“How is that possible?”
Terra shrugged a dainty shoulder. “I am a Goddess, am I not?” When her daughter’s mouth opened, gaping like that of a fish, she rubbed her arm. “Fear not, child. You are as ready for this girl to be born as she is. She was ready the moment she gave you her wings.”
“Pregnancy lasts nine months,” Thalia blurted. “Even in Lykens. It’s not just a human thing.”
“And you’re no longer a Lyken. Nor are you human. You are simply nothing. You are everything.”
“What does that even mean?” she demanded, stacking her hands on her hips. “Look, is this some kind of joke? Has Isaura set me up? I know that bitch doesn’t like me, but this is getting a bit beyond some kind of prank.” She swirled around in the water, and Terra believed she was seeking out her mates. “Rafe?! Theo?! Mikkel?! Where the fuck are you? Are you in on this?”
“There is no joke,” Terra murmured gently, unoffended by her daughter’s disbelief while hearing the edge of panic in her voice. “This is the first time I have spoken to someone other than my mates and my peons for thousands of years.” She gently grasped her chin. “Fear not, dearling, you are safe here with me.”
“Safe?” She gaped. “You’re crazy.”
“I’m the Goddess,” she countered. “I am Terra. And you are Thalia.” Apparently, they were going to have to have this conversation sooner rather than later as she’d have preferred. “You, my dear, are my daughter.”
“I’m the daughter of Elena, Luca, Adam, and Damien Lyndhoven.”
Terra nodded. “Indeed you are. But spiritually, you are mine. And my mates’. Just as your Raphael is Vulcun’s son. We gift the bone and the blood, and through those of our creation, you are born.”
Thalia jerked back like each word Terra had uttered was a bullet penetrating her skin. “This is crazy,” she rasped.
“Crazy but true.” She gave her a soft smile. “I have longed to meet you, child. Longed with a depth that isn’t quite seemly. My role is standard, you see. We know all, but cannot directly affect the world that belongs to us. We can only influence. Advise. Offer aid.
“You, my daughter, are one of many children who have failed. But you haven’t. You are special, Thalia. Your mates are special. Even I could not have foreseen this. The Fates, though I do not wish it, control the means to reach the end.”
“What does that mean?” she blurted out, her limbs starting to tremble with shock.
Terra wished she could ease that, but that was a pointless wish. “It means, the other Gods and I have decided on a plan, and though that plan will be achieved, we do not control how it will happen.
“We have failed many times. The Fates have seen to that. But this time, they have seen to it that the key to the new world is in my own image, with my truest enemy’s child at her side, and an ancient creature as well as one of my firstborn standing shoulder to shoulder with her.” Terra smiled. “I could not have asked for more if I’d tried.”
“What do you want?”
“There was a time,” she murmured, her gaze losing focus on the child floating in the blue water. Blue that matched her eyes or so Mare told her, “when there were five Gods. We came to exist from the energy of the universe, for even we answer to a higher calling.
“The universe is large. Beyond measure. Its energy more powerful than a million suns. It has no purpose. No other reason to be than that of creation. It creates life. It harbors it. Shelters it. And from that energy, we were born. Five of us. Each with an element. An intrinsic part of the universe that enabled us to create more life.
“To the four of us, we were equal. Water, Air, Earth, and Cosmos. There were none of us that held more power over the other. We wanted love. We wanted peace. We wanted to create and, as the universe does, wanted to shelter and harbor our creations. Lux, the fifth God, was unlike us. He was scared. Of his own shadow, even. Ironic considering he is light and heat.
“We watched him for eons. Growing more suspicious, trying to bring him to our hearth, but he wouldn’t. He distrusted us. So certain that we could overcome him,” she whispered, the sadness biting at her heels as powerful now as it was during the days when this had happened.
“Why did he think that?” Thalia asked, her voice low.
“I sometimes believe the Fates were involved, and that his alienation was as part of the plan for this world as everything else. Without Lux, you would not exist. Nor would your people or humans. There would be only Fae. There would be only those children.
