by Isis Rushdan
The other warriors gathered in the foyer. Whispering buzzed in the hall.
“Gifts from Seshata,” Abbadon said in a dazed way.
Icy dread swept through their energy stream, prickling Serenity’s skin. She looked to Cyrus, not understanding what was wrong.
“Well, send her envoy in,” Cyrus said, sliding her from his lap to the sofa.
“No, brother, you misunderstand. Seshata has brought the gifts herself.”
Cyrus sprang to his feet and stood still as a mountain. “An immortal has come here?”
His anxiety cascaded through her in a burning itch as if a million fire ants skittered over her skin, nipping at her flesh. She dropped her fork on the table.
A woman glided through the doors with catlike grace. As she breezed by Abbadon, he bowed from the hip. She wore a fur-lined leather coat and gloves. Underneath, she had on a purple outfit with gold embroidery and an impressive gold necklace with gemstones that covered her neck and collarbone.
Two soldiers walked in behind her and moved to either side of the doorway, holding guns. The woman smiled as she drifted in.
Striking hazel eyes, delicately outlined in black, scanned everything. She had a smooth, olive-tone complexion, not a pore or wrinkle. Her countenance was kind and warm. Long, dark hair flowed freely down to her waist in lustrous sheets. An ethereal glow emanated from her entire body. She was flawless, a regal jewel, and Serenity couldn’t help but stare at the great immortal’s luster.
Seshata stood before Cyrus and extended her hand. He dropped quickly to one knee and kissed her leather-clad hand.
Based on the greeting she’d received from the warriors, Serenity quickly realized the enchantress before them was much higher in the hierarchy.
Seshata embraced Serenity gently, kissing her on both cheeks. A perfume, rich with the scent of a flower Serenity had never smelled, curled around her. She didn’t want to let her go, but the goddess floated over to the sofa across from them.
Cyrus got up, then sat. “Serenity,” he called.
She looked down at him, smiling. A deep crease ran across his brow and he indicated she should sit. She nodded and sat beside him.
“Greetings,” Seshata said in a melodic voice, oddly reminiscent of wind chimes. “It warms my heart to see the two of you sitting before me.” Her voice was thick with sweetness. Serenity had never heard such eloquent diction, not even from Cyrus.
There was something unearthly about her. Actually, it was everything about her, from her aura to her posture. She sat erect, beyond poised—a radiant, breathtaking statue come to life.
The fiery sensation of ants gnawing on Serenity’s skin intensified. She looked at Cyrus with an annoyed face. She wasn’t sure if it was fear or nervousness coming from him, but it was distracting.
“Leave us,” Seshata said in a soft tone and raised her hand. Her soldiers and Abbadon left, closing the door. “My time here is short, so I must be brief. I have come because there has been a great outcry amongst my seers,” she said in a voice just above a whisper.
“What have they seen?” Cyrus asked suspiciously.
“The images vary greatly, but they have visions of a Blessed union of the Fallen.” She paused. “Your union.”
“How many of your oracles?” he asked.
“All of them,” she said nonchalantly. “This type of event is unparalleled. Have you heard nothing from your Triumvirate? The oracles of Herut do not see you?”
“I haven’t had any news from House Herut.”
The sting of his lie bit deep, but why was her mate lying? And why hadn’t he shared whatever he’d learned from Herut?
“Well, my seers are exceptionally talented. It must be difficult for the other Houses.”
Cyrus held Serenity’s hand. She was certain it was fear radiating from him. It was so clear, she couldn’t ignore it. She looked down at the cupcakes and felt herself being yanked forward out of her enthralled trance.
“What exactly have they seen?” he asked.
“One kept repeating Valhalla, but that’s inconsequential now. The theme is the same amongst them.” Her face was solemn, but there was no emotion in her eyes. “A great war is coming. It has been on the horizon for some time. Lines have been drawn,”—her gaze sailed to Serenity—“and allegiances forced over the years. It will be upon us soon. They have visions of great bloodshed amongst Kindred. They see darkness and a world set on fire.”
