Shadow Borne

by Rachael Slate

  If Psyche were ever to hold him in high esteem, he’d best expect that of himself, first.

  “There is something I must do.” He gazed at her beauty, determination filling his veins. “I will return shortly. Wait for me.” After seizing her hand, he pressed a kiss to her delicate flesh, then released her.

  Cloaking himself from her human eyes, he spread his wings and shot into the sky. He summoned a quiver of his enchanted arrows and his bow. As he glided across the nearby towns and villages, he loosed the gilded arrows toward those who required their potency to bolster their courage.

  Once, he’d spent days—and nights—performing his tasks. Encouraging lovers. Even partaking in their merriment with them. Their grateful prayers had been so sweet to his ears. He vowed, he would be that god again.

  Soon, the night air filled with the sounds of love. Soft moans and deep grunts echoing to his godly ears. He’d let the wager defeat him. Claim who he was. Determine his fate, just as Psyche declared.

  He wouldn’t any longer.

  Tonight, he’d seize onto those things he’d once held so dearly, and the one thing he’d never dreamed he’d desire.

  He would earn Psyche’s trust, her love, and break this curse, once and for all.

  Fates be damned.

  Psyche sighed into the maze. Soren had left her, again, yet this time had been different. A spark of hope had lit determination within him. Whatever he believed he must do, she was glad for him. Perchance, her small act of faith would set him free.

  The fancy tugged a smile onto her lips and she hummed softly, fingering the freshly cut hedges. Suddenly, a warm breeze swept through the pathway, caressing the back of her neck. Soren? She spun around, hopeful, but no one greeted her view. She was alone.

  Or was she?

  A faint rose-hued glow flickered from behind the shrubbery Soren had forbidden her to trim. She swallowed thickly and wrung her hands, but faced away from the greenery and refused to investigate. Rule number three. She would not break it.

  “Psyche,” a lilting feminine voice carried on the breeze, straight from within the forbidden maze.

  Tensing, she froze at the beckoning of a voice she’d never forget. That of a goddess.

  Aphrodite.

  Shivers danced across her spine and the scars swelled as though in memory, making her clench her fists. Why would the goddess visit her, and in such a place?

  “Psyche,” the goddess called again, less patient this time.

  She had no choice. Steeling her shoulders, she marched to the hedge and parted a vine, peeking inside. As she grasped the thick shoots, they twisted apart, collapsing toward the edges, forming an archway.

  Into the forbidden hollow.

  Instead of a dreary, frightening expanse, a barren, unkempt space greeted her. Barren save for the hundreds of marble statues scattered across the enormous lawn in broken pieces. It appeared as though some wild beast had stormed through this place, tearing apart everything it encountered.

  A wild beast, indeed.

  She steered her focus toward the illuminated figure on the other side of the square.

  The goddess Aphrodite beckoned her closer with a wave of her delicate hand.

  No trepidation pumped through Psyche’s veins as she approached. She’d already suffered the goddess’s wrath, and her mercy. Neither frightened her anymore.

  “Ah, yes, Psyche. How lovely you have grown.” Aphrodite beamed upon her with rosy radiance.

  Demurely, she knelt before the divine Lady. She dared not speak, but held her breath expectantly.

  “You must wonder why I have come to you.” Aphrodite chimed a laugh. “True, it is not fair of me, but we shall keep this our little secret, shall we not?”

  “Of course,” Psyche dipped her head in puzzled agreement.

  “Good. When he asks, you must tell him you came to explore this place on your own. A wounded dove flew into its midst and you had no choice but to rescue the wretched creature.” As she spoke, a white bird formed on her hand and, squawking, flew into the garden, landing on a piece of the rubble.

  Psyche gaped in awe, her stomach churning at the notion of lying to Soren. At the same time, curiosity pressed into her mind. Aphrodite knew him? Was this goddess the “she” who had cursed him?

  “Be well, my child.” With a wave of her hand, Aphrodite vanished, leaving Psyche gawking in her wake.