“Through his destruction, we created life. We grew to be polar opposites, when once we were as close as cubs in their mother’s den.” She swallowed as hurt whipped inside her. “He’d created this land. Heden. It was his at first. From his fire, the forges on which he worked crafted the crust of this realm, and land was born. I shaped it, Aer granted it life-giving oxygen, and Mare fed it with water. We worked as a team to create this realm, and as a unit, we bore the Fae.
“Morningstar was my brightest star. My boy. My first child. How I loved him,” she whispered, closing her eyes, wishing she felt the freedom of the water that Thalia did. Wishing her limbs weren’t heavy, that they were free from the pull of gravity. How she wished to feel light and not dense. “But Lux used him to destroy our universe. He pulled Morningstar from my bosom, tempted and enticed him out of the gates of a land Lux had crafted for this exact purpose—to encourage the boy’s treachery. For he’d planned this. From the very start. As we were creating, he was planning on destroying it all. The day Morningstar crossed the gates, he ceased to be Lux and became Vulcun.
“My grief was so great. Not only had I lost Lux, but my firstborn too. My mates were enraged. Hurting too, but on my behalf. My pain and agony felt like an endless tidal wave. They made foolish choices. The second they crossed Heden’s gates, my mates barred our children from returning, flinging them straight into Vulcun’s arms.
“They made a mistake,” she whispered, “and I made one too. For if I had been more in control, less wounded, I would have seen that to pass them straight to Vulcun’s embrace was folly.”
“Oh,” Thalia breathed. “I’m so sorry, Terra.”
The apology made tears prick her eyes. “Feel not sorry for me, my child,” she whispered gravely, wishing her next words weren’t the truth. “You are the means in which we change all this. In which we right these many wrongs.” She stared at Thalia, held out her hands, palm-faced up, encouraging her to reach out and join her. When her daughter complied, Terra felt more tears prick her eyes. “It is time for Morningstar to come home, child. And you will bring him here. To these waters, and he will pay for his sins.”
16
Thalia
“You want me to bring him here?” Her voice was a squeak, but Caelus, who wouldn’t be stunned by the words that were being uttered to her by a Goddess. A Goddess. The Mother of All!
“You need to bring him here. You need to drag him into these depths and purge him of his sins. We will do the rest. But until then, you must bring life to this child.” Terra loosened one hand and pressed it to Thalia’s belly. “She is no ordinary babe, my dearling. You are the catalyst, but she will breathe life to a new world. One with peace and not war. She will help you in the days to come.
“Morningstar’s atonement is naught but the first step, and Vulcun’s rage will know no bounds when we take the child from his grasp. There will be dark days ahead, my little one, but you and your mates will learn together. Lean together.”
Thalia’s bottom lip quivered as the import of Terra’s words sunk in. Sweet Gods, this couldn’t be happening. Could it?
“What do you mean ‘dark days ahead’?”
“It is time we brought Vulcun back to the fold, and you will help us achieve this.” Another pat on her belly. “This child will help us achieve this. But until then, your world will change. The humans will cry Armageddon, they will state it is the end. But it is not. It is the beginning.
“Once the child is born, y
ou must return to your realm after you have been crowned. It is imperative. You must guide the people there into the dawn of this new age. One where each creature lives in harmony with another. Do you understand me, child?”
“N-No, I don’t,” she retorted, wanting to jerk back, to slip through the water and back to her mates rather than face the consequences of what Terra was implying.
“You do, child,” Terra countered, shooting her a wry look. “Choosing to misunderstand is not the same as not understanding.”
Feeling her bottom lip start to tremble, Thalia whispered, “I just want my mates. I want my daughter.”
“And you will have them. You will,” Terra insisted, her words and tone calming and soothing. “You will also have your She-Wolf soon. She is safe. Your father, Caelus, is harboring her.”
Thalia squeaked as she leaned forward, desperate for news on the other half of her soul. “Where is she?”
