“What?”
“You always get that distant, blank, staring look before you leave for a long time,” Drivas explained.
Guilt and grief bit again, leaving her breathless.
“Go ahead,” Drivas said in a monotone voice. “You always vanish anyway.”
“I’m not going to leave,” Pen promised. “It doesn’t matter what I want. I’m staying.”
She couldn’t deny that the open country would help. Fresh air, maybe pine trees, the open road. Her father always said nomadic feet itched when they stayed in one place for too long. And he was going to Xenakis anyway, looking for his other brother. A part of her wanted to go off and help him, but he said it was a private matter, and Phaos was watching his back at least.
Pen wondered what the two oldest gods could actually be after then. But now wasn’t the time.
“You don’t want to, though,” Drivas’s voice lowered, and she looked to the table.
“Hey—”
“Maybe,” Palrig raised his hand to forestall an argument, “some travel could do you both some good.”
“What? Why?” Drivas questioned, anger rising in her voice now too.
Pen was able to steal a breath at the idea, but Drivas’s tone crushed it.
“You’ve never been outside Stymphalia,” Palrig said nonplussed. “Pen would be the perfect guide in the wilderness, and it would get some worldly knowledge in you.”
“Yeah, yes,” Pen said, jumping on the opportunity. “Drivas, come with me.”
“Where?” Disbelief lined her words.
“Anywhere,” Pen said sitting up now. “We can go anywhere you want.”
“But, I don’t want to leave. Ma loved this city, and it’s home.”
“I know,” Pen said touching her arm, “but when you see the road stretch out—”
“Then go!” Drivas stood shaking her off. “You clearly don’t want to be here anyway. You never did!”
She stormed off to the kitchen door before anyone could reply.
Pen watched the door, heart pounding too fast again, then bolted to her feet.
“Drivas, wait!” Pen ran after her and caught up in the hallway. “I’m not going to just leave this time.”
“Why not?!” Drivas shouted rounding on her. “You have every other time. The moment things get uncomfortable, you just vanish.”
“I used to,” Pen tried, “but I won’t now. I watched you grow up, and you always loved hearing about my adventures. Why not make a few together?”
“This is my home. Ma died here,” she spat. “I’m not going to just leave her.”
“Drivas, I know what it’s like to lose someone that close. And I’m upset too, but your mother—”
“I don’t need you to watch over me!”
Pen froze at that, though her hand seemed to move on its own to start scratching her wrist.
“I know Ma would have asked you to,” Drivas continued, “but you are not my mother too. I don’t need you looking after me, and I never really did. You never wanted to be here in the first place, and I don’t want you here either. I’m old enough to decide that on my own. Please. Leave!”
Drivas turned on her heel and left the building entirely.
Pen wanted to go after her, but she could hardly breathe.
Palrig and Palamedes caught up to her then. Palamedes touched her arm, but Pen couldn’t react. She kept staring at the backdoor Drivas used.
“I’ll go after her,” Palrig said and turned back to Pen, “but I think you should honor her request. You can fulfill your promise to Raisa once time has healed some wounds.”
Pen kept an arm around Philomenae’s daughter as she knocked on the door.
They were in a building similar to the one her own rooms were in, but it was significantly smaller, with a broken section in the staircase. Kaya managed to find the place after a few days and a proper description of who Pen was looking for. Even if Kaya was reluctant to help Pen, once she was informed of the child, she relented.
Heart pounding in her chest, Pen gave the odd girl a comforting smile. Both of them had seen her cat following them here. Pen has asked about it, but of course she said nothing.
The girl smiled back. Pen didn’t even know her name.
Movement on the other side of the door drew her attention back before it opened.
Erenos peeked through the crack and narrowed his eyes.
“What do you want?” he asked, disdain lining his tone.
It was enough to make her throat lock up, but she swallowed against it.
“I was hoping you could help me with something,” Pen said. “Look after someone.”
Erenos looked down and saw the girl then. Shock erased his anger for a moment, but it came right back.
“You murder her family too?” he accused.
“No. Look, I get why you hate me, but can we talk?”
“Why should I consider anything—?”
“Who is it?” Lume’s voice sounded behind him.
“No one,” he tried but went silent when the door was pulled away from him.
Lume stood there in a dark nightgown, though it was midday.
“What’s going on?” she asked seeing Pen and the girl.
“Her mother is gone,” Pen rushed out, hoping Erenos wouldn’t interrupt, “because of someone I was trying to catch. I found him, but not before he killed her mother. I don’t know her name, she won’t talk to anyone, but her mother was a woman names Philomenae. I know … I know you can’t just replace one person with another, let alone a lost child, but she’s … different. I need someone to watch her for a while, and I was hoping you could help her.”
She expected Erenos to snap again, but he didn’t. He didn’t seem happy. If anything, he clearly wanted her to leave, but he didn’t move. Pen couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
Lume just watched her for a moment before looking down to the girl. A mix of sorrow and confusion in her eyes.
“Different how?” she asked quietly.
Pen hesitated before answering, “I don’t know, but something is strange. And there’s this cat companion that follows her around.”