  What was she supposed to do? She rose and frowned at a crumbled statue. It must have been quite lovely once. The marble finer than any in her mother’s gardens. The quality of the carving masterful. The pieces lay scattered at her feet, and she gathered them, assembling them together like a puzzle. As the fragments came together, the muscles in her chest tightened. This was a god’s face. One she’d recognize anywhere, having spent her childhood at the temple of Aphrodite.

  This was Eros.

  ***

  Eros stretched his wings before dismissing them, and sighed in contentment. The morning sun broke through the horizon, its rose and orange glow warming his face. The night had revived his will, strengthening his resolve. Today, he would spend with Psyche, satisfied he’d taken one step closer to being worthy of her.

  He grinned into the rising sun, then toward his manor. Inhaling, he sought Psyche’s sweet fragrance and followed her scent toward the maze. Strange. Either she’d spent the night within, or she’d risen early to continue their work. He rolled his shoulders, ready to join her, and strode through the winding pathways. At the fork, he stopped and froze. Psyche wasn’t in the maze. She was in there.

  She’d disobeyed him, at her own peril.

  Fisting his hands, fury boiled through him. He never should have left her alone. How could she have done this? He’d sought to earn her trust, and he’d failed.

  Was it already too late? Had she guessed his identity?

  Could he save her still?

  Dreading this moment, he treaded into the hollow and scanned within. Instead of the destruction he’d wrought greeting his scrutiny, several of the statues had been salvaged, dusted free of dirt and vines, and reassembled as best they could be.

  In their midst stood Psyche.

  At his arrival, she whirled about, facing him. “It’s Eros, isn’t it.”

  Devastation rushed through his muscles, weakening them, and he dropped to his knees. “Nay, speak not that name.”

  Too late. She already had. It was over.

  His freedom, her life.

  And any hope of true love.

  ***

  Psyche exhaled a shaky breath and studied Soren’s shadowed figure. She’d assumed learning the truth behind his tormentor would ease this burden, but it only made everything worse.

  Eros? The god of erotic love? She couldn’t fathom what Soren had done to enrage the god.

  In truth, she’d expected it to be Ares, god of war, or Hera, the jealous goddess wed to Zeus. A deity prone to more petty acts. Never had she heard of Eros cursing anyone.

  Why had Aphrodite sent her here? Did Psyche possess something Eros would trade for Soren’s freedom?

  She tensed. My body.

  What else would such a god covet? That must be why Soren stooped in such devastation before her.

  “Why did you do this, Psyche? Why?”

  “A wounded dove flew inside, oh, but never mind.” She waved off the false excuse. “Soren, please, forgive me for my intrusion, but this is not ill news.” She stepped closer and knelt in front of him. “I have sworn to help free you and nothing has changed. I will beseech Eros and pay whatever price he demands.” Tears misted in her eyes. “It will be worth it, to free us all.”

  “Visit…Eros?” Soren choked on the words.

  “Yes. Surely, he has grown as weary of this game as you have. Let us end this.” She snatched his hand and squeezed in reassurance.

  Soren lifted her to her feet and twisted away from her. “No. That is impossible.”

  “Impossible?” Now, he was being stubborn. Well, she could be, too.<
br />
  “Aye. I forbid you, Psyche. You must forget what you have witnessed here.”

  Ire bristled across her forearms. “No, I don’t wish to. What I want is you. Now that I might have a means to free you, you would refuse? Why?”

  “Sweet, innocent, lass,” he whipped his head, “because you can fathom what Eros would demand of you, and I will never agree to such a trade.”

  Her throat tightened; her suspicions were correct. “I wouldn’t care what he did with my body, so long as I would be yours afterward.”

  ***

  Eros squeezed his eyes at Psyche’s declaration. What had he ever done to earn such sacrifice?” “Nay, don’t speak thusly.” He opened his eyes and cradled his fingers beneath her chin. “Arete, this is my decision, and it will never change.” Before she could question him further, he led her from the gardens and sent her off to bed. Alone, he collapsed into an armchair in the library, lowering his head into his hands.