“In the Cosmos. To save you, he bled for you, my dearling. He absorbed your She-Wolf into the Cosmos, where she stays, so that the beast would not be poisoned by the mercury. You see? We have been watching. Always watching, always protecting you to the best of our abilities.” Terra smiled, the gesture lighting up her features in a way that made Thalia flounder.
In the face of such peaceful beauty, Thalia felt speechless. In some ways, it was like looking in a mirror. Large blue eyes in an elfin face, pointed chin, high cheekbones. A delicate nose arched with strong but pale eyebrows. Their hair was white, their skin a creamy gold. The one difference? Terra glowed. Literally glowed. Where in each tiny pore of Thalia’s body, there was hair to protect her, it was like with Terra, there was light.
She’d never seen anything like it in her life.
And, truth was, she wished she hadn’t seen it.
That might make her a coward, but she’d cope with the fear of that any day of the week.
She wanted her mates. Her body cried for them. She needed to be surrounded by them, cosseted by their care of her. Shoring her up, protecting and defending her in ways she couldn’t.
“Why didn’t you speak with my mates?”
“Because you are my daughter. This is why I speak with you.” Terra shot her a look. “If you speak of this with any other outside of your circle, they will either disbelieve you or fear you. I used to convene with my children often, but now, we do not speak. They are not in favor, but I am tired of this, weary of the distance, Thalia.
“I wish for there to be no chasm among us. I am lonely, dear heart. Lonely. When they betrayed me, us, they… We should not have punished them as much as we did, but there are repercussions for every decision.” She swallowed, and it sounded thick and cloying. “We never intended to create the other realm. That was Vulcun’s forge. But he used that against us. Spewing lava and ash to shape another place for Morningstar to reign over. When I saw it, when I saw how the children were suffering, I couldn’t help it. My mates and I created land, water, breathable air.” She shuddered. “I wanted them to have somewhere to live. I wanted them to have shelter. Instead, when we created life, we gave them a weapon. A means to destroy us all.”
“You speak as though that’s what Vulcun wants.”
“To destroy us all?” Terra asked, and when Thalia nodded, she murmured, “I believe he does. Perhaps it is the nature of Fire. It is the most destructive of elements, after all. But we used it to build, to create.”
“Why does he fear you?” she whispered the question, certain that was the center of Vulcun’s rage.
“Because he believes he can be suppressed. Earth damps fire. Air can control it—whipping it into a frenzy or suffocating it. Water douses it out. Fire cannot touch Air or Water, and it can’t hurt the Earth. He is right. He is the weakest of the Elements, but the most powerful too in some ways.
“We loved him,” she whispered, “but he couldn’t see past his weaknesses, and you, my child, are going to help us reign him in. It is time for this threat to be over with. For millennia, he has tried to control us through our children, and it has worked. His time for playing games is over.”
Thalia felt the intensity of the focus aimed her way—the water around her started to bubble with the heat of that concentrated energy and Thalia began to shudder. Both the Goddess’ hands came to cup her stomach, and a jolt of power seemed to ricochet through her body.
“But first, this babe must be born. You must leave her here, daughter. For all our sakes.” Terra lowered her head and kissed Thalia’s crown. “Two roles have always been your destiny. Mother and Queen. It is time for you to be both. Go with the Gods, my child. We will keep you safe.”
And like that, Thalia felt a sweeping shard of agony shoot like lightning from her core as she was returned to the surface, and the minute her head broke through the water, she screamed.
17
Theo
“Thalia? Sweet Gods, what’s wrong?” Theo yelled as his mate, who’d only just dived into the waters, broke the surface with a scream so agonized, it made him ache. He’d yet to dive in, had been waiting for the horses with his brothers to arrive, and grabbing her, he lifted her from the water as though that were the cause of her shrieks.
“No!” she hollered when he lifted her free of the liquid. “Put me back in there. Sweet Gods,” she howled. “It hurts. It hurts! Theo, make it stop, please, make it stop.”
