If Mordeh is a small shock, the last figure that emerges from the portal is a much bigger one.
“Row—” I suck in a breath as I realize it’s not Rowan, or not Rowan as I know him. His hair’s no longer a graying russet, but a plume of red flame sweeping up from his forehead. His sharp features have lengthened into a fox’s pointed muzzle. His silk robes hang loose over his gaunt body, except for his swollen gut. A greed-demon’s belly. He folds long arms over the bulge of his stomach, his middle fingers blackened to bone from stirring poisoned cups.
“Reynard,” I name him. “Ruadhán. Trickster. You’ve escaped justice all these years. You were too slippery to be caught in Hraena’s net.”
“Or yours,” he sneers back at me. “What a pathetic sight you’ve been: a crow chick fallen from its nest, flounderingflightless at the base of an old oak, toyed with by kittens. They’ll tire of playing with you soon enough. I certainly did.”
I shake my head at him. “How many have died because of your treachery?”
Ruadhán smiles, showing small, pointed teeth all along his muzzle. “Many. You’ve rummaged among their bones for long enough. Didn’t you count? Ah, but you might have missed one or two. I’ve had to feed since coming to Bevington.” He rubs his sunken belly. “I’m hungering again. Will your Water mage taste as sweet as his teammate, I wonder? Will his screams as I rape his dreams fill me as full? I hear his own kin carved words of power into his skin. Surely that’s inspired a night terror or two?” His red tongue lashes across his teeth. “I’ll savor each one.”
“I’ll carve Yan’s name intoyourskin before I drown you in your own bile!” Rhodes roars over my shoulder.
“Enough,” the Mother says quietly and all voices fall silent. “I do not judge any for their natural hungers. But appetites created by murder, fed by oath-breaking, those I will judge. Is this all?”
“No,” the Oak King says in a creak of branches. “My Darkswerds?—”
“MyDarkswerds.” The Mother’s voice blows cold through the grove. “It was from my hand that the first sword passed to Thetis to arm her son. My hand that guided the blade to Niniane to bring light back to the Fair Isle. My hand that distributed the blade that was broken among thegwragedd annwnand bade them leave their lakes and don the white armor. Take not into yourself what belongs to me, Gwyn ap Nudd.”
The oaks shiver. “The Mother’s hand is cleaved.”
“Better my hand than my tongue,” the Mother says. “I ask again, is this all?”
“No, Gaia.” Mordeh steps forward in a rustle of her pearly gown. Her voice is low but rings over the silent crowd. “Three waited on the Thunderer’s victory. Three fled and found refugewith my mother when the Thunderer fell. I name them: Melephesius, Alugiel, and foul Sariel.”
The Mother bows her head for a moment, then places a gentle hand on Mordeh’s shoulder. “Child of Tethys, you are the most wronged here. You have suffered the longest. I weep for your pain, but I cannot give you justice. I do not command the Void. I cannot compel its creatures. I can take the memories from you. I can free you from the past. But I cannot bring Sariel to his knees as you deserve.”
A crimson tear carves its way down Mordeh’s shell-pale cheek. She shakes her head. “I am made of memory. Take what makes me and I unravel.”
“You are more than your past,” the Mother says. “You are more than your suffering. When my judgment is done, I would honor your loss with you. I will help you entomb your daughter’s bones and bring forth new life from her grave.”
“My daughter’s bones—?” Mordeh’s head whips around. She stares at her mother. “You’ll return Cythoe’s bones at last?”
Licyssa sneers at her daughter. “Not even if you swore to abandon Hell and walk the mortal world alone and friendless for the rest of your days, traitor child.”
The Mother holds up a hand between mother and daughter. “There is no cut deeper than a wound between parent and child. I have no power to condemn you, Lady of Bile. This is a conflict you both sought. You’ve both dealt each other terrible blows. But if you have any love left for your child, I beg you abandon this battle now. Return freely what you’ve taken. Give your daughter the kiss of peace, so you both can find it.”
“Not even if the alternative is you striking me down here and now,” Licyssa drawls.
The Mother bows her head. “So be it. I pity you your nature, Acid Queen.”
“Don’t,” Licyssa snaps. “I don’t need your pity, nor your effort to reconcile me to this traitor to my blood. You called me here as part of your judgment of Gwyn ap Nudd. Let us name his crimes. He is a kin-killer. He is an oath-breaker. He is a schemer and a liar and a rapist and a murderer. He is all of those things. But above all he isyourson, mighty Gaia. He is whatyouhave made him.”
The Mother lifts her head and smiles sadly at Licyssa. “I gave my children the gift of free will the moment I cut the birthing cord. Unlike you, I do not seek to control my children long after they leave my breast. I can only watch, and guide, and when called upon, judge.”
The Mother turns to me and holds out her hand.
I take two shuffling steps toward her, dragging my consorts, until Rhodes’ grip on my waist prevents me from taking another step. “Rho,” I huff.
The Mother laughs softly. “You are well-loved, young crow. It gladdens my eyes, darkened by the evil before me. Give me the treasure you’ve recovered.”
I drag my hand out of Law’s—although his fingers immediately wrap around my wrist—and retrieve the tin of bones from my mantle. Since there’s no way I can cross the grove to hand it to the Mother with my consorts nearly strangling me, I waft it to her on a breath of Air.
She cups the tin between her hands and bends her head over it. She murmurs a short blessing before handing the tin to Mordeh.
The demoness’s pale, pupilless eyes flick to mine. “You found Cythoe’s bones? Where?”
“In Charybdis’ oubliette,” I explain. “She gave them to me freely and bid me return them to their mother. Baron Ash and my consort realized you were likely she.”