posture in her best imitation of Zephia. She would not be shamed by Perys again. “Good-bye, Mother.” She knelt beside Calen and ignored all else.
Perys huffed and stomped away.
“At least Father is trying to help,” Laidra whispered to Calen, grateful that he could understand her again. “I will try not to bear my mother ill-will.”
Footsteps drew near her. She looked up and saw Gan and Zephia, angled away from each other but both with eyes on her.