A Beautiful Evil

Page 29

Six guards. One semitrained gorgon. A wounded Son of Perseus. And a fanged child.
Wonderful.
As I made a quick plan of attack a soft whoosh sounded, and one of Violet’s guards jerked as an arrowhead appeared out of the back of his neck. Before the guards—or even I, for that matter—could react, several more arrows were let loose, finding homes in Violet’s remaining guard and my two—all struck through the throat so they couldn’t utter a word.
Menai stood far down the hall. She stepped out of the shadows, another arrow notched in her bow and her sights set behind me.
My father’s guards had not been hit yet and would sound the alarm. Shit. I spun to attack, but drew up short and completely stunned as Henri finished snapping the last one’s neck from behind—the other guard already dead on the floor.
“Henri,” I choked.
His gaze lifted. Wild, predatory eyes burned fiercely. His hair was loose and tangled, and he looked horrible.
I ran and flung myself against him, hugging him and wanting to make sure he was real. “Oh, thank God. You’re alive,” I said, stating the obvious.
He hissed in pain. “Stop squeezing!”
I drew back immediately as fresh blood stained his dirty shirt. “Oh shit, you’re still hurt. I’m sorry.”
“Talk later,” my father said. “We must dispose of the bodies.”
Menai, Henri, and my father dragged the guards into a room off the hallway and removed the arrows so they couldn’t be identified.
Violet hadn’t moved since the guards had dropped dead on either side of her. “Violet.” I knelt in front of her. She blinked and looked at me. “Are you okay?”
She nodded, holding Pascal tightly to her. “I want to go home now.”
I grabbed her hand as the others gathered around. “We need to get back to the gate in the old temple. Menai, is there a way to get to the lake from here?”
“Yes, follow me.”
Menai led us toward the prison and veered off into a narrow corridor. We ran flat out. My lungs were on fire. At one point I ended up carrying Violet so we could move even faster.
And then we were outside on the rocks just below the wall of Athena’s garden. The wind howled and pushed at us as we hugged the cliff face. I glanced at Henri to see how he was doing. Not good. He held his side. His face was damp and sickly pale.
“There,” Menai said, pointing to a treacherous cliff path. We were so high up that a few thin clouds floated parallel with us in the distance. As we set off I realized Menai hadn’t moved. “You’re not coming?”
“I can’t. I must return to the hall. This is as far as I go.”
“Come with us.”
She backed away. “You don’t understand. I have to go back. Good-bye, Ari.”
I did understand to a degree. It was pretty obvious Athena had something on her, some reason to make Menai stay by her side. “Menai.” She stopped. “Thank you.”
“Yeah, well, just don’t make me regret it.”
“I won’t.”
Once we’d picked our way over the narrow cliffside path, we climbed the rocks to reach the lake, and then it was a familiar journey around the lake and into the dark woods before we finally emerged near the eerie, ghostly garden of stone statues.
I hung back as Henri, Violet, and my father walked up the steps of Athena’s deserted temple. My father paused halfway up. “Ari. Hurry.”
The two people I’d come here to save stood ready to go, and yet I didn’t move. I couldn’t.
Making my decision, I drew in a deep breath and spoke. “Henri, take Violet and my father back to the gate.”
His mouth opened, then closed, and then he just stared hard at me as my father came down the steps and grabbed my hands. I knew what he’d say. This was a chance for us. We were moments away from freedom.
“I have to go back,” I told him. “This isn’t over.”
I thought he’d argue, thought he’d play the father card and demand I go with them, but he did neither of those things. He handed me his blade, and I had a feeling I was really going to like my dad.
A soft, sad laugh escaped me as I felt its weight in my hands and, oddly, the faint hum of its power. The other blades hadn’t felt that way, but then, those weren’t forged with my father’s blood. I handed it back, not wanting to risk it being confiscated. “Take it with you. Find me when the Procession comes to New 2, and I might just be able to do something with that blade of yours.”
He took it back and slid it under his cloak. Then he cradled my face in his scarred hands. His face remained shadowed by his hood, but I saw enough to know that his eyes were bright with pride. “You are a true hunter, with a warrior’s heart and your mother’s spirit. I will wait for you in New 2.” And then he kissed me on the head and walked up the stairs to wait at the top.
That might’ve been the nicest and coolest thing anyone had ever said to me, and it hurt like hell, the sadness and regret of our situation burning a hole in my heart.
Henri came down, holding his side. Blood made wet lines between his fingers.
