Grief of the Undying (The Ichorian Epics Book 3)

by Emilie Knight

  There was an alley across from her that he now stood inside. She couldn’t make out his face, but it has him.

  Her father, Tyndareus, stood there holding a hand out to her.

  She went to cross the street, but both his hands shot up, telling her to stop.

  She did, with a thousand questions rushing through her mind.

  Tyndareus pointed to his left, back the way they’d come.

  Pen couldn’t make out his face in the darkness. She wanted to at least shout to him, but another hand was up, silently asking her to stay quiet.

  He pointed left again, more earnest.

  Pen followed the gesture, looking down the street, and her blood curdled into fresh terror.

  The Fang stood right behind her, hardly six feet away.

  The young man’s blond hair stuck forward in his hood at his shoulders, just as she’d seen through Eudora’s eyes. His wide brown eyes were glassy and staring.

  “It is you,” he whispered in awe. “The Warrior herself. He’ll be so pleased.”

  Chapter Forty Two

  Raisa

  Raisa would have cursed very loudly if she had the means to. For now she settled for a groan that reverberated through her chest and hurt like a bitch.

  The pain radiated out, as if hot thorns were tangled through her ribs, and that was if she stayed still. If she tried to move anything, the thorns would constrict, leaving her gasping for air.

  “Ma?!”

  Drivas’s voice filtered through the haze.

  Her eyes were heavy, but she managed to force them open. At least that didn’t hurt, but it was hard to keep them open.

  “Hey, hun,” she whispered to the form above her.

  She was surprised by how much it hurt to just talk.

  Drivas gasped and threw herself onto Raisa. The thorns in her chest did not appreciate that, but Raisa held Drivas back. For a moment, the pain melted as a memory took over. Drivas as a little girl jumping into bed just like this when she was excited about something or other.

  “You’re finally okay,” Drivas said wiping away tears as she sat back down.

  “Relatively speaking.” Talking was manageable for now if she kept the words soft enough. “I’ll be all right. How long was I out? Your eye looks okay.”

  Back at the gallows, the bruise had been purple, fresh, and swollen. Now, the swelling had gone, and it was just starting to yellow around the edges.

  “It’s been a few days,” Drivas said. “Pen and I got you home after you tackled that guy to the ground.”

  “Days?”

  Raisa went to sit up, but the thorns dug into her lungs and left her breathless. She bit down on the pain but coughed regardless.

  Blood fell onto the blankets covering her chest. Drivas twitched away but instantly went to cover her mother’s mouth with a cloth when the coughing continued.

  More blood started to stain the cloth.

  “It’s okay,” Raisa gasped as Drivas looked worried. “I just need to … get it out. Help me up, would you?”

  Drivas tossed the cloth to the side table and helped her shift up in bed. Once she was back against the pillows, she had to catch her breath.

  Her lungs were not making that any easier. The thorns solidified into another blade now, as if the original was still there.

  “Where’s Pen?” she asked when the pain finally eased.

  “Yea,” Drivas said, though she didn’t sound confident. “She got … really scared when we brought you back.”

  “Where is she?”

  “She left. Said she had to visit someone, but she’s okay now. If anything, she’s hardly left your side too, when she’s not hunting this Fang.”

  Raise smiled and squeezed her hand. “You okay?”

  Drivas paused before answering, and Raisa could see the questions dancing in her eyes.

  “I’m fine,” she said, “but who was that man? He said he was my uncle?”

  “Yes, he was looking for your father.” She had to pause to catch her breath then. She didn’t want to worry Drivas any more than necessary. After a moment she finished with, “But he’s dead.”

  “I figured that part out, but why try to kill me?” Residual fear leaked into her words.

  “Because I got your father killed,” Raisa admitted and stifled another cough. “His name was Arus.”

  Drivas was quiet for a moment, then asked, “Is that why you never talked about him?”

