The Demigod Proving (15 page)

She remembered it well—she walked into the cave behind Cuchorack, and Athanaric emerged from the shadows, rending Cuchorack’s soul from his head so he collapsed, unconscious. She still remembered her horror. Her rage. The memory of that day still etched her heart.

She’d lunged at Athanaric, and he’d threatened to kill her pup, Krack, if she didn’t back down. She did—at least until Athanaric dragged Cuchorack’s body out of the lair, leaving their pup behind, and started to carry Cuchorack down the mountain. With her pup safe, she attacked Athanaric, and their fight ranged for days as he descended the mountain. Cuchorack awoke often, and Athanaric used his Spirit Ichor to momentarily detach Cuchorack’s soul from his head, so that he fell unconscious for another while. She’d attacked and fought without ceasing, but he proved too much for her, and took Cuchorack to the Seraglio.

And now, seventeen years later, Athanaric still held her mate captive. In fact, he was more captive now than ever; for now Athanaric had enslaved not only his body, but also his mind.

“Are you all right?” Wrend said.

She started, realizing she’d been staring at him. He gave her a worried expression. She couldn’t think of another time when their eyes had met as humans, and clung to that gaze. He lifted a hand as if to steady her, and she wished he would. She longed for him to do so, to touch her.

That was the human body, again. Draegons didn’t desire in such a manner. They didn’t express affection through physical contact. But now she wished he would take her in his arms and kiss her. He was a handsome man, with such thick, black hair and perfect matching eyebrows. He needed to shave. Or not; she rather liked his thin beard of dark, short hair. He had full lips and sharp eyes practically the color of pine needles.

“Are you all right?” he said again.

She swallowed hard and reached out to an empty bowl on the table. “Yes, I’m fine. I just need to get more rolls.”

He nodded and looked down. His eyes clouded with worry.

Of course he worried. He’d lived to serve and please Athanaric, and now, by speaking his mind, he’d lost a measure of favor in Athanaric’s eyes.

If only he knew what he’d gained in hers. If only he cared.

Bowl in hand, she headed away from the table, pushing tears down as the stilts clopped on the flagstone. She finally knew for certain who her mate was, yet what if he didn’t want her? What if he didn’t believe her when she told him who he was? How would she convince him?

By the time she’d entered the kitchen, despair threatened to overcome her. Her hands trembled as she threw the bowl down onto the counter and stood there, ignoring the heat, smells, and sounds in the enormous room. Scores of cooks labored over fires and stoves, and dozens of serving girls in yellow hurried back-and-forth on some urgent errand of the demigods.

“Need more rolls?” Cressa said. She stood on the opposite side of the counter, which was covered with stacks of rolls, piles of mashed potatoes, and golden turkeys.

“Yes,” Leenda said. She covered her mouth with one hand. Tears welled again in her eyes. Now that she finally knew for certain who her mate was, how would she reclaim him?

“Are you well?” Cressa said.

“Goat guts!”

“You don’t look well.”

Leenda shook her head, unable to speak. She turned and darted toward a doorway, ignoring Cressa’s further questions. Fortunately, Leenda could still think enough to remember the stilts, and paused for a moment to unbuckle them and hop down. She threw them aside and ran through the doorway and down a hall. Tears flowed. People stared at her, and she hated herself for letting the human body hold such power over her.

She rounded a corner at full speed. For an instant she saw a stern-faced woman in a blue dress—the Mistress—accompanied by three girls in yellow: Brentna and her two friends.

And she slammed into them.

She thought they would all crumple to the floor, arms and legs everywhere. But she struck the Mistress like she would have hit a wall, and actually bounced back. She stumbled, but managed to keep her feet.

“Leenda,” the Mistress said. She had a deep voice, almost like a man’s. She looked down at Leenda with tight lips and narrow eyes. “Where are you going?”

Leenda looked at the Mistress and girls and wiped the tears from her face. Brentna had gained enough courage to tell the Mistress about their little episode, and now the Mistress would have Leenda either flogged and thrown out, or executed.

The mistress folded her arms. Brentna mimicked the gesture. Leenda didn’t stay to see if the other two girls followed suit. She turned and bolted back the way she’d come. All emotions fled her mind, and she could only think of escaping.

She ran. The Mistress pursued.

Chapter 16: An attempt at mass murder

The Reverencing is the only time all Caretakers gather together. Therefore, it is the best opportunity to destroy the greatest number of them.

-Wester

Wrend watched the serving girl disappear into the kitchen and turned back to his food. He mixed some peas into the mashed potatoes and dished up more gravy. He knew of nothing worse than dry mashed potatoes, and nothing better—except a good slice of cheese—than a pool of gravy to mix with creamy spuds. Funny how gravy could make something that much better.

Had it been wrong for him to say what he thought, to give the answer he felt was right? The method contradicted the Master’s goals, certainly, but it was the fairer way to overtake a country. Maybe fairness didn’t apply when it came to a god obtaining what he wanted.

