The Goddess of the Underworld: The Chronicles of Arianthem VIII

by Samantha Sabian

  Raine sat down heavily on the bench behind her, the bench she had sat on so many times before, pondering the massive curtains, never knowing that her lover was right behind her. She wanted to scream denials, to shout rejections, to declare it a lie and a falsehood, but in the end, she said nothing, because she knew in her heart that the translation was correct.

  “Raine.”

  The whispered name was jarring to Raine, for she was not certain the Goddess had ever addressed her so before.

  “You will be my Consort,” she said softly, her emerald eyes glittering in her exquisitely beautiful face. The harshness of her words was an utter contrast to how gently they were spoken. “You have no choice, and no say. It is your destiny.”

  Hel left the room, and Raine leaned back against the amber block behind her, pressing against her lover’s prison in anguish while she gazed up at the wall that spelled out her eternal damnation.

  Hours passed, and Raine had moved only once. After staring at the words of the prophecy, she finally repositioned herself on the opposite bench so that she could look up at her love. Her eyes caressed those lovely, regal features. She ached to be so near her beloved, yet unable to touch her or speak to her. She worried for Weynild’s condition, fearful that she could not maintain her stasis against that poisonous resin from that abomination in the garden. Tears flowed from her eyes, dried, then flowed again.

  Hel came up from court and stood in the doorway, observing that her captive had barely moved.

  “Come to bed.”

  Raine stared dumbly forward. Hel’s words were not a request, but nor were they a command. They were more a statement of inevitability. Raine could hear the dragon’s words in her head, the conversation they had in what now seemed lifetimes ago.

  “I will not allow you to hate the part of you I so dearly love,” Weynild’s voice said. “Hel can force physical pleasure from you, but she cannot take your love. That belongs to me.”

  And Raine could hear her own response to her lover’s avowal, to Weynild’s insistence that she would not force her to move forward.

  “If this ends as you say it will, I will endure anything.”

  Raine got to her feet and followed the Goddess from the room. She undressed under Hel’s appreciative gaze and climbed into the massive bed. Hel spent hours exploring every inch of her body, as if laying claim to her anew, taking inventory of a new possession, then brought her to the gentlest, most sustained, most unrelenting climax yet, the act infused with Raine’s melancholy and hopelessness, and driven by Hel’s sense of entitlement to an inevitable prerogative. Raine fell asleep, the coldness of her cheek pressed against the shoulder of the Goddess.

  Hel idly toyed with her captive’s hair as the Arlanian slept. This moment, the one she had imagined over and over, had gone much as planned. The revelation of Talan’s imprisonment and the final line of the prophecy had unfolded flawlessly. She was glad that Talan was now uncovered, if for no other reason than she enjoyed looking at her. Even now, she could see her immobilized ex-lover from her position in the bed, admire those elegant features and those golden eyes, appreciate the firm breasts pushed upward by that dragonscale armor, observe all of these lovely characteristics even as she ran her fingers through the hair of the dragon’s lover.

  Hel turned her attention to the one who slept curled against her, examining those perfect chiseled features, the long dark eyelashes that brushed those high cheek bones, the lips that even now caused desire to stir within the Goddess. The feel of that soft, silky skin pressed against her own sent a shiver of delight down her spine, and she buried her face in that fair hair, breathing deeply of the heavenly scent that was both a blessing and a curse to all Arlanians. She lay back on her black satin pillows, arching her back so that her breasts pointed high to the night sky, thinking that truly, the day’s events had unfolded with perfection.

  Chapter 21

  The Queen of the Ha’kan sat uneasily about her own council table. She was flanked by her staff, Senta, Gimle, and Astrid. Her daughter and her staff were present, Dallan, Rika, Lifa, and Kara. Skye sat next to Dallan with her second-in-command and childhood friend, Torsten. The Ancient Dragon, Kylan, sat in her exquisite human form, flanked by the dark beauties that were her liege’s children, Idonea and Drakar. Fortuitously, an envoy from the empire had just arrived in the form of the Knight Commander Nerthus, who had carried on a lengthy affair with Idonea and sought any excuse to see her. Y’arren sat with Elyara and her attendants, all who had somber looks on their faces.