  “That’s part of it,” she had to pause to bite against the pain, “but not all. Arus was …”

  She fell silent, not from the physical pain in her chest this time. Drivas waited, just holding her hand, but Raisa could see the need to know radiating from her.

  “Arus was a great man at first,” Raisa admitted. “He was kind and knew exactly what to say. He made me feel like I held the world in my hands, and that I was the only woman for him. He was ambitious and smart, cunning and …”

  She stopped again and coughed, but Drivas didn’t interrupt.

  “And it was all a ruse. Arus wanted to lead the Wolves, to take on bigger jobs like royalty, but I never saw through his facade. It wasn’t until Kaya confronted me about something he said, I don’t even remember what it was, but it got me talking to him. First talking, then arguing, then screaming, and his kindness melted away. He said he was tired of dealing with me, that I was a coward for not taking on bigger opportunities, and he just left. He just walked off.

  “Then, fifteen years ago, I caught wind of him going after Queen Aethra. She was pregnant at the time, and it was during the months of the Undying Curse.”

  “The time Pen hates talking about?” Drivas asked.

  “Exactly, so I stopped him. I got him caught by the guards, and he was executed on those gallows. I visited him in the cells before it happened, and he was just the same.”

  “Did he know about me?” Drivas asked quietly.

  “Not at the time, neither of us knew.”

  “Why didn’t you say any of this before?”

  “Because I was scared you’d end up like him,” Raisa admitted. “You’d want to know more and more, and I was afraid I’d lose you. I thought you’d just walk away like he did, but … I …”

  Pain bit again and the tears fell.

  Drivas was crying now too, but to Raisa’s astonishment, she crawled onto the bed and settled down next to her.

  Wrapping her arms around her mother’s waist, Drivas said, “I’m not going anywhere, ma.”

  Pride and love welled despite the thorns in her lungs. Raisa held her as tightly as she could until the tears dried away.

  “Still,” Raisa said after a long moment. “I should have told you before. I could have warned you about Tetrides right away.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up over that,” Drivas interrupted, but her voice was kind. “Just tell me more about them both later.”

  “I knew you’d want to know more,” Raisa poked Drivas under the ribs.

  Drivas squirmed but smiled, batting her hand away. “Of course I’m curious, but I’m not going to run off.”

  They settled then, Drivas’s head still on Raisa’s shoulder.

  Every inch of her body hurt, and breathing was getting harder, but she was not going to move for the world right now.

  “I’ll tell you more about Arus,” she said softly, playing with Drivas’s hair. “There were some good moments with him too.”

  “I wish Pen was here,” Drivas said. “She wanted to know the instant you woke up.”

  “She’ll come back,” Raisa said as quietly as she could. “She always does.”

  Chapter Forty Three

  Pen

  Pen faced the Fang, stunned at how normal he seemed. His black robes where in tatters and covered in filth. The hood looked like something had chewed on the edge of it, but he looked perfectly calm and even excited.

  There were no weapons that she could see, but the robe was loose enough to conceal one. His hands were clear, even held out in front
of himself in anticipation.

  He smiled and stepped forward, like a suitor meeting his bride for the first time.

  Backing out of arm’s reach, Pen ripped the scab off her finger and drew a short sword between them.

  “Who are you?” she demanded, stopping his advance. “We’ve met before.”

  His thrill curdled into sadness and bewilderment.

  “You don’t remember?” he asked hurt. “It wasn’t that long ago. You came to the Den twice.”

  It struck her then, the vague and recent familiarity crystallizing into a fuller picture. The bartender from the Lion’s Den. She had spoken to him so casually about why she was there, and he even told her his name.

  “Zenous,” she said astonished.

  “Yes,” he shouted, hands buried into his dirty blond hair in excitement. “Oh, yes, you do know. You must. He planned this.”

  “Who did?” Pen asked.

  “You have to come with me.” Zenous took another step towards her, heedless of the blade, practically reaching for her.