  He wasn’t sure if he should experience any relief. She didn’t guess at his true nature, and by playing along, he’d kept her safe. Why had she disobeyed him? He couldn’t trust her not to again.

  The further away he sheltered her, the safer she would be. He refused to risk losing her, especially not to her sense of selfless aid.

  A trade with Eros? He scoffed at the absurdity. Even before his curse, he never would have demanded any creature without her consent. Certainly not to free a selfish mongrel like himself.

  What had she uttered about a wounded dove? He snorted. Unlikely. If wounded, how did it scale the towering heights of the borders? Psyche had spoken the explanation as though it were rehearsed.

  Aha.

  Meddlesome Mother.

  “Breaking the rules, are we?” Eros flashed into Aphrodite’s chamber and stormed straight to her throne, where she reclined while servants fanned her with large feathered apparatuses.

  “Who, me?” she purred demurely, batting her lashes.

  “You broke a rule, and now I can do the same.” He crossed his arms and stared her down, daring her to counter.

  “Hmm, intriguing. Such as?”

  He’d anticipated a spark of conflict, not this curious smirk curving her red lips. What should he demand? “I want her to touch my face.”

  “Not your bare face.”

  “No, but I wish to savor her caress. I will affect a beard, as I do when I kiss her.”

  “Agreed.”

  He tensed. That was easy. Too easy.

  And nothing with Aphrodite ever was.

  ***

  Unable to sleep, Psyche paced the corridor, her fingertips brushing the silver walls. Soren was being stubborn. She was well aware of the severity of this situation. If her sacrifice freed not only Eros, but her village from this curse, then it would be worth it. Why did he not see that?

  She’d spent far too much of her life being the object of other people’s wills. For once, she would make her own decisions.

  Even if it meant her death.

  Fists clenching, she marched, spine straight and tall, toward the ballroom. Aphrodite had directed her to discover the destroyed statues of Eros. There must be a reason why. If Soren wouldn’t accept her aid, she would investigate on her own. Beginning with the rose.

  She strode toward the pedestal and the hovering flower. No longer crusted in ash, hints of green and crimson peeked through its hardened shell. What did that mean? Frowning, she extended her fingers toward the bloom.

  “A foolish idea, that,” a snide, masculine voice sneered from above.

  Gasping and tensing, she dared a glimpse upward.

  Orbs as black as night gleamed like inky pools toward her. Gallus? No, that wasn’t his voice.

  Psyche swallowed thickly while the monster stalked closer. His face had transformed from a pudgy, pampered human into the sharp angles and tight features of a predator on the hunt.

  One guess as to his prey.

  Me.

  “Lord Borasco.” She slid one foot behind her, toward the wall, hand at her spine prodding for a weapon. “Where is Lord Gallus?”

  The Wind Borne creature grimaced. “You may have frightened him off, but I’m here to collect what I’ve paid for.”

  Another glide backward and she bumped into the wall. One automaton lizard squawked as its cool metal scales pressed into her grasp.

  “Unfortunately, I’m afraid I must disappoint you.” She tightened her grip, surveying him for signs of attack. “I have no intention of departing this place, and certainly not in your possession.”

  Borasco hissed and swooped, his razor-sharp wings slicing through the air as he landed right in front of her.

  One thin edge of his feathers braced against her neck. “I beg to differ.” His rancid breath burned in her nostrils. “Let’s see how much a sweet morsel like you will fetch me, heh.”

  She ducked and secured the small lizard, slicing it forward. “How about I pluck you and roast you over a pit instead, you disgusting fowl!” She rammed the lizard’s tail upward, stabbing in desperation to strike at least some part of him.

  Borasco howled and stumbled back as the spiked tail sank into his shoulder. Opening her hand, she released the lizard. Then she shuffled aside, darting for the doorway.

  A sharp sting in her ankle sent her slamming into the tiled floor. Her head smacked against the hard marble, a ringing filling her ears. Dizzy, she blinked, struggling to rise to all fours. Her vision spun, swinging the room around her. A menacing chuckle crossed her ears as her attempts failed and blackness pooled in her vision.