“Fix that scratch,” I said, gesturing to his wound. “Then go to Bran and Michel and tell them Athena is coming to the city.” I moved forward to hug him gently. “And guard my father. I need him.”
“Consider it done, mon amie.”
“And, Henri?” I paused, trying to find the right words, something more than “thank you”; after what he’d been through, “thank you” fell short.
“Don’t sweat it. You’ll be owing me for years to come.”
Then Violet was there, launching her dark little self into my arms.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered into her hair, “for what happened, for everything.”
She reared back and smiled at me, those tiny fangs flashing in the moonlight. “We’re going to make Athena wish she’d never been born, Ari.” She said it so evenly and so bluntly that I almost believed her. She hugged me again. “Hurry home.”
“Will do.”
She walked up the steps, picked up Pascal, and then took Henri’s hand. They turned with my father and disappeared into the blackness of the temple.
Weary, I walked up to the top step and sat down. I was alone. In the dark. Whatever happened now, at least they were safe. And I knew I’d be going home very soon thanks to Athena; there was no way in hell her ego would let her leave me behind. She’d want to show me off, make the Novem think they’d lost me.
I stood, squaring my shoulders. A breeze picked up. I pushed my hair from my eyes so I could stare across the lake. Zeus’s perfect temple shone like a beacon, its fires glittering on the water. The sounds of music and voices carried over the surface. The contrast of what I saw and where I stood made my lips quirk into a smile.
I was in moonlight and shadow, a broken temple rising up behind me. Broken but still standing. Like me.
The warm wind caressed my skin. A deep sense of purpose and serenity filled me, and I stayed there for a moment soaking it in, letting it fill every part of me. And then I went down the steps and headed back through the garden of stone, no longer terrified of the eerie statues, but sad. They reminded me of what needed to be done. This would be the last place like this ever to exist. It ends with me.
I went around the fallen warhorse I’d seen earlier and passed the mother and her child. I stopped and stared at the prison of marble they found themselves in.
The child in the blanket had been loved, it seemed. Its plump arm hung out in a relaxed manner. The mother’s expression appeared so frightened, her white marble eyes wide. And the poor kid couldn’t have been more than two or three. Frozen. An entire life stolen.
Time pressed in on me. Once I hit twenty-one and became a full-blown gorgon, anyone who met my gaze would be history. I wouldn’t even have to touch them. I didn’t want this! Yet I didn’t seem to have much choice. This mother and child, they’d had no choice either.
I reached out and grabbed the child’s chubby hand, my chest aching. My eyes fell closed and I found myself offering a silent apology. Sorry. I’m so sorry.
The weight of my sorrow wasn’t only for the child but for all the victims of the gorgons, for my ancestors, my father, my friends, and everyone who’d been hurt because of our power. I’d make amends. I’d set the wrongs to right. I had to. I opened my eyes and gave the child one last look.
It blinked.
A strangled scream burst from my lips as I leaped away. My ankle turned and I fell, landing on my ass, my elbows digging deep into the soft earth. I scrambled back up, heart pounding.
In one split second the child’s eyes and lids had become flesh and color in a canvas of hard, weathered stone. And they’d blinked before the flesh ebbed back to marble.
Holy shit.
Twenty-Five
STUNNED, I JUST STOOD THERE IN THE GARDEN GAPING AT THE stone child. I couldn’t . . . that baby . . . going crazy . . . like my mother . . . But deep down the gorgon in me had known.
And then I ran, tearing through the woods.
By the time I came to the lawn, I was exhausted, panting hard, and every muscle burned. After a short rest I stuck to the wall and proceeded to Athena’s pretty garden and into the banquet hall, which was filling again with armed minions and followers.
Immediately I looked for Sebastian. No. He was gone.
I glanced wildly around the room, over the alcove where the tall statue of Zeus stood, past the columns, and—
Everything came to a grinding halt. I looked back at the statue. Athena had killed Zeus. No one knew why or what had started the war. There was an infant fated to kill him, an infant that statue in the alcove had once held in its hands.
Why would she keep the statue of her father? If I walked over to it and touched it, would a creepy zing shoot through my hand?
I’d bet my life it would.
Athena marched into the room wearing gold chain mail and armor over a short white gown that brushed the tops of her knees. The flames reflected off the gold’s polished surface, making her shimmer like a star. She wore a Greek-style helmet pushed up onto her head and a round shield over her back. Sandals laced all the way up her bare calves.