The War God's Woman 2

33. A Dream Worth Dying For

Sybil stood alone in the dormitory, running her fingers through her wild hair. She couldn't stop thinking about Farrer's kiss. Would he forgive her for choosing to become a Sister of Light? Did he hate her now?

She paced the small space, too agitated to be still. She hoped that he understood her decision. This place was all she'd ever known...

Sybil groaned suddenly. She hunched over, clutching her stomach. Hunger, all-consuming hunger, tore through her. Her legs gave way and she fell to the ground. The floorboards creaked beneath her and Sybil curled into a ball – unable to stand.

                          In the real world, a sleeping Sage was still slumped against Hephaestus. But her cheeks were so sunken that her teeth seemed to protrude. Her hair was lank and stiff, sticking to her corpse-like skin. Starvation was etched on every bony joint and wasted muscle. Electra touched Sage's face, feeling the iciness. Sage's heart was under pressure and it was buckling. Autophagy was winning, and leaving not enough left behind.

Electra listened to Sage's struggling heart.

                          Sybil clutched her chest – pain tearing through her and making her lips part in a silent scream.

                        Electra breathed into Sage's mouth – her little wings beating furiously. Electricity coursed from the electric nymph and crackled through Sage's body – making her twitch. Lights exploded like fireworks beneath Sage's skin and she jerked violently. Electra pulled back and listened, waiting...

Sage's heart struggled on – regaining its sluggish rhythm. Electra sank, with exhausted relief, in Sage's lap. She'd saved Sage's life this time – but how much longer could Sage survive? The mortal needed to wake up.

But Hephaestus' wasn't waking.

                           Farrer stepped out of the temple and slowly limped down the temple steps.

'How can the ugliest god have the most beautiful wife? The fates must be mocking us.' The phantom voice of Apollo drawled. Farrer hunched over, clutching his head.

'Live under the mountain. I can visit you there.' A phantom Zeus decreed, only he'd never visited.

'They never loved you, Hephaestus.' A phantom Thetis purred in his ear.

"I am Hephaestus! I AM A GOD!" The roar started in his head but burst from his lips. In that moment, the craftsman Farrer was no more. Hephaestus was back and the smithing god's gaze was cold and calculating. He knew he was dreaming but, surprisingly, Hephaestus didn't want to wake up. 

This was his dream, and he was going to control it.

The temple steps, the temple, and the city – all melted away.

                      Sybil had been writhing on the dormitory floor, but then the entire room faded. Sybil closed her eyes as she hurtled through the darkness, until her feet connected once more with solid ground. She opened her eyes and stared up at the imposing walls... of the Black Palace. 

The gothic turrets were cut from mountain-rock and the long, dark-stained windows looked like the building's gaping mouths – open wide to gobble her up. Sybil shivered and looked up, but there was no sky to gaze up at. She was deep in the mountain. Miles above her head, hung colossal stalactites – poised like blades above her head.