He looked at her, confused, and then he truly peered into her eyes and saw the pain. The true agony shining free from the arctic blue eyes.
“The baby?”
“It’s time,” she whispered, then let out a blood-curdling scream as she clung to him, her body squeezing him as though that would help release the pressure of the pain whirling inside her. When she relaxed, her body going limp, he realized that was a contraction, but what did he know of birth?
“Theo? What the fuck’s going on?” Mikkel yelled.
“Thalia’s in labor!” he shouted back.
“She’s miscarrying?” Rafe screamed, the terror and fear in his voice echoing like a yodeler’s cry would in the Alps.
“No, no, no,” she whimpered. “It’s time.”
“She says not,” he yelled back, and noticed the horses finally pick up speed until they were flying a foot or so above the water.
“The child is ready,” Thalia cried out, but her voice was not her own. “She will bring light to this dark world. She will bring change to a future drowning in the sins of its past. She is change. She is hope. But before all else, she is yours.”
“What the fuck?” Mikkel repeated, his voice high and his eyes wide.
“The Goddess speaks for her,” Theo whispered, but all else was silent so he knew the others could hear. “Rafe, help me. We have to get Thalia ready to give birth.”
“Shouldn’t we return to the palace?” Mikkel demanded.
“No. The Fae give birth in these waters,” Theo replied. “It helps with labor.” He took off then, flying with his crying mate in his arms as she alternated between squeezing him so badly his body ached with it, then releasing him and turning so limp he feared for her—he was almost relieved when she would squeeze him once more.
“Where are you going?” Rafe snarled.
“There are rocks in the waters. The females lay on them but are still covered by the liquid.” He’d never looked for one before. Had, if anything, always avoided them. All males did. They were private spaces for females and their mates—even if they were never used anymore. It was simply habit, as well as tradition, he supposed.
As he shot across the waters to that particular section, he saw one floating in the near distance.
“What is it?” Thalia moaned, her arms flailing as the contraction released its hold on her.
“It’s a rock, dearling,” he told her. “But they’re more like icebergs here. They’re not connected to anything.”
“I don’t want to lie on a rock,” she whimpered as he decelerated and, hovering above the surface, carefully placed her upon it.
&nb
sp; “It’s not like the rocks on earth,” he advised her, but he saw she understood.
“It’s like the ones in the bathing chamber,” she cried as the spongy surface conformed to her shape, supporting her and holding her where she needed to be held.
“Yes,” he whispered, kneeling at her side as he turned to look for her other mates. They were here. Jumping off the horses’ backs to land at their sides.
Rafe, his eyes wild, dropped in front of her spread legs. When those wild eyes turned even wilder, Thalia cried out, “I don’t want you to see this.”
“It is nature’s way,” Theo countered. “Only mates help their beloved females give birth.”
“Not on Earth, buddy,” she growled. “We have things like epidurals and nice, clean hospital rooms with oxygen. Oh, Gods, oxygen and pain meds.”
Rafe grunted, “Lyken females don’t have that, Thalia. They only work on humans.”
An exasperated scream hurled from her throat. “That’s not fair!” She slumped back against the rock, and was immediately cushioned by it.
“What’s going on, guys?” Mikkel asked, his anguish scrawled on his brow.
Rafe gritted his teeth. “She’s giving birth. She’s…” His mouth worked. “She’s fully dilated.”
“So soon?” Theo gaped at the waters. “I’ve never heard anything like this before. Fae females carry children for nine months.”
“So do Lykens and humans,” Rafe replied.
“T-This is different,” Thalia whispered, her body tensing, her skin bleeding white with the pain. Her hands clutched Theo’s. “She came to me, Theo. Terra came to me.”
“The Mother?” He stared at her, shook his head. Not in disbelief, just bewilderment. “Why? What did she want?”
“I’ll tell you later,” she cried, “but the child has to be born now and we have to return to Earth after my coronation.”
Theo’s eyes widened. “Okay.” He licked his lips. “What can we do?” he asked Rafe.
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