Vengeance Throne (The Callistra Chronicles #2)

THIRTY-ONE

Chapter Thirty-One

As Mirza's magic dissipated into the air with a sour stench, absolute silence descended upon the five within the labyrinth who remained alive. Pasiphae, Seth, Bel-Arh, Herayn, Juventas—for the longest second, they all became statues, frozen in an uncertain moment wherein neither side was certain what the other's next course of action would be.

Then Seth was the first to move, thundering down the steps to get to Pasiphae. He caught her hands and pulled her upright, looking her over for wounds. When he didn't find any, he turned his wrath onto Herayn, who stood motionless at the lower landing.

Herayn watched Seth raise his arm at her. She only seemed to blink dully as a white light grew in the small space again, overwhelming the wisps of fire on the wall.

The light grew and grew and grew, another death bolt ready to fly—a glowing sun banishing the cold starlight studded into the earth.

That was when Juventas threw herself in front of her mother.

But not willingly.

Presented as a living shield, the young faery stood as if she was being held hostage by a set of marionette strings. There was an invisible battle of strength occurring in every line of her limbs as her physical strength fought against her mother's magic, as her free will was removed with a simple flick of a wrist. Juventas was trembling with effort: lines and tendons and veins protruded along the length of her neck as she struggled and struggled to no avail.

Pasiphae remembered the faint smell of Devil's Breath that always wafted around Juventas like an unwelcome familiar. She remembered the strange sheen that always took ahold of the faery girl's eyes, and the quivering, the timidity, the confusion that Juventas seemed to suffer so often. And it all clicked together.

"Tell me how much I've got right."

Pasiphae dusted off her dirty palms. Her voice was calm as she addressed Herayn Micorphius, but if anyone saw the quivering at her knees, they would see that she was barely holding onto her composure.

"You were the one who snuck Mirza Volos into the Seelie Court as the new royal advisor," she said, taking a thumping step down. "You sought a close position to the throne that you couldn't attain under Evara's reign, and in solution, you were willing to help an Unseelie faery rule the country, if it meant you would have equal power to him." 

Pasiphae took another step down the staircase, moving slow. "Of course, if you were to work together and trust each other, you needed to have as much to lose as he did, right?" Another step: closer. "So you offered up your own daughter. You would dose her with Devil's Breath to wipe her memory, then use magic to control her into whatever process converted her into the medium link."

Pasiphae splayed out her hands. "Am I missing anything?"

At first, it appeared as if Herayn would refuse to speak. She simply held still with her chin in the air, staring forward while her daughter blocked her from attack.

Then: "No," the noblewoman said simply. "Perhaps you are smarter than we give you credit for."

Pasiphae thinned her lips. If she was smarter, she would have worked this out the moment she smelt the drug. If she was smarter, Juventas wouldn't be standing there with silent tears rolling from her eyes as her mother's betrayal dug deep into her heart—silent tears that burned a path down her face as she realised she had a part to play in half her country falling victim to Queen Morgana's disease.

Something bitter lodged itself tightly into Pasiphae's throat as she tried to proceed. She forced it down; she forced herself to remain cold.

"I imagine Morgana was ecstatic to hear of your involvement," Pasiphae seethed. "I imagine having an unknowing child being your medium link is the exact sort of trickery that the Unseelie are proud of."