She shifted her gaze between Cyrus and Serenity. “I have come to offer you both an invitation to House Aten,” she said, smiling. “Serenity, your bloodline has great ties to my House. We would love for you to come and discover your heritage. Your grandparents, Aurora, Marius and Dayanara can’t wait to meet you.”
“What about my mother? Is she at Aten?”
The smile slipped from Seshata’s face. “Your mother has not set foot in my House for many moons.”
“Do you know what happened to my parents?”
“Happened to them?” Her hazel eyes danced with a glimmer of emotion for the first time.
“When I was five, my mother disappeared and my father was killed.”
“We called Sothis to serve, more than twenty years ago. She came to us and stayed at the behest of her mother, Aurora, to give our invitation appropriate consideration. She declined to serve Aten. When she left, she told us she was going to return to you, her family. If not with your parents, where have you been all this time?”
“I grew up in Manhattan, in foster care.”
“A Blessed fledgling amongst humans.” Serenity couldn’t tell if Seshata found the idea brilliant or revolting. Her voice was too well balanced to determine which emotion was wrapped around the words, and once again, her eyes were empty and cold.
“Do you have any idea why someone would want to kill my father?”
“Only your mother would know for certain.”
“There’s something about my father’s death that doesn’t make any sense.” A gust of apprehension brushed her. Her arteries constricted and pressure throbbed at her temples. She glanced at Cyrus, whose eyes were fixed on her. Suddenly, she was unsure how much to say or not to say, but decided to leave Neith’s name out of it. “The coroner’s report we found showed a gunshot wound to the back of his head, but I clearly remember that he killed himself. I can still see it like it happened yesterday.”
A spark of emotion lit Seshata’s eyes. Her cheekbones lifted and the edges of her mouth tilted upwards in satisfaction.
The distinct feeling that she’d said too much slithered over her thick as slime.
“There is one Kindred I know of who can do more than erase memories and actually alter them,” Seshata said. “A powerful Kindred who can reinvent the very fabric of history in a mind.”
As Serenity’s heart galloped, she scooted to the edge of the sofa. “Who?”
“Young one, you ask a question that once answered, will only lead to more questions, but this is why I have come.” Her voice rang with triumph. “I want to open our House to you and your kabashem. You can meet your grandparents and we will provide answers to the best of our knowledge.” The words dripped from her lips like nectar. She smiled again. “Cyrus, you are more than welcome. We would never seek to divide your union.”
He twitched and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I have obligations to House Herut that would preclude me from accepting such an offer.”
“We only wish to provide insight and help train her.” Seshata looked back at Serenity. “What is your ingenium, young one?”
She opened her mouth, but Cyrus spoke before she could answer. “Her gift hasn’t emerged yet. We’re hoping it will soon.”
Serenity looked at him, then at Seshata with a smile.
Seshata’s pristine stoicism returned. “You could join us for the duration of her training, and then go to House Herut together to fulfill your obligations. Constantine speaks so highly of you. I look forward to the day when you accept your seat on the Council and be
come a member of the Pesedjet.”
“Training can take years,” he replied. “Besides, we’re capable of training her.”
“Your people lack experience with certain gifts. Surely, if she were a mere warrior, then she would be in the most capable hands with Herut, but I sense she will be something…exceptional. And when it comes to unusual talent, the reach of your House often exceeds its grasp.”
Seshata shifted her gaze. “Our House is always open to you, Serenity. Herut wishes to keep you locked away, but we love you also. Your ties to Aten are long and deep. You have a right to be with us. You have a right to know us. We can provide you with training, if you find you don’t make progress with House Herut…once your gift emerges.”
Floating up from the sofa, Seshata clapped her hands. Her soldiers opened the doors and two walked in. One carried a scroll and the other a small box.
“Dark days will be upon you soon. I wanted to bring you gifts to help keep you safe.” She took the scroll from one soldier. He bowed and stepped back. She turned to Cyrus. “My people are setting up glodems on your estate.”
“Glodems?” Serenity asked.