  “Y’arren,” the Queen began, “I have never seen you so solemn. Please don’t keep us in suspense any longer. Tell us your news.”

  “Forgive me, your Majesty,” Y’arren said, her countenance filled with a sad wisdom. “I just wanted to ensure that Kiren’s translation was correct. I will forward it to your First Scholar for review as well, but I am confident enough now to share it with you.”

  “Translation?” Halla said. “Kiren was able to translate the final line of the prophecy?”

  “She was.” Y’arren paused. “But it was not what we thought it was.” She held out her hand and Elyara passed her the scroll. Y’arren began reading.

  “The Dragon’s Lover, felled by the closest of allies, carries into death without dying, that which saves all worlds.” Y’arren took a deep breath.

  “And whose destiny it is to be The Consort of the Queen of the Underworld.”

  There were gasps and exclamations of disbelief about the room. Drakar leaped to his feet.

  “That can’t be true.”

  Skye was also on her feet. “There must be some mistake!”

  “I wish that there were,” Y’arren said sadly, “and as I said, I will impose upon the Ha’kan scholars to check Kiren’s work. But neither I nor my sages have found fault with her translation.”

  “But what of the other parts of the prophecy?” Idonea demanded. “They have yet to come true.”

  Y’arren did not respond, simply gazed across the table with her ancient wisdom. And all were left to ponder the events that had occurred thus far. Raine was undoubtedly the Dragon’s Lover. She had been captured going to Talan’s aid. And from what Fenrir relayed and Skye felt first-hand, Raine walked in the land of dead while still among the living.

  Halla considered the lasting peace that had descended upon Arianthem since Raine had been captured, and the harmony, when viewed in this light, left a bitter taste in her mouth. Fenrir’s troubled speculation on Hel’s elevation of Raine only seemed to confirm the unbearable truth of the translation.

  “It appears,” Y’arren said, summarizing all their thoughts into her own self-recrimination, “that all of these years I was wrong. This is not a prophecy, but a curse.”

  Chapter 22

  The clothes the handmaidens brought forward were different, and Raine eyed them with unease. They had a distinct cut and were far more formal than her usual Arlanian clothes. The Arlanian style was present in their design, that was apparent, but they also shared some of the features of Hel’s flowing robes. The embroidery was similar, and the sash that went across her body from her right shoulder to her left hip was the same violet color as the hem and edging on Hel’s mantle. They possessed their own malevolent style, and in short, the outfit looked very much a complement to Hel’s royal raiment.

  “What are these clothes?”

  Feray adjusted the sash and the bottom of the jacket, although really, the adjustment was unnecessary. The Arlanian wore the uniform to perfection.

  “This,” Feray said, taking a step back to admire her work, “is the clothing worn only by the Royal Consort.”

  It was as Raine feared. Today would be the day that Hel would present her to the court as her chosen companion, her victory prize. Raine chafed at all the meanings in the title “consort,” for in the mortal realm, it meant the spouse of the reigning monarch. She had only one
wife, Raine thought grimly, and she was encased in amber in a state of hibernation.

  Feray was finished with her ministrations and deemed her appearance fit.

  “Come.”

  Raine took one last look into the shrine, one last glimpse of her love, then followed Feray out onto the balcony.

  As soon as she appeared, the Great Hall fell into silence. Hel glanced up, examining the Arlanian’s appearance, and a slow smile curved about her face. The mortal looked as stunning in that outfit as she had expected.

  Raine squared her shoulders and began stalking down the stairs, requiring Feray to scramble to keep up with her. Faen stood at the bottom of the stairs, having acquired, in his opinion, the most odious task of the day. As soon as Raine approached, he went to one knee, an example for all others to follow lest there be any confusion as to the meaning of the mortal’s garb. He looked up to see the look of triumph on the Arlanian’s face, the smug superiority he knew would be there, and he was surprised that her expression was the same as it had always been. There was no supercilious or haughty air about her, merely the same moody disinterest she had always displayed towards him and every other creature in the Underworld. He felt an odd sense of relief, and an even more foreign emotion that he could only surmise might be respect.

