Then one took the plunge and did just that.
At the first clash of steel upon steel, she leapt into action. Ignoring the insentient water shifter at her feet, she unfastened the mainsail from the mast with shaking hands. The wind caught the sheets immediately, jerking the boom with such force she almost fell overboard. The boat accelerated as if towed by invisible horses, the scenery on the bank a blur of color.
She clutched at the ropes controlling the mainsail as the current swept them away from the battle. Straining, she forced the boom sideways. The Cordelia veered to the left with such sharpness, only sheer luck stopped them capsizing.
Loosening the rope and tying it to keep it in place, she gulped. The boat was approaching the bank fast. Much too fast. Side-stepping along the gunwale and praying Rhetahn could hold on, she clambered to the prow and readied herself.
A bare moment ahead of impact, she leapt toward solid ground and stumbled, razor-sharp stones ripping into her tender flesh like her clothing didn’t exist. The boat smashed into the shore and spun backward, tilting as the sheets flailed against the rocks. Fen’s body rolled to the bank. The hull creaked with ominous finality, scraping along the shore.
Dodging the lashing ropes, she hauled the water shifter away as an ear-splitting crack reverberated around them and the boat broke into pieces. The current dragged the twisted wreck away, and it swirled on its side down the waterway, leaving behind just the shattered mast and ripped sails. There was no time to mourn the beautiful rivercraft as a shout came from behind.
A demon strode toward her. His weapons were sheathed, his hands raised in apparent supplication. She snorted. She was in no mood to be deceived. Staggering to her feet, she summoned her magic then remembered in despair that she no longer wore the amulets.
Abruptly, she realized her palms tingled anyway.
There was no time to wonder why. She channeled her fury, marshaled her strength, and shot magic toward her attacker with a wordless snarl. He was so unprepared, the small explosion knocked him clear off his feet.
Yanking a serrated throwing knife from Fen’s belt, she leapt over the downed demon like a jackrabbit. He grabbed her ankle and a scream tore from her throat. He growled and tightened his grip, his tail lashing like an angry cat.
“Leave me alone, you bastard!” She wrenched herself away and blasted more magic in his direction, sending him flat on his back on the ground.
Charging upriver toward the battle, she ignored her shock at the magic she still wielded. Treacherous boggy patches spattered the rocky, uneven ground and she fell several times, forcing herself back up against her aching body’s protestations. Cresting a small tussock, she beheld the former mooring point and her eyes widened.
Two of Rhetahn’s assailants lay prone at his feet. The other six fought on, their weapons dulled with his blood. The god’s skill and prowess was evident as he met his assailants stroke for stroke. He’d positioned himself with his back to the river to prevent attacks from the rear. His magic was already spent. He battled with sword alone.
He moved with effortless grace despite his limitations, landing blow after blow on his opponents whenever they ventured too close. The demons had grown wise to his tactics and hung back, shooting magic repeatedly. Some sent large spheres bursting above his head, blinding him with brilliant light. Others hit him with dark magic orbs. As another assailant fell under his sword, one charged and punched him in the head, his fist coated with black-tinged magic.
Stunned, Rhetahn dropped to one knee. The smallest demon darted in and kicked his sword away. The horde took full advantage, piling on top of him and roaring with triumph.
Clenching her fists, her pulse thundering in her ears, she prepared to plunge into the battle.
Agony battered her scalp as the demon from earlier jerked her by her hair. His sour yet sweet aroma enveloped her as he yanked her against his muscled body.
“Calm yourself, foolish girl.”
“Fuck you!” Ripping from his grasp, she poured her terrified rage into the weapon she held, and obsidian power surged across the blade.
His jaw dropped in an ‘O’ of astonishment and she lunged at him. He dodged, but she shot magic with her free hand. He sailed backward and crashed into some rocks, blinking at the stormy sky. Whirling away, she stumbled back to the crest of the tussock, recoiling at the sight befalling her.
Rhetahn was on his knees, his hands tied behind his back with magic bonds. A strapping demon swaggered in front of him, a massive axe in his hand. The god spat some angry words. The demon smirked in response.
The smaller demon who kicked his sword away—a female by her curves and slender build—glowered and muttered to her companion, who raised the axe with vehement purpose.
Rhetahn squared his shoulders as if bracing himself.
“Stop!” Shaking violently, Libby brought Fen’s knife to her throat.
Everyone whirled to face her. The god’s expression changed from arrogant defiance to utter horror. The demons seemed...confused. Uncertain. Surprised.
“If you kill him,” she said, her voice wobbly yet clear, ringing across the space between them, “if you harm him in any way, I will kill myself right now. Whether you want my blood or my magic, both will be lost to you.”
“Libby don’t do this,” Rhetahn shouted. “Just run!”
She stayed motionless, uttering a silent prayer that whatever they were after from her would be useless to them if she were dead. If not, her desperate gamble had failed.
