Nemesis by Kat Ross

Author:Kat Ross [Ross, Kat]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-9990481-7-7
Publisher: Kat Ross

17

Death Becomes Her

The whitewashed buildings of Delphi flashed by beneath Berglaug’s wings. From high above, flattened and shrunk to miniature, the Temple of Delphi no longer looked so impressive. Like the Pythia, Nazafareen thought. She was no mystical seer. No mouthpiece of a god. Strip away her false authority and she was just a vengeful creature with a bone to pick.

Berglaug swooped lower as they followed the beaten trail of horses, boots and wagons from the edge of the Umbra to a wide, shallow place where the Pythia’s men had forded the river and continued toward the Gale. The sky grew darker and a light rain began to fall. Within minutes, the line of storms came into view. Grey anvil-shaped clouds stretched from north to south, lightning forking in their depths. A construct of magic so vast and awe-inspiring even her huo mofa shrank back from it.

The gates to the Vatras’ prison.

Nazafareen leaned into Berglaug’s neck, blinking water from her eyes, and then she saw two figures. They both wore cloaks with the hoods raised.

Some sixth sense made the taller one turn and look up. The face was a pale smudge, but she recognized Nicodemus.

Darius did too.

One moment he was tightly controlled calm. In the next, an explosion swept through their bond as the grief and anger he’d held in check burst its dam. Before Nazafareen could react, Darius tore free from his harness and dropped twenty paces to the ground, landing with feline grace. Nicodemus raised empty hands in surrender and was bowled over as Darius landed on top of him, his right fist lashing out in a blind rage.

Berglaug skidded to a stop. Nazafareen heard the harsh screams of the other abbadax as Katrin and Daníel alit on either side, leaping from their saddles with bared swords. Herodotus and the three Maenads circled around as she fumbled with her own buckles, clamping down on Darius’s elemental power. Breaking magic crackled at her fingertips, ready to quench any flames the Vatra might summon.

But he didn’t even try to fight back. He’d curled into a ball, trying to protect himself from the hail of blows. She had never seen Darius so utterly out of control. Mud splattered his face as he straddled Nicodemus, slamming him against the ground again and again.

The second figure stood frozen, its back to her. Nazafareen grabbed the dark cloak, spinning it to face her. She expected the Pythia, but to her surprise it was Galen, looking eerily like a younger version of Victor. He was pale and sodden, much thinner than she remembered. A scraggly beard failed to conceal the hollowness of his cheeks. Overall, he looked as terrible as one would expect. Yet something struck her as off. Then his hood fell back, exposing his throat, and she realized what it was. No iron collar encircled his neck.

Galen shook her off and took a half step toward Darius, who pinned the limp, bloodied Vatra with his bad arm. The other hand fumbled for his belt knife, but the scabbard had twisted around.

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