“That doesn’t sound strange,” Lume argued.
“I don’t think it’s really a cat,” Pen said, “but it’s not a threat either.”
Erenos and Lume were taken aback by that, but neither argued. If anything, Lume looked worried.
“Hello,” Lume said crouching down to the girl’s level. “What’s your name, sweetie?”
The girl glanced to Pen, then back to Lume. Pen didn’t expect her to answer, but Lume probably needed to prove that to herself.
“Filly,” she answered quietly.
Pen sighed and held her tighter.
Lume smiled. “You hungry, Filly?”
Filly nodded eagerly.
“Come on, then,” Lume stood and held out a hand.
Filly took it and followed her in to the little room.
Pen let her go, finally able to breathe for a moment.
Erenos’s expression was still guarded.
“What really happened to her mother?” he asked.
“She was killed by the Fang. Like I said,” Pen gave, hoping he didn’t ask for details.
“I heard about that. You caught him?”
Pen nodded.
“Lume told me you lost a child too,” he said suddenly.
“I did,” she confessed. “He was three.”
Erenos didn’t reply, just watched Lume and Filly as they shared some bread at the table.
“Keep an eye on them,” she said quietly, “but you should rest as well. Filly won’t really fix anything, but I think she’s important.”
He looked to her with the unknown expression again, and Pen withered against it.
Trying to not freeze, Pen gave a slight bow as a goodbye and left them.
Leaving the little building, glad that Filly finally said her name, Pen headed toward the asylum. The sun was just cresting past noon
, but it wasn’t warm out. Clouds covered most of the daylight, casting a gray cold over the city. She pulled the cloak tighter, also glad the asylum was her last visit for the day, and the queen’s meeting was tomorrow.
Biros had managed to get Zenous’s body and had sent a letter about wanting to talk. She didn’t know why, but he did note that it wasn’t overly urgent. So, she had taken her time and made sure Filly was okay first.
Keeping her eyes down as she crossed the room of corpses, she entered Biros’s lab and finally looked up.
“Pen, perfect timing,” Biros beamed over the fresh corpse on the table. “Hand me that scalpel, will you?”
Pen approached the table he pointed to but saw various tools and odd blades.
“Um, which one?” she called back.
“The tiniest blade.”
Pen took the small knife and handed it to him over the body. Only then did she look down to his face.
Zenous lay on the table, appearing perfectly asleep, though too pale and with his organs exposed.
Biros leaned closer to the open cavity and made a few precise cuts. He set the scalpel aside before reaching inside and lifting the stomach out with a small squelch.
Nausea rose in the back of her throat as she looked away from his work.
The statue demanded her attention. A small, faceless, male wooden figure stood on one of the various work benches. It was exactly the same as the one in the crypt, only much smaller.
“Biros, what is that?” Pen asked pointing to it.
He looked up and shrugged. “I found it in his pocket of those torn up robes, probably a votive figure of some kind.”
Pen picked it up, thinking the exact same thing. Zenous had worshiped that voice in his head.
“Do you need it for anything?” she asked.
“No,” he said.
Pen pocketed the small votive figure. She had no idea what it meant, or who it represented, but she intended to find out.
“So, what do you need, Biros?” she asked. “Why did you call me here?”
“Well, I can’t figure out how you brought this fellow down. There’s several wounds, but none explain how he’s nearly devoid of blood.”
More than a little surprised, Pen watched him place Zenous’s stomach into a clay bowl and set that aside for later.
“How can you tell there’s no blood left?” she asked.
“Usually when I start examining someone there’s some residue left around the meat and organs. They don’t bleed exactly, but it’s there. And it all settles to the lowest point he’d be laying on, like his back. With him, though, everything is practically colorless, and there’s hardly any residue,” Biros explained.
Forcing herself to look back into Zenous’s open chest, she saw Biros was right. His insides lacked any color, and even his stomach looked wrong.
Bile rose again as she looked away.
“Did you draw out his blood?” Biros asked with fascination and confusion lining his words. “I’ll admit I’ve been hearing a lot of rumors about you.”
His guess surprised her again, though it probably shouldn’t have with the evidence right there. Her glance to him, then the floor, was enough confirmation. Discretion was never her strong suit.
“Can you do it again?” he asked growing excited. “To him?”
He pointed to Zenous.
“You just said there was nothing left,” Pen protested, hating the idea.
“I said nearly devoid, but I did manage this.”
Biros plucked a smaller clay bowl from the table beside him and approached her around the body.
A tiny pool of blood sat in the bowl. She didn’t want to think about how he got it, but it probably involved squeezing something like an orange.
“Can you move this?” he asked again.
“Biros, I don’t … It’s not a pleasant experience,” she admitted, remembering the panic he and the other woman felt when she connected to them. “And I don’t know if it works when the person is dead.”
That only made his eyes widen in anticipation.
“Please, Pen, just let me see how it works. It could help my research by leagues.”
“Research?”
“Reanimation.”
Horror and disgust made her back away from him.
“Why would you even try that?” she nearly shouted.
