Page 67 of Patron of Mercy

He marched around the altar, past the beefy man’s body. His spirit was trying desperately to get back in, yelling for it to get up.

Thanatos reached out and gripped the spirit’s arm. “This place is not for you anymore. I gave you an option, and you chose this.” He closed his eyes and called to the Keres with his mind. A scant few seconds later, the man’s soul was being borne away in the claws of one of his sisters.

“It’s not possible,” the old man muttered, almost to himself. “Youcan’t be a god.”

Thanatos offered the most serene smile he could muster when Hermes was in the middle of trying to keep Lach alive. “My godhood isn’t relevant to you. Well, except in the sense that most men only meet the god of death once in their existence. I don’t foresee you being an exception to that rule.”

The old man waved a weak hand to a man behind him and turned. “Now.”

The man looked at his superior and then over at Lach, so Thanatos deliberately stepped between.

“We don’t have any more time for that,” the old man ground out. “It’s time to destroy this pretender. We can worry about the miscreant later.”

At that, the man nodded and held out his hand as though reaching for Thanatos. He could see the magic the man released, simple corpus stuff that didn’t pose a threat to Thanatos. Neither, though, was it aimed at him.

It hit the ground, followed by a low creak that sounded almost like a pained moan. The earth between Thanatos and the men split open, and there was the sensation they had been searching for.

A queasy pit opened up in Thanatos’s stomach, nausea and longing and a warped kind of nostalgia for a time when he’d been miserable and alone. The scythe slid out of the crevice like a slimy swamp dweller, dripping blood-red water, and placed itself in the old man’s grasp.

He grinned at Thanatos. “Who is the god of death now, fake?”

Union

This couldn’t be more wrong if it were an actual nightmare.

Marty had planned to lose Lach, even if she liked him more than her father and brother combined. A new, just, hopeful world was worth any price, even if it had been her own life.

But this wasn’t a new world.

This was murder for the sake of her father’s own selfish wishes—preserving his life past natural boundaries that existed for a reason. Killing Lach for his immortality had no part in the plan the Fidelis Filii had always claimed to aspire to.

They were supposed to retrieve the scythe and sacrifice an immortal vessel so that Cronus could inhabit it.

If they killed the immortal, where was Cronus supposed to go?

Don’t you know yet?

The feminine voice shocked her, and she looked around. She had always been the only female member of the Fidelis Filii. As her brother liked to remind her regularly, they were the faithful sons, not daughters. She hadn’t bothered telling him that the term could just as easily mean the faithful children. He didn’t care. She saw no one looking at her, and no overtly feminine forms in the group.

“No,” she whispered. “Where?”

The voice was sad when it came again, almost resigned.Into your father, to bind the two of them forever. Your father thinks he can partner with Cronus and become the ruler of his brave new world. It is unfortunate, but however much we love them, some are beyond saving.

Marty wanted to throw up. She’d never considered saving Roger or her father before. They simply were what they were, and she’d accepted it.

But this was too much.

This wasn’t a fresh start. This was a shameless power grab.

Her father pushed himself up from the chair again, holding the scythe aloft, and began to speak the words of the spell. He’d learned them in English, because his Greek had never been particularly good, and his Latin even worse. Half of the men looked rapturous, staring into the heavens as though a creature imprisoned in the underworld would descend from above.

Did you not imagine something similar, when you pictured my son’s ascension?

Son. Oh gods, it was Gaia. The very earth beneath Martina’s feet was speaking to her. “He was supposed to bring a new Golden Age,” she whispered.

Somehow, her father heard her and turned his head. “We shall do exactly that, he and I together.” His eyes narrowed at her. “Or do you wish to deny your father continued life?”

When had he finished the chant, to be speaking to her? Surely he hadn’t interrupted ritual magic in order to rebuke her.

---