  “There is no escape, strumpet, but thank you for the entertainment.”

  ***

  Eros trudged to his manor, exhaustion settling in his bones. He’d grown so weary of this game. Nothing would please him more than—

  He tensed, his nostrils catching a putrid stench and his ears detecting the folding of a wing.

  A Wind Borne wing.

  Not here. Bloody hell.

  Had he not done enough to terrorize that vile dastard?

  Eros stormed through his castle, following the trail of the creature, until it ended in the ballroom. Empty. Yet, on the floor, a few drops of blood. Black and tar-like in consistency. Several feet away, a broken automaton lizard lay discarded on the tiles.

  The chill night wind streamed toward him and he glanced up. A hole in his roof. The fiend.

  He fisted his hands and, opening his wings, shot through the hole, hovering above his castle and scanning the horizon. Where could they be?

  The breeze swirled around him, a trick likely, erasing any trail, yet he guessed where to find those bastards. A mercenary never departed without collecting his payment first.

  Eros flashed into the King’s castle and concealed himself within the shadows. The Great Hall was aglow from the light of thousands of candles. A murmuring crowd gathered on either side of the enormous aisle, dressed in their finery, as though they’d been anxiously awaiting…

  A wedding.

  Bile rose in his throat at the sight of Psyche, robed in a fine ivory gown, being prodded down the aisle toward not Gallus but another duplicitous fiend.

  Borasco, it must be.

  Wind Borne didn’t wed or care for mates, so this display must be a ploy to milk even more gold from the King’s treasury.

  What had he promised them? Lands? Trade routes?

  In exchange, doubtless some vow such as to never inquire about their daughter again. Poor Psyche. To be so discarded by those who should have cared for her.

  His fists tightened. He would care for her. He’d end this charade and free her from their unworthy clutches.

  It was time these impious, greedy mortals suffered the wrath of a god.

  Psyche treaded down the aisle with leaden feet. Every muscle in her body protested this “wedding.” Ha, one could not even call it that. A transfer of ownership was closer to the truth.

  Borasco had dragged her here and threatened to bring his army down upon her village if she
didn’t comply.

  If she didn’t agree to this false marriage.

  What Borasco sought was more gold, a doubling of her original dowry. In exchange, he’d wed her, providing her family with his mercenaries to guard their trade routes along a new territory. It would secure immense wealth for her family and likely even a husband for each of her sisters.

  Then they would all be sold off.

  She grimaced and forced her limbs to shuffle forward. In her heart, she prayed for Soren to save her from this fate, but it was already too late.

  She’d lost his trust. Her lie had ensured as much.

  As she neared the altar, she faced the priest, then glowered at her soon-to-be husband and captor.

  He whistled low, his hands in his vest pockets while he rocked triumphantly on his feet. Yet, a dark stain bled through the fabric. Ha, her efforts hadn’t been entirely futile. It might not be a great wound, but she might reinjure him and free herself.

  After this blasted wedding.

  What then? Spend the rest of her life fleeing, hiding from…everyone? She sighed, refusing to listen to the priest declaring their vows. They didn’t require her consent, anyway. She was worth nothing to any of them—

  “Halt.” A familiar booming rumble cracked the silence in the hall.

  The hairs on her arms rose, corresponding shivers coursing down her spine. Soren.

  “Who the bloody he—” Borasco glared at the intruder, recognition glinting in his gaze. “She’s mine. I’ve already paid for her.” He cast a stained-tooth sneer toward the chests of gold and the signed treaties in the far corner.

  “Well, that would be rather impossible, as she was already mine.” The robed figure strode forward, his cloaked form towering above the cowering crowd.

  Borasco snorted. “You have no proof.”

  Psyche wrung her hands. True, he didn’t…did he?

  “Actually, my proof is here.” He presented the rose she’d accepted the night she’d agreed to stay with him. Crimson petals shone from within its ashen crust. “Psyche is mine. Until her last breath. That’s what this means.”

  He flourished the rose beneath her parents’ noses, then toward Borasco. Would it be enough?