The next few moments seemed to last forever as her heart thumped against her ribs. She kept the knife as immobile as she could, trying to hide her trembling. After an eternity, the small demon murmured to the others.
The hulking one lowered his axe, his Jothesian harsh and guttural. “Put down the blade, girl. We mean you no harm.”
“Your actions say otherwise,” she retorted. “Release him, or I’ll slit my own throat right now.”
“Why do you care if this false god dies?” The large demon gestured with his axe. “Was he not fated to kill you?”
“You don’t understand,” she said in a rush. “Everything has changed now. Let him go. I won’t ask again.”
She thrust the knife against her throat, suppressing her flinch when the edge bit into her skin. Hot, crimson liquid trickled across her hand.
The demon hesitated and glanced at his female companion, who hadn’t taken her gaze from Libby the moment she’d made her presence known. Sheathing her sword, the female edged toward her. She held an unmistakable air of authority, her age impossible to fathom. Lean, wiry, and strong, she sported the same hardy fatigues as her comrades over her tabby skin; a black halter neck and leather pants with a gap for her slender tail. Her dark hair was bound in a topknot nestling between her sharp horns. Her eyes were dark brown with a rim of hazel, and her stare was locked on Libby.
“You’re the one they call Lissabet?” she said in a low, husky voice. Her accent was not as pronounced as her muscled companion’s. “The humans’ chosen sacrifice?"
She tightened her grip on the dagger. “Yes.”
The demon scrutinized her from top to bottom. Her next words were a whisper. “You are beautiful.”
“Thank you,” Libby replied with automatic politeness. Then she shook herself and glared. “Now release Lord Rhetahn.”
The woman acted like she hadn’t spoken. “I only saw you for a moment. They wouldn’t even let me hold you.”
Libby’s pulse skittered. “What do you mean? Who are you?”
The demon’s gaze bored into hers. “My name is Falla. I am your mother.”
The ground plummeted from beneath Libby’s feet. She kept the knife at her throat by sheer willpower, whirlwind emotions choking her into silence. Her gaze spun to Rhetahn, bound and on his knees. Meeting her blank stare, he raised his brows.
“That answers a few questions.” He sounded remarkably calm. “Although it raises several hundred more.”
The large male d
emon snapped at Falla in another language, gesturing at the god. The woman responded with identical sharpness and her companion subsided, as she turned back to the immobile Libby. “We must go. My brother will come this way soon, with his soldiers and the sorcerers. If they catch you, all will be lost.”
She blinked. “You’re not...you don’t intend to take me to Thassa?”
Falla shook her head. “Do not fear, child. You’ll be safe from him if we depart with haste.”
“I’m not leaving without Rhetahn, or my friend Fen.” Libby pointed downstream, although the water shifter and the remains of his boat were obscured along the bank.
The demon woman pursed her lips. “This wasn’t the plan. We believed we were rescuing you.”
“You were wrong.” Libby glared. “And if you want me to accompany you without a fight, you’ll change your plan.”
After another moment of hesitation, Falla gestured at the soldiers. The one with the axe gave a grumpy salute and hauled the god to his feet with a scowl.
“We will keep him bound,” he said. “I do not trust bastard dragons.”
“The sentiment is mutual, demon.” Rhetahn teetered as he spoke.
Dropping the dagger, Libby ran to him. Shoving the massive demon aside like he didn’t exist, she steadied the god with her hands on his chest.
Blood welled beneath her fingers. His reopened stab wound had been joined by several more. His clothing was shredded; crimson lines crisscrossing his battered torso. One eye was swollen shut and the right side of his neck was blistered from demon magic.
Tears poured over her cheeks as she inspected him. “Do you need to sit down?”
He shook his head in apparent disbelief. “You’re a fool. A reckless, irrational fool.”
“It takes one to know one, you idiot.”
Unable to stop herself, she rose on her tiptoes and pressed her lips against his. He returned her kiss with a vengeance despite his bonds, ignoring the silent demons like they were of no consequence. She tightened her arms around his neck, hating the fact he couldn’t hold her, yet gaining comfort from his reassuring warmth.
When they finally broke their kiss, she stayed protectively close to him, her clothes stained with his blood. The demons studied them both, unfathomable expressions on their harsh, exotic faces.
“It seems we have questions, too,” Falla stated.
The demons helped their wounded companions back to their feet. The individual Libby had defeated with her magic joined them, studying her with wary promise as if committing her actions to memory. Rhetahn had killed two of his assailants and, sighing, Falla commanded her soldiers to throw the bodies into the water. In the meantime, another demon strode off to get Fen. He returned empty handed.
“Gone,” he said, in response to Falla’s enquiring look. “Jumped in the river when he spotted me.”
Libby exhaled. If Fen had recovered his senses enough to escape from the demons, he would remain safe and find Dax. She hoped.
She tensed when Falla and her soldiers turned to the ridge. “Where are you taking us?”
“A safe place, daughter. Questions must be asked and answered, but not here.”
Daughter.