  Pen kept the point of the sword towards him, and he walked right up to it. The crimson tip brushed his robes now, and he didn’t seem to even notice it.

  Holding her ground, she considered skewering him right there. The faces of the women he’d terrorized flashed through her mind. Philomenae’s daughter was there too, the poor little orphan. The anger and hatred for this murderer was almost a physical force, pulling her hand to kill him, but she held off for two reasons. The queen wanted her to be calm and civil as possible. Pen had failed that numerous times already, but bringing the Fang to her alive would help her there.

  The other reason was less noble: curiosity. She had to know why he started all this, what compelled him, plus he mentioned another man was working with him. A man who supposedly planned their encounter. She had to know what he meant.

  “Come with you where?” she asked, lowering the blade but keeping it between them.

  She tried to get some of Raisa’s demeanor in her own voice. Raisa could ask a simple question to anyone and get an answer back instantly. She radiated confidence and control in any situation, and Pen needed that right now.

  “The graveyard,” Zenous answered calm and willing. “Well, beneath it. Please, you must come. He needs us.”

  “Who?” Pen asked with more earnest.

  “I … I don’t know,” he confessed but cut himself off as fear entered his eyes. “Just come, please!”

  “Okay,” she said, “okay I’ll go, just lead the way.”

  He lit up, like the suitor’s bride just accepted an invitation to a grand ball. He even took her free hand in both of his.

  “This way,” he stepped around her. “It’s not far.”

  Ripping her hand from his, she thought he’d look stricken again, but he barely noticed.

  Turning his back on her, completely trusting even with the short sword, he hurried off to the cemetery.

  Pen followed him but stole a glance to the other side of the street.

  Tyndareus had vanished. She cursed quietly, but trusted that he was still watching.

  Turning back to the Fang, she cut the back of her left hand in case she needed another weapon or shield.

  Zenous the Fang fell silent and practically ran ahead. Pen jogged to catch up to him.

  The graveyard came into view, and they passed the gate unhindered. They continued in a different direction than she was familiar with. The dead tree loomed in the darkness to her right, but they traveled away from it.

  She followed him, mindful of where they were and taking note of the huge statue of Nyx as a landmark.

  After a few minutes, the Fang entered an older section that she was actually familiar with. Trees lined the short cliff’s edge above them as the hills connected into a tight valley. The cliff face curved around them, and a gate waited among the graves in the bedrock. She had fallen in this exact clearing during her first escape from Tellus.

  Zenous took a thick iron key from his robe, opened the gate, and beckoned her to keep following him, grinning like a madman.

  He was going to end up in the asylum Biros worked at, she just knew it.

  They entered the crypts. The pale stench of earth and bones entombed her like all the other corpses. Candles were still lit in the alcoves along the walls, and wax melted to the loose ground and coffins.

  The tunnel carried on, and Pen had no idea how long they’d been walking for. Her time in Skiachora had her accustomed to being underground like this, even with the dead, but the Fang concerned her.

  Zenous kept glancing back, and his grin would stretch every time he saw her still following him.

  Pen kept her sword drawn but angled down, watching him as they walked.

  Every now and then, and at every bend, her sword would dip and scratch the ground. It didn’t make a sound as thin lines of blood marked their path.

  “Oh, he’ll be so pleased,” Zenous muttered after sometime of silence. “So pleased. This has to be what he meant.”

  He turned again suddenly, taking them down a seemingly random corridor, similarly lined with coffins in the walls. Pen kept pace, dragging her sword along the corner.

  The ground angled downward, giving away to steps at irregular intervals in the rock. After several more curves, archways, and tunnels, Pen was thoroughly lost but trusted her bloody markings.

  After one more descent, a steep one with the rocks slick with moisture, the Fang stopped at the bottom.

  Pen caught up, still keeping an arm’s length between them, and saw the grand door before him.

