Chapter 21

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

VERENA

M ore than one pair of eyes flicked my way as I turned the bronze sphere over and over in my hands. I hadn't budged from my spot leaning against the pale wall in the palace sitting room for three hours, even when the volume of everyone talking grated my nerves, or when people tried to start conversations—or worse, reassure me that everything would be alright.

No, everything would not be alright. The only people in the world who gave a shit about me had gone to war. And I let them.

My stomach twisted into a knot. Bile scorched up my throat. Inside, my magic shifted, restless.

Don't be a fucking idiot, Verena. Don't do anything stupid.

But I turned the sphere over in my hands again, remembering what Wynvail had said about it. Wynvail, who took me in, along with the rest of that weird family, and accepted me like I'd always been one of them. Wynvail, who was a total dick and had hurt them but still showed up to save them, again and again, and ultimately sacrificed himself to save Wane. Wynvail, who had become a shell of himself when Haley died.

What would happen to him if it happened again? I didn't want to see the hollowness in his eyes, didn't want to watch grief fall like dominoes through all the men. Watching them rage and grieve and fall apart was awful. Watching them trying to act normal, as if they hadn't lost their whole world, was worse. So much worse.

I swallowed, brushing my thumb over the markings carved into the sphere, my magic surging like it remembered how it felt to fill the thing, until all the cracks and marks glowed with sunlight.

According to the woman I bought it from, it can create a separate world about as big as a house, that stands apart from every other realm in the universe.

I bit my lip too deep this time, and blood beaded on my tongue.

Judging by the cracks—the seams—the whole sphere came apart. I didn't know what was inside it, but it was obviously powerful. My magic reached toward it like attracting magnets.

"Come sit down," a kind female voice coaxed, a waif-like demon with pure white skin and pronounced purple veins filling my vision. Her eyes were lavender and unnaturally big. Brimming with kindness and care. I scowled, dropping my stare back to my sphere.

"No."

"You can't stand by the wall all day. We don't know how long it'll be before everyone returns."

I bit my tongue, not entertaining niceties but not wanting to be cruel by snapping the words on the tip of my tongue either.

No one's going to return. Cronus is going to slaughter them all.

"You're right," I said instead, closing my fingers around the sphere. "I can't stand here all day."

I pushed off the wall and grabbed the jacket I'd dumped on the floor, swinging it around my shoulders and shoving my arms through the sleeves.

"Where are you going?" the kind woman called after me. "It's not safe out there."

It wasn't safe here if Cronus won. But safety didn't matter when my family was in danger. It didn't matter how newly forged the bonds were; we'd already been through more than most families endured in a lifetime. And that was in two weeks.

We'd been imprisoned, hurt, threatened, almost murdered, and nearly eaten by Cronus. After all that, how the fuck could I walk away and let them risk themselves while I stayed here, cloistered away like a child?

Okay, so maybe I was a child, but I was also the daughter of a god, and I was one of them —one of Halwen's family. I didn't let my family walk into death. That wasn't who I was. I'd let fear win by coming here.

Fuck that. Fuck fear.

I stalked into the hallway, not letting myself remember how cold it had been when I was last here, or the sickening leer in the ghost's eyes. Fucking perv. Emlyn had been with me then. I hadn't realised how safe I'd felt with him, with all of them, until I found myself alone.

But how scared were they now, fighting Cronus? He'd killed Wynvail once, so Haley must have been petrified, and the last time they fought, Haley died, so the guys must have been insane with panic, too.

"They're going to get themselves killed," I muttered under my breath, storming down the hallway, my steps echoing off the pale stone. The halls were empty, everyone safely inside the warded rooms, but when I marched around a corner, I found a solitary guard in a grey and red uniform. His back was ramrod straight like he had a stick shoved up his ass, and his expression was so stern and serious that it took me a moment to realise he was barely older than seventeen.

Good. I smiled, a plan unspooling rapidly in my head.

With subtle movements, I tucked the sphere into my pocket, ignoring the bulge it made, and then slid the dagger from the sheathe inside my sleeve.

"Hey," I called, sweetening my voice, softening all the sharp edges of my expression as I blinked innocently at the sandy-haired guard.

He turned towards me, looking far too much like a young Henry Cavill for my liking. Ugh, why did he have to be hot? I might have to kill this guy if he ruined my plans.

"What's your name?" I asked, and I must have surprised him because the sternness left his expression, only a default sort of seriousness remaining, like he never smiled. He answered me without questioning why I wanted to know.

"Walden," he replied.

"Walden," I echoed, keeping my voice sweet. "Do you know where everyone went to fight?"

"To the Capitol?" he asked, confirming that was definitely where the battlefield was. A furrow deepened on his brow.

"Yes. Do you know how to get there?"

"You'd need a rift," he said and then shook himself when I moved into his personal space. "You should go back inside the wards. There's no guarantee the corridors are—"

I pressed the sharp tip of my dagger to his stomach.

"Safe," he finished.

"Sorry, Walden, but you're the first guard I've met. It's unlucky, really. I need someone to take me to the Capitol. So how about you show me where the closest rift to the fight is, and I won't separate your balls from your body?"

I dropped my knife lower and added pressure, so he got the message.

"I can't lead a kid into battle," Walden argued, his sternness returning.

"This kid will draw blood if you don't," I countered, dropping the sweet routine and letting him see the darkness that lived inside me. It had been growing for most of my life, but it had thrived while I was locked in the Olympus cell, planning gruesome revenge on everyone who led to my captivity. "You don't have a choice, Walden."

His mouth pressed thin. "You're bluffing."

"Alright," I agreed, and drove my knife downward, burying it in his thigh.

He choked back a cry, his eyes flaring wide with pain. His jaw clenched, nostrils flared.

I pulled my knife free. "Now we've proven I'm definitely not bluffing, how about you take me to that battle?"

Clearly against his better judgement, the guard turned, scowling, his square jaw locked. Blood dripped down his grey uniform trousers as he walked. It was his fault for not listening to me the first time. He learned a valuable lesson.

"It'll get you killed," he warned, even more serious than before if that was possible.

"Yeah, well," I muttered, gesturing Walden down the hallway with the bloody edge of my knife. "I'm willing to take that risk."

A battlefield is no place for a teenager. We need you safe.

"Sorry, Wynvail," I murmured and kept my knife pointed at the guard, leaving the palace and Iarlon behind.