“Enchanted statues.” Seshata looked at Cyrus. “If you ever find yourself in need of them, simply cast this spell.” She handed him the scroll. “Be sure to memorize the second spell on the reverse side to put them back to sleep when you’re done. And remember, they can only have one master.”
“I couldn’t accept such a gift. Herut prohibits the use of heka under any circumstance.”
Seshata angled her head slightly to one side and her face became the most striking dichotomy. Her eyes narrowed to slits of ice, but her delicate mouth curled into a warm, loving smile. “Young Cyrus, I know you would not dare to offend me by rejecting a gift. If your ideals about heka prevent you from using it, so be it.”
She turned to the other guard and opened the box he held. She took out a necklace and held it up for Serenity. An amulet the size of a thumbnail dangled on a chain. It had a small stone, wrapped in a gold thread, surrounded by colorful wings.
Cyrus stepped forward. “She couldn’t possibly accept such—”
“Silence.” Seshata’s voice never rose from its subtle tone, but the single word carried enough power to reverberate in her heart and to silence Cyrus.
“Your mate has a mind of her own and a tongue quite capable of expressing an opinion.” She turned to Serenity. “This is Aset’s heart, flanked by her wings. It will protect you from danger so you may walk in safety. Unlike your kabashem, you have no beliefs against heka to prevent you from accepting my gift. Have you?”
Seshata moved in. “Heka runs in the blood of Aurora and Sothis,” she said, putting the necklace on her. “Do not let the superstitious fears of Herut become yours.”
The cold medallion hit her skin, then warmed until she no longer felt it.
Seshata motioned to her guards and they left the room in haste. “I must warn you to leave this place,” she said, gliding toward the door. “Valhalla is no longer safe for you. If you choose to stay, I fear you may have need of the glodems.” She hesitated at the threshold. “It was extraordinary to meet you, Serenity. Cyrus, I have enjoyed seeing you again. May the almighty Creator have you both in his keeping.” She turned to leave.
“Please.” Serenity reached out to touch the mystical beauty.
Seshata whipped her head to the side and shot a glacial glance across the bow of her shoulder that could flash freeze a heart to a block of ice.
Serenity flinched, dropping her hand. “Please, tell me the name of the Kindred who tampered with my memories.” Desperation made her voice break. “Just give me a name.” She needed to know who had tainted her memories, wiped away the truth of her childhood and replaced it with a devastating lie.
Speckles of fiery gold rained in Seshata’s eyes, setting them ablaze. She stroked Serenity’s cheek with the back of her gloved hand. Ice that burned grazed her skin, scorching all hope.
The enchantress, all fire and ice, and nothing in between, let her hand fall. “Will a name tell you what happened to your father?”
Taken aback by the question, Serenity shook her head. “No.”
“Will a name tell you why?” Seshata asked, her stony resolve unyielding.
With a sigh, Serenity swallowed defeat. “No.”
“I trust you will give my offer serious consideration. In return, I give my assurance you will find the answers you seek at House Aten.” She turned and floated out of the great room.
As Serenity watched the immortal and her entourage depart, something inside of her shrank away from her skin, retracted into a ball and withered.
Cyrus sat slowly and stared at the window.
Abbadon rushed in and the warriors crowded around the doorway to the great room. “Did you feel it?” Abbadon asked.
“Yes,” Cyrus said gravely.
She sat beside Cyrus. “What are you talking about?”
“You didn’t feel her power?” Abbadon asked in amazement.
“She felt it, more than the rest of us,” Cyrus said, looking away.
She ran her hand across the nape of her neck. “I didn’t feel anything.”
“You were completely bewitched until I touched you. And the fact you don’t recognize that makes me worry even more.” Cyrus spoke in a low, sullen voice.
Leaning back against the sofa, she replayed the meeting in her mind.
“What did she want?” Abbadon asked.
When Cyrus glanced at the warriors, Abbadon politely had them leave and shut the door.
“Besides the gifts, she came to extend an invitation to us.”
Abbadon sat on the sofa across from them in the very spot Seshata had been a moment ago. He stared at Cyrus, eyes heavy with concern.