  Huge, ancient, black doors with thick iron hinges stood before them. It looked like the closed maw of a beast waiting for them to come closer before bearing its fangs.

  The Fang took another key in hand, this one longer and more crude than the other. His hand trembled as he inserted it into the lock. Once it clicked, he pocketed the key and pushed.

  Cold air rushed out like the stale breath of this creature. Gooseflesh rose on Pen’s arms.

  Nothing stood on the other side. Entering behind Zenous, Pen could vaguely make out the ancient architecture holding up the ceiling.

  Thin stone columns, carved with vines and thorns, held up the roof in dozens of vaulted sections. More candles lined them and the walls. Some of them looked fresh, probably brought in by Zenous.

  He kept walking, intent on the other side of the chamber, and Pen realized that it wasn’t empty. A dais waited for them with an altar carved out of the same stone. There were no carvings on this edifice, nor was there any indication of which god it was meant for.

  The only sign was the small clay figure of a man standing on the altar. It was only about a foot tall and stared out to the grand, dead hall before it.

  It didn’t have any eyes or even a face. The clay man didn’t have any clothing or weapons. There was no way for her to know who it depicted.

  Zenous knelt before the clay man, muttering something about lost names.

  “So,” Pen started as he stood, “is that the one we’re supposed to meet?”

  Gesturing to the faceless clay figure, she watched him, paranoid about what he wanted to do. There were no other entrances to the chamber, and they were still completely alone.

  “He is,” Zenous said, “though not literally, of course.”

  He chuckled as if the idea of the clay talking was absurd.

  “I’ve been … hearing things,” he confessed staring at the floor. “And I know how that sounds, but you can prove he exists now.”

  “Who exactly? What sort of things have you been hearing?”

  “I know it’s not normal to hear voices,” he said without answering her. “I tried ignoring them for a long time, but he …”

  “Who?!” she asked more insistent and annoyed now.

  “I don’t know his name,” Zenous said growing scared. “He won’t tell me, but I know he’s an old, forgotten god. I know that now anyway.”

  “How do you mean?”

/>   “Because of you,” he said finally looking at her again. “You’re a daughter of the gods. You are proof that they’re real, that I’m not crazy. I knew the moment I saw your blood move to save that girl. This is what he meant, you are what he meant, who he needs. You are a perfect sacrifice for him.”

  “Hold up,” Pen backed away raising the short sword. “What?”

  “He needs to rise,” Zenous insisted. “It won’t hurt either, at least it shouldn’t. It’s not supposed to, but those women always panic.”

  “You tore at their throats with your teeth. Of course they’d fight back,” Pen shouted at him.

  “I only meant to cut them a little, to make it easier for both of us. He said he wanted blood, but I didn’t know what he meant. It’s hard to hear him sometimes, except when I’m sleeping. But when I wake up, I can’t remember the details.”

  “The fuck are you talking about?” she shouted again, angry at his half-finished thoughts.

  “Him!” Zenous pointed to the clay statue. “All I know is he needs blood to rise. Something about fresh blood in a new body. He was never clear on any of it.”

  “So, you just thought to bite random women and drink their blood?”

  “No—”

  “Did you make them all drink yours too? Was that part of the ‘blood in a new body’?”

  “Y-yes, but I didn’t want …”

  “What?!”

  “I didn’t want to kill them. I’m glad you helped with the last lady—”

  Pen’s crimson sword twitched up, and he froze when it touched his throat.

  “Why me, then?” she demanded. “Why do you think he set this up?”

  “Your blood is special,” he said trembling again. “The very blood of the gods must be enough for him.”

  Holy shit, Palamedes’s plan for a trap would have worked, she thought.

  “You’re not biting me,” she told him.

  “I don’t want to,” he insisted. “I just need a small cut on your neck. You can even put it there yourself. Then you can drink from me, from my wrist.”

  She didn’t bother hiding the disgust at the thought.