Enough, Adonis snarled at her words, angered again despite himself. He turned away, struggling to contain himself. Drawing in a breath, he sought to slow the racing of his heart, then faced her once more. Your words deserve punishment, but you have already suffered enough. I will spare you this once, Anahera. But be warned: you must learn to still still your tongue.
The Anahera bowed her head in submission. That is kind of you, master.
You may call me Adonis, he said dismissively.
In another lifetime, you might have called me Nyriah. But now I am naught but a slave, and you my master, she finished there, but he sensed there was more beneath her words, a hint that she thought the same as Maisie, that he was as much a slave as the rest of them.
Be gone, he snapped before he lashed out again. Return to your duties with the human. I have no more need for you, slave, he snarled.
As you wish, master, Nyriah replied with a short bow. Turning, she vanished into the trees.
And Adonis was left alone with the ghosts of his doubts.
8
The Prisoner
Anger shone in the queen’s eyes as she watched the unconscious Cara. The moment stretched out, until it seemed certain she would strike again, would snuff out the life of the Goddess with a final blow. A cold smile spread across her lips as she looked to Erika.
“I should kill her for that.” Lifting her boot, she placed it on the Anahera’s throat.
Her eyes never left Erika and a shudder shook the Archivist. Still too exhausted to even pull herself up off the floor, she shook her head, eyes watering.
“Please, don’t,” she rasped.
The queen’s emerald gaze did not flicker, but she removed her boot.
“I should have expected nothing less from my former prodigy,” she said finally.
Leaning down, she gripped Cara by one of her wings. Without taking care for her feathers, she dragged the Goddess across the cabin. With a flick of her wrist that belied her impossible strength, she tossed the Anahera back into her cage. A clang sounded as the unconscious Goddess struck the bars and slumped to the metallic floor. Erika reached for her friend, but a boot came down on her hand, pinning her to the floor.
“The game is at an end, Archivist,” Amina said softly. “All that remains is for you to concede.”
Tears blurred Erika’s vision as she stared up at her former mentor, the woman she had aspired to become, whose approval she had sought so long to win.
The same woman that had seen her father murdered, her kingdom cast down, her friend killed.
Who had just defeated one of the Anahera in hand to hand combat.
“How?” she rasped, still unable to comprehend the queen’s power.
Laughter rumbled from Amina’s throat as she removed her boot. Pain shot up Erika’s arm as the blood rushed back to her fingers, and the barely mended bones began to ache. She made to sit up, but faster than thought the queen lashed out, her boot catching Erika in the side. Breath hissed between her teeth as the blow threw her onto her back.
Gasping, unable to inhale through her winded lungs, Erika lay looking up at the queen’s rage.
“Stupid bitch,” Amina spat. “When will you learn to admit your failures? You’re weak, Erika. Unworthy.” Shaking her head, she turned away. “You will never understand the burden I carry, the responsibility placed upon my shoulders.”
Finally catching her breath, Erika managed a groan as she rolled onto her side. She did not speak or try to rise, fearing the queen’s wrath. Amina had not replaced the gauntlet on her hand, but it was obvious that the woman had never needed it, not for one so weak as Erika. What secret had the woman hidden all these years, to possess such power? Her vision swirling, Erika watched the queen cross to the mirror in the corner.
Then lifting her arms, she pulled off her heavy chainmail vest. The rings chimed as they slipped over her shoulders, then struck the ground with a jingling thud. The woollen tunic she wore beneath followed, until all she wore were her fine undergarments.
A hiss rasped from Erika’s throat when she saw the queen’s back. Suddenly blood was hammering in her ears and she found she could not look away, could not tear her gaze from Amina. Crouched on the floor, Erika stared at the scars the queen bore, at the twin circles of twisted tissue marking the skin either side of her spine.
“Imagine my father’s joy, when my mother first revealed herself to him,” Amina murmured, turning so she could study her back in the mirror. “And imagine his shame, when years later she finally revealed the truth about her people.” Erika could see the queen’s rage in the mirror, furrowing the edges of her eyes, turning down her narrow lips. Abruptly, she spun and advanced on Erika. “He loved her. I know it, though I have no memory of the bitch.”
Erika opened her mouth, then closed it again, unable to form a coherent thought—let alone words. How was this possible? A murmur came from behind her, as Cara stirred in the cage, and an icy suspicion filled Erika’s chest. Could it be?
“Your mother?” she croaked.
The queen looked away. “The creature seduced my father, convinced him he had been blessed by the Divine. Only during my birth did he learn the truth. With his own eyes, my father saw the demon within our so-called Gods. It broke his heart, but he knew he had to act, before that beast was unleashed upon our world.”
“He killed her,” Erika whispered.
“Eventually,” Amina replied with a sneer. “My father was prudent. He knew there were truths to be uncovered, secrets the false gods had hidden from us. With fifty of his most trusted men, he tricked my mother, imprisoned her deep beneath the citadel in a cell not even her kind could escape.” Amina shook her head. “The…creature admitted it all, by the end.”
Erika