“It was only an invitation and gifts,” she said.
Cyrus snapped upright, giving her a piercing look. “The immortals only leave the Citadel once a century to meet with the Pesedjet. If not for the Great Council meeting, they’d never leave at all. Even then, they come up with excuses not to do it. They are petrified of pain and avoid coming out into the world unless absolutely necessary. They send envoys to present gifts and to extend invitations.” His firm tone slashed through to her senses.
“Why are they petrified of pain?” she asked.
“It’s said that in the days when they built Rekhem,” Abbadon explained, “Tholitis was in an accident and his hand was severed. He howled in anguish for days. Nothing could be done to assuage his suffering. By the third day, his hand had grown back.”
She gave him a doubtful glance. “They can regenerate?”
“Yes, but from what we’ve heard the physical agony of it is horrendous. They live in fear of pain and do what they can to avoid it. Even a scratch is said to bring them misery. It’s the reason they stay locked away from the world, hiding in the Citadel of Lights. Every century when the Pesedjet convenes, they make excuses not to go, but they always show in the end.”
Cyrus slumped back against the sofa. His beautiful raven hair flopped into his face. “And now every oracle of Aten sees us. Everyone knows we’re together.”
Abbadon’s brows knitted together. “What?”
“It’s the reason Seshata came,” Cyrus said, staring out the window again. “All of her seers are having visions of us together and of some war. Sekhem’s seers must have seen us. It’s the reason they sent scouts.”
Abbadon leapt up from the sofa and dashed out of the room. The warriors gathered around him in the foyer. “Our suspicions are correct. She knew about Lady Serenity before she came.” All of their eyes focused on Serenity and Cyrus. “Their presence here is no longer a secret. Your vigilance and dedication are required. You know what to do.” He dismissed them with a wave of his hands and they dispersed quickly in different directions.
Serenity stared at the cupcakes, wondering if she’d get a chance to eat her wedding cake.
“What do you want to do?” Abbadon asked, as
he rushed back into the room and sat.
Cyrus smoothed back his hair. “You’re going to find Lysandra, and we’re going to be married here at the house as we discussed,” he said calmly. “Then I’m going to take my wife on a honeymoon. I’ll take the team with us; they’re just as good as battle-guard. Afterwards, we’ll go to House Herut.”
“Honeymoon?” Serenity asked. The word pierced the dense cloud of foreboding looming over them with a spark of hope.
“I’ll finally get to show you the Imperial cities.”
She smiled.
Abbadon lurched forward. “We should return to Herut immediately. You can’t take such chances.”
“You don’t use the word can’t with me. I can, we can,” Cyrus corrected, “and we will.”
“It isn’t prudent.” Abbadon stared at them as if they were delusional. “Forego a wedding and honeymoon. You can be sealed at Herut. You were taught better than this.”
Taking a breath, Cyrus shut his eyes. “Once we enter House Herut, everything will change. It’ll be like a prison.”
“You’ll be safe.”
Cyrus’s lips turned up in a rueful smile. “Daedalus wasn’t safe. No place is safe. We’re going to be married here in the gazebo like she wants. And I’m going to take her on a proper human honeymoon to Morocco. Then, we’ll go to Herut.”
Serenity shifted toward Cyrus and stroked his thigh. “I want to accept the invitation. I think we should go to House Aten instead of Herut. I want to know more about my parents. This may be the only way for me to find out what really happened to them. You heard Seshata. She knows more. And a different perspective on my training might be helpful.”
A shadow passed over Cyrus’s face, darkening his features, the blue gleam trickled from his eyes, and he cut his coal-dark gaze away from her.
Abbadon stared at her, mouth agape. “Cyrus has to get permission from the Council. He can’t just accept an invitation and run off to House Aten.”
“I thought the word can’t wasn’t to be used,” she said in a sharp tone.
Abbadon rose from the sofa. “Cyrus has an obligation, a duty that will be fulfilled and not cast aside. He must return and stand before the Council to discuss this.”