Wester, apparently, had thought it did.

“Wrend,” the Master said. “Stop moping.”

He looked up from his plate, but a scream from the dance floor interrupted his reply. On the edge of the wooden floor, a Caretaker knelt on his hands and knees like a dog. Vomit spewed from his mouth as his body heaved.

Before Wrend could even really react, the Caretaker four chairs to his left stiffened and began to shake. He grunted and lurched forward, slamming his hands onto the table. His face smashed into his plate of food, and as he recoiled he also began to puke. Chunky fluid splashed over the plates and table. Wrend’s eyes watered at the reek. He leaned away.

Demigods everywhere began to reel. Their bodies stiffened and convulsed for a moment, and vomit erupted. The music died down as the musicians fell over or off their chairs. Dancing Caretakers collapsed to the floor. One, on a platform, tumbled off, clutching her stomach. Others sitting at the rows of tables grabbed at each other or hunched over their plates. Several of the serving girls collapsed—and even the dogs began to whine, moan, and convulse. Within thirty seconds, retching and vomiting filled the air.

“Poison,” the Master said. He stood, an expression of concentration on his face. “They’ve poisoned our food.”

Wrend looked down at his meal and pushed his plate away. He wanted to reach over and help the Caretaker by his side, but didn’t know what he could do to stop the shaking or the retching. He leaned over and stretched out his arms, to slide the plates, cups, utensils, and food out of the way, so the Caretaker didn’t injure himself with them. Before Wrend could straighten, more vomit from the demigoddess across the table splashed on him. The fluid seemed everywhere.

“Children,” the Master said. His voice covered the sound of retching. “You’ve been poisoned. You have to gain enough focus to start using Thew to heal yourselves.”

Across the table, Teirn pitched backward in his chair. He dropped a cup and it clattered to the floor as his back arched. As he rocked forward, his eyes rolled upward, so only the whites were visible. His hands slammed into the table and vomit spewed in an arch, splashing over Wrend’s chest and lap.

Wrend’s stomach churned, but he couldn’t be sure whether it was from the reek, his food, or nervousness for his brother.

“Use your Ichor,” the Master said, filling the area with his calm voice. He looked out over the tables with an expression of sober concentration. “Heal yourselves. Apply as much as you can, as fast as you can, and you’ll be fine in moments.”

“Master,” Wrend said.

Bile rose in his throat, and he pushed it down. The sickness had come upon him. He wouldn’t be able to hold it in much longer. It was so sudden. So powerful.

“Master!” he said again.

His eyes began to water, and the world started to blur. An unearthly violence rose in his belly.

“What, Wrend?” the Master said. But he didn’t look at Wrend. He turned back to his dogs. They retched and groaned.

Wrend pointed at Teirn, who’d leaned back in his chair, shaking.

“He can’t use Ichor, yet. He can’t heal himself."

The green waves of Ichor he’d been harvesting disappeared as his sense of discernment slipped away.

The Master’s eyes widened. “I nearly forgot.” He leaned over and placed a hand on Teirn’s shoulder.

Wrend didn’t see or hear what the Master did after that, because that’s when the vomit came.

Chapter 17: Escape

The Mistress of the serving girls fancies herself a god in her own right, and she will send you to the chopping block as quickly as Athanaric will kill a disobedient demigod. After all, a girl who served a god and his demigods could not show any amount of bad behavior.

-Cressa

“Leenda!” the Mistress said. “Get back here.”

Leenda ignored the command and shoved people aside as she ran. They protested, but she didn’t care. She needed to get out. She had to get away from the Seraglio or she might not live to see the morning.

The closest exit was through the banquet area. In the doorway from the kitchen, she pushed past a serving girl with a bowl of mashed potatoes. The bowl struck the ground with a crack and a squish, but Leenda almost didn’t hear because of the sound of heaving. She ran a few steps out of the doorway, and faltered to a halt, surprised by the scene.

Throughout the area, demigods, serving girls, and musicians convulsed and vomited. The smell made her cringe. Only Athanaric didn’t seem affected by this sudden illness. He stood over Wrend and Teirn, his face intense as he spoke to them.

From behind Leenda, a hand closed around her arm.

“Stay right there,” said a man’s voice.

Panic surged and she tried to pull away without success. She turned to find a priest grinning at her. He was missing a few teeth. Behind him, another four priests came toward her, followed by the Mistress and Brentna.

“You’re not going anywhere,” the priest said.

“Excuse me,” she said. She bound Thew Ichor to her arms and shoulders, and added just a touch of Flux to her free fist as she brought it around and connected with the priest’s jaw. He reeled away, releasing her arm. “I’ve got to be leaving.”

She darted toward the opposite end of the courtyard.

“Leenda, get back here!” the Mistress said.