Disbelief skittered through her, fear following in its wake, chilling her veins like an icy storm. She took a deep, calming breath. Panicking would help no one. Whatever was going on, she and Rhetahn would find out together.
She fell into place between Falla and the god, keeping one hand on this upper arm as they trudged across the rocky slope, both for his reassurance and hers. His skin was ashen gray beneath the remains of his ruined clothes. He glanced at her for a moment, but she couldn’t identify the emotion in his eyes.
Thunder rumbled in the distance and the first raindrops pattered around them. Abandoning the remains of battle, they climbed toward the shadowy mountain ridge, where jagged boulders swallowed them from sight.
Chapter Forty
Mhaljett
Mhaljett awoke from a dark, dreamless slumber. Peace washed through him, as if he luxuriated in a warm bath. The female in his arms mumbled something incoherent and snuggled against his chest.
He frowned, running his hand through his hair. It had been eons since he’d awakened with a lover beside him. On the rare occasion he took a courtesan, he went to her bedchamber, sought his relief, and left. He couldn’t even remember talking to this one. Perhaps he had over-imbibed last night.
Studying her two dark braids and the coppery-bronze skin of her slender shoulders, he inhaled her sweet, wildflower scent. He paid scarce attention to the Trivium courtesans who chopped and changed as often as the tides; nonetheless, not knowing this one’s identity seemed inexcusable. They’d obviously enjoyed an incredible night together. He was more sated and relaxed than he’d been in centuries. She belonged with him, this female. He hoped Rhetahn or Storren hadn’t claimed her before him.
He shifted in irritation, trying to fathom why he was so uncomfortable. Cricking his neck, his jaw dropped.
He and the unnamed girl were in the throne room, slumped among ruined silks near the podium, their clothing in tatters and the marble floor underneath scored with claw marks. Jagged splinters were all that remained of the podium balustrade and the wind howled from a gaping hole where the windows used to be. Even the massive teak table had vanished, as if thrown from the room. At the opposite end, the golden thrones lay broken on their sides, the lush red carpet ripped and tattered. Tapestries sagged on the walls, the rich fabric shredded and torn. Shattered vases dotted the room, flowers wilting in puddles as if mourning the devastation. Two chandeliers remained on the vaulted ceiling; the rest fragmented on the floor in crystal shards. The air smelled of death and wildfire ash and he could hear noises in the distance: weeping, screams, roars.
The female stirred, then tensed. He caressed her hair, marveling at its silkiness.
“What is your name?” He spoke quietly, hoping to keep her calm.
“S-s-summer.”
“I’m not sure what’s happened, but you’re my mistress now, Summer. Tell Mhiri to make the other ladies of the court aware, and ensure everyone knows you’re mine alone—”
“Lord Mhaljett?” Captain Brand loomed into his vision, seeming uncharacteristically nervous as he wielded his sword. His uniform was torn to shreds. Cuts marred his face and dried blood matted his beard. “Can you hear me?”
“Of course,” Mhaljett said, bemused. “What happened in here, Brand? Where are my brothers?”
Memories exploded in his mind. He bolted to his feet, throwing Summer from his arms. He saw Storren in his mind’s eye, regarding him in dazed disbelief after he stabbed him in the chest; Rhetahn trying and failing to evade the same fate.
He remembered his rage when Brand escaped with his older brother, and the human sacrifice followed with the remaining amulets. His rampage through the castle and the feral satisfaction of killing those in his way. Laughing at the terror, the chaos, and the screams of the dying, cornering the young female in the throne room and forcing her to shift...his mind blanked and he sank to his knees.
Summer fled behind Brand, who crouched into a fighting stance, his broadsword loose in his hand. Two rows of soldiers lined up beside their captain, mirroring his grim expression. Another individual hovered at his shoulder.
Mhaljett furrowed his brow when he recognized the powerful figure of his cousin. “Terash?”
“Be prepared to kill,” the ice dragon shifter said to the soldiers, ignoring Mhaljett.
Fear and distress hit him, and not all the emotion was his. His wild stare found Summer. She was shaking like a leaf, clutching at her chest. Need hit him like an arrow through his heart and he knew instantly that she felt it too.
“Come to me,” he commanded.
She stepped from behind Brand without hesitation.
The captain stopped her. “Leave the girl alone, Lord. You’ve done enough.”
Mhaljett finally noticed what remained of her clothes. She was g
arbed, not in the fine silks of a courtesan, but in plain, hard-wearing servant’s livery.
And she was terrified.
Confused beyond measure, he sought the comfort of his amulet as he often did, wrapping his hand around the cool stone.
A voice breathed through his mind, a taunting, depraved, oh so familiar voice. “Well met, my dragon.”
He stiffened. “I don’t...what is happening?”
“My lord,” Summer said desperately, but her soft tones were swallowed by the mocking laughter in his head.
“Kalid’har,” he whispered in horror.
Afterward...nothing but darkness.
Rhetahn and Libby’s story will continue in The Gods of Trivium, Book 2
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