  Raine moved through the throng as quickly as possible, valuing none of the pomp and circumstance that attended her arrival. A vision of her and Weynild arriving at the Ceremony of Assumption in the land of the Alfar flitted through her mind, a trek she had taken far more leisurely on the arm of her love. She pushed the memory away forcefully. The only thing that had kept her sane was mentally separating her previous life with her current experience, and that was going to be so much more difficult now that she knew her love was here. She stalked up the stairs, stopping before Hel and bowing from the waist. Hel extended her hand, and Raine hesitated only briefly before she took the hand and kissed it as expected. She then took her place at Hel’s side, staring out at the court and seeing nothing.

  If asked, Raine could not have recounted any of the events or procedures of that morning. She simply sat, her mind a blank state, as the hours ticked by. The presentations began, and Raine did not see the various dignitaries and nobles that came to offer their salutations to the Queen, and to proffer their acknowledgements to her as well. She did not even see one who stood at the bottom of the stairs, a troubled look on his face as he examined her clothing, and it was not until Feray plucked her sleeve that she turned her attention towards him.

  It was Fenrir, again in his human form, standing at the bottom of the stairs. His expression matched the torment inside of her, and a muscle in her jaw jumped as she clenched her teeth. The distress on his countenance, based upon the full understanding of her position, was evident to all. He now comprehended all of Hel’s previous actions, her deference to Raine and her open regard for the mortal. It might as well have had nothing to do with Raine, for Hel would allow none to denigrate her Consort, for to denigrate her Consort would be to denigrate her. Hel had raised up Raine simply because Raine was now a reflection on her.

  Raine glanced to Hel and it sufficed as a request. She would no longer demand public submission from her. In magnanimity towards her chosen one, she nodded her approval, and Raine stood and started down the stairs. Fenrir’s glowing eyes rested on her clothing as she approached, his angry scrutiny expressing all.

  The two just stood looking at one another, and Raine struggled to control her emotions. The hushed attention of everyone in the great hall was upon them.

  “Is it true?” Raine said at last.

  “Is what true?”

  “Is it true that Hel has withdrawn all the Hyr’rok’kin from the Arianthem?”

  “Yes,” Fenrir said. He realized Raine knew nothing of the events of the mortal realm. “The Hyr’rok’kin withdrew the day that you were brought here.”

  This seemingly positive news caused a disquiet in Raine that was baffling to Fenrir. The Scinterian was engaged in some inner struggle that was reflected in the working of her jaw, the distant sadness in her eyes, the rising in her chest as she took a deep breath, and then the straightening of her spine as she stiffened with resolve.

  “Then take a message to my friends.”

  Fenrir looked uneasily to his sister, for she was watching them intently as Raine continued.

  “Tell them not to attempt to rescue me. Tell them to leave me to my fate.”

  Fenrir’s heart fell and Hel leaned back in ultimate satisfaction. Raine merely turned on her heel, unable to bear the proximity of another whom she loved and could not touch. She strode back up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and sat down in her place on the left side of the throne.

  Fenrir held his sister’s gaze for a very long time, then he, too, spun about on his heel and left the throne room.

  Chapter 23

  Although Nerthus had meant to spend several days in the Ha’kan capital, her contrived visit had been cut short by the authentic crisis that had arisen. She had had spent only a single night with Idonea, and in contrast to their usual passionate encounters, the formidable, gruff Knight Commander had spent the twilight hours simply holding the raven-haired mage as Idonea fluctuated between tears and a wretched silence. Nerthus had hugged her at length early in the morning, then set back out to carry word of the new development to her Empress as quickly as possible.