“Who wouldn’t?” he shrugged. “Imagine if we could stop death. Reverse it even!”
“No,” she said, backing away more and heading for the door. “No, I will not help with any of that shit.”
She had done enough damage in that regard already. She did not need more of Nyx’s wrath upon her.
“Just this bowl, then. Try to move this,” he begged following her.
“Why?” she barked.
“To see if it can even be done,” he said. “My entire life has been about explaining everything with science, but this, you, are something else entirely. You don’t even know if it works on the dead. Just see if it can.”
She paused, hand on the door. It’s not like he could recreate her power, and a new question formed in her mind as he spoke. When she connected with a person’s blood, she felt their emotions at the time. Maybe she could gain more insight on why Zenous was biting so many women for the sake of his clay god.
“I’ll try to make this twitch, and that’s it,” she said.
“Yes, yes.” Biros held the bowl like a child excited for a cake.
Facing it properly, Pen picked at the scab on her left hand. Once a corner was gone and fresh blood leaked out, she drew a thin tendril.
“You can’t move the scab itself?” Biros asked distracted. “It’s just dried blood.”
“I’ve tried,” she said, “but it has to be fresh, well liquid anyway.”
With that out of the way, Pen made the tendril, no thicker than a hair, rise and touch the pool of Zenous’s blood.
The skeletal hand of Nyx gripped her heart as she was plunged into an ocean of ice.
Bile rose with a vengeance, breaking her concentration, and the blood melted away.
Pen stumbled back, clutching at her chest.
She heard him shout something over her retching into a barrel in the corner.
“What?” she barked.
“It worked!” he exclaimed. “His blood actually did move once you touched it. Do it again.”
“No!”
Chapter Forty Nine
Pen
Pen was still nauseous, and the hundreds of eyes watching her was not helping. The nobility of Stymphalia surrounded her in the main audience chamber of the castle, and her stomach wouldn’t stop rolling.
She had hoped to get a little sleep for once after visiting Biros, but as soon as she left the asylum, city guards found her. The summons wasn’t an option, so Pen hauled herself onto a horse they provided, and they made for the castle, hating every motion.
Rather than taking her to the queen’s private office, tall doors opened revealing her audience and announcing her as the Blood Warrior. She hadn’t expected this grandeur. She nearly was sick again right there. It felt like lead filled her boots, but she managed to force herself to move and approach the dais. Feeling the curious eyes slide all over her the entire time, she had no idea how the queen could handle this much attention.
She remembered the first time she’d been here too. The king had been horribly sick, coughing blood into a cloth, but still presiding over everyone. Now his son, a fifteen-year-old boy, sat on the tall, ornate throne. The resemblance to his father was striking.
Queen Regent Aethra sat in another, slightly smaller throne next to her son, straight-backed and perfectly calm. If anything, she looked pleased, while young King Aegeus II was excited.
“Pen,” the queen said. “I’m glad you could make it. I was hoping you could regale us with how you defeated the Fang.”
Glad she could make it? This wasn’t an invitation to a fancy party.
Trying, and failing, to calm her nerves, P
en forced a queasy breath and decided to keep things short.
“I found him close to the graveyard, Your Grace.”
Should she say Graces? There was a king and queen here at the same time, and she had no idea how to address them both together. “Well, he found me. He lured me into the crypts and tried to drink my blood. But I—”
“What?” King Aegeus exclaimed as the chamber erupted into a wave of murmurs. “That’s disgusting! How did he manage that?”
“He surprised me, got me on the ground.” She really didn’t want to recount the whole thing, let along bring up the clay figure and the voices the Fang was hearing, so she skipped ahead. “He did get away then, but the next night, a friend and I lured him out and took him down.”
Realizing then that if she didn’t change the story slightly, she’d be pulling her father into it too. That would come with too many complications right now. People didn’t entirely trust the Blood Warrior yet, and Pen wanted to paint the warriors into a better light. She wasn’t the best example of this, but she couldn’t change what she was. She would not bring any of this down on her father either.
“Basically, we fought him off and I managed to kill him,” Pen shrugged.
Aegeus sat back, clearly a little disappointed in the tale, but still interested.
“Did you use your blood magic?” he asked. “I’d like to see how that works.”
Agreement rolled through the chamber behind her, but worry touched Aethra’s eyes.
“Yes,” called a man behind her left shoulder. “Let her prove her supposed power.”
Pen turned then, surprised by the disdain in the man’s voice. The Blood Warrior image was no longer trusted, but there was almost hate in his words. She caught the attention of a heavyset man in a thick maroon tunic. He twitched a bit under her gaze, probably not expecting her to challenge him in front of everyone. She wasn’t about to, but there was a small touch of pride when he twitched.
Trying to ignore him, but also wanting to prove him wrong, Pen turned back to the young king. Raising the back of her left hand, she broke the scab again and let a tendril of blood rise and thicken.
The guards on the dais tensed, and the crowd gasped. Pen’s hand trembled slightly, and she hoped no one saw.
Grief of the Undying (The Ichorian Epics Book 3) Page 28