And when the dust finally settled, and the broken tree branches echoed off the valley floor where they fell, Enyo stood.
Whole. Healed.
Reborn.
Etienne watched in a sickening mixture of horror and fascination as Enyo emerged, like Alphonse still, but changed. It was Alphonse’s thick hair and her golden skin. But her lips, which had been the barest of pinks, were now a deep, blood red. And her eyes, so often wide in wonder or contemplation, were slitted, catlike and cunning.
Her body…
Alphonse had been graceful and precise, despite her rapid wasting. But now...
Enyo moved with a boneless ease that bespoke animalistic origins. She wore confidence like a second skin as she lifted her head to stare up at the cloudless sky, a wonderful and terrible laugh echoing from her. Deep and joyful.
Gone were the modest, demure greys and browns of Alphonse’s gowns. Now she was dressed in some sort of rough, woolen sarong that tied at one hip and exposed the length of her entire right leg. Her upper body was covered in nothing more than a piece of leather wound tightly about her ribs and chest, both ends tied behind her neck. A crude and gaudy copper band encircled her upper arm, its pattern that of a snake with two ruby eyes that stared up at Enyo’s face.
Bare feet crunched against the graveled road, and golden eyes swiveled from Delyth, whose tear tracks were grey with dust, to Etienne, who gaped in horror.
A wide, predatory smile traced her lips, exposing teeth that somehow had elongated and sharpened. Perfect for ripping out throats. Perfect for eating still beating-hearts.
She was wild, vicious, all demure kindness replaced by something old and dark and alien.
She captivated him.
And he hated himself for it.
“What fantastic timing you have, mage. I was afraid you’d miss what we worked so hard for.” She gestured to her body. To Alphonse’s body. “If it weren’t for your meddling, boy, I would have never been found in that dusty tome. I suppose I should thank you…”
Long-fingered hands came up to tap blood-tainted lips. “Shall we say a quick death is fair payment for the debt I owe you?”
This was what the death of Alphonse looked like, not the girl of the days and weeks before, seeking some way to deal with the darkness she carried.
Gods, if he had just not given up on her. Not ran away…
Perhaps then, this could have been prevented. Perhaps then, he could have saved her. Etienne heard Enyo’s question, but her words no longer held any sting. Why shouldn’t he die? He had failed in every way that mattered.
“Do it,” he said. His voice was flat, sepulchral. And he had no tears to give.
༄
Delyth watched as Enyo prowled closer to Etienne, reaching with hands that looked more like claws than anything else, to run her fingertips over his throat and up through his hair—playing with her next meal.
“Mages are all the same. Think a little bit of study, and sacred words will save them. Makes them better than the rest of the mortals…” She crooned, leaning in to brush her lips against his ear.
“Magic isn’t so very hard to break. Not when the wielder is already lying in pieces.” She leaned away and sauntered past Etienne, coming to Delyth now.
“Oh Ba’oto, what a fickle creature you are. I suppose you can’t help it… Maoz always loved his current fling with all his heart. Even if he would move onto the next one the moment he caught their scent. You’re no better than the beast himself. And of course…” Enyo bent at the waist to peer into those cold blue eyes. “I own you now—a lifetime for a night. You never answered…” She grinned, reaching to run the tip of her nail down the side of Delyth’s temple, tucking the lock of ebony hair interwoven with a hawk feather behind her ear. “Was it worth it?”
Delyth just turned her head away. She would not answer, would not give Enyo the satisfaction.
Not unless the Goddess made her.
Because Enyo was right. Delyth was an animal, all feral beast, and anger built within her like a flood, its waters pressing at the backs of her eyes, flying up her throat. It shoved apart her rib cage. Left her open, hollow and gaping.
She clenched her fists at her sides and bit down hard on her cheek to keep from screaming.
There was nothing in this world that could fill her but absolute destruction—the death of Enyo.
Whom she was doomed to serve.
So let the demon bitch make her answer. Let her draw it out like poison.
She would never have Delyth’s willing service. Never again have her devotion.
Only spite and hate and roiling, blinding anger.
That rich chuckle escaped her lips again, and Enyo straightened up, running her hands luxuriously over her body, enjoying every curve and every line. She moaned and stepped towards Tristan, bare feet disturbing loose rocks, and suddenly, Delyth knew what her punishment would be, what Enyo would demand of her.
“Ba’oto. Watch.”
The words were no less horrible because she had known they were coming.
Delyth did not turn to look. She would not watch Enyo defile her lover’s body. Could not. Whatever ribbons held her sanity together would not be able to stand it.
Delyth did not watch.
And in so doing, found that she did not have to.
Somehow, somehow despite the horror of losing Alphonse, she still retained her freedom. She did not have to follow Enyo’s command.
Delyth laughed, the sound dark and broken. She let it rumble up through her throat. Let it raise her to her feet.
Alphonse was lost.
But the beast could still fight back.
Delyth drew Calamity and felt nothing. The sword must have been clamoring for Enyo, for blood. It was probably singing with power.
But it's bloodlust was nothing to her own.
And if she could not kill Enyo for fear of destroying the last embers of Alphonse, she could at least take the Goddess's plaything.
Delyth’s laughter cut off.