  So it was with some surprise that Aesa greeted her Knight Commander in a matter of days when her return was not expected for weeks. Bristol, too, was informed of Nerthus’ arrival, and because little would pull his peer from her infatuation with Idonea, he knew her return could not be good news. He joined Aesa, who shuttled her great-grandchildren away with a servant, leaving only Malron’a hovering in the background with the two Knight Commanders and the Empress.

  “Something has happened?” Aesa said, cutting right to the matter. Nerthus appreciated the straight-forwardness of the new Empress, having grown weary of the oily and officious, indirect, and time-wasting manner of the deposed Emperor.

  “Yes,” Nerthus said. “No sooner had I arrived in Haldis when Y’arren, the ancient seer of the wood elves, received word from the Alfar. The Directorate’s young companion, the Lady Storr, succeeded in translating an ancient text that seems to refer to Raine.”

  “You speak of the prophecy regarding the Dragon’s Lover,” Malron’a said, coming forward from the shadows. She, too, was a seer, albeit of a much darker nature than Y’arren.

  Aesa was somewhat familiar with the prophecy, but not entirely. Malron’a filled in the gaps in her knowledge.

  “The Dragon’s Lover, felled by the closest of allies, carries into death without dying, that which saves all worlds.” Malron’a paused, addressing Nerthus. “But there was a final line, was there not? One that had proven too difficult to translate.”

  Nerthus nodded, her ruddy cheeks flushed with all the emotions the final line had stirred. “The Lady Storr believes the last line is, ‘and whose destiny it is to be the Consort of the Queen of the Underworld.’”

  Aesa’s pale hand came up to cover her mouth. “Referring to Raine?” she said. “Raine is to be Hel’s Consort?”

  Nerthus nodded, her anger and disgust at the words palpable.

  “That is not possible!” Bristol said, his own fury exploding. “That is just not possible!”

  Malron’a ruminated on the words, calmer than Bristol, but no less moved. “Hel’s Consort,” she murmured, “that would be much like our dark Mistress.”

  Vampyr, and particularly those of the Shadow Guild, revered and worshipped Hel. Malron’a, whose real name was unknown to but a few, had a considerable affinity towards the Goddess of the Underworld. She had seen inklings of this fate, but it had not been clear. If this was Raine’s destiny, then even she pitied her. “Then it was as much a curse as a prophecy.”

  “That’s w
hat Y’arren said.”

  “And so what do we do?” Aesa asked. “What is the plan now? We’ve been preparing troops to march across the Empty Land, but if there is no hope of victory, no chance to free Raine, then what do we do now?”

  “Those who accompanied Raine to Hel’s Gates before will go again,” Bristol said. “None of us will leave her there.”

  “Bravery will not countermand fate,” Malron’a said, her words cruel in their certainty.

  Nerthus sought to interrupt the argument she saw developing. “Y’arren is communing now, seeking a path forward. She told me she would send word as soon as possible.”

  “I am going to go train with the troops,” Bristol said angrily, dismissing himself. “They will be ready to march across the Empty Land when Y’arren makes that call.”

  Malron’a watched the red-headed Knight Commander storm from the room, followed by his female counterpart. Yes, they would prepare the imperial army to march, march across a desert and into the face of annihilation, for it was certain Hel would not release that which fate had allowed her to claim as her own.

  Chapter 24

  Feyden sat in the library, rubbing his chin with his hands. Lorifal, his stout figure looking as if it might crush the delicate chair he sat upon, made odd faces as he ran his tongue along his teeth, his mouth closed. He did this when perplexed, and it always twisted his face into amazing contortions. Dagna stared down at the map that they had worked so hard on, having already committed it to memory. They sat alone amongst the walls of books.

  “The translation has been confirmed,” Feyden said, “both by the wood elf sages and the Ha’kan scholars.”

  The trio fell back into silence, accompanied by Lorifal’s facial gymnastics and Feyden’s rubbing of his chin.

  “We will still go, of course,” Feyden said.

  “Aye,” Lorifal said. They both looked to Dagna, who had not responded.

  “What?” she said, roused from her reverie. “Of course we will, that goes without saying. I’m not as spry as I once was, but I’m still up for a fight.”