Page 42 of A Spell of Bones and Madness
“Mother—” Ander started.
“That was not a question, Alexander. You will take a few days before you step back aboardThe Nostosand that is final,” his mother replied. “Now, back to more pressing matters. Ember, yourblood,” Giselle started, “did it do anything else? Did Hades say anything else to you?”
Ember swallowed down a lump in her throat. Here it was, one of two things she knew she would have to explain eventually, although she was not sure why the sight of all those flowers had caused so much dread. “Flowers—a drop of my blood fell before we crossed the Stygian River. When we returned, white flowers had bloomed all along the river bed.”
Giselle went ashen. “White flowers?”
Ember nodded. “White flowers with red veining out from their center.”
“Then we are all doomed,” the queen said, her voice as cold as a glacier in the north.
Chapter Thirty
Ander
After all these years, Ander would’ve expected his mother’s antics to have subsided, and yet she still left the hall in a swish of her gown with little to no explanation. She only held firm with one sentiment as she left—that before Ander’s crew took to the seas once more, he would need to rest, to heal, to reform what power he had left. Being drained by whatever mystical stone Edmund and Khalid possessed was akin to death for a Grechi, especially one so young as Ander. Giselle insisted that the only way to regain what he lost was to connect back to his roots in Nexos—at least for a few days while the others in his crew recouped as well.
It hit Alexander harder than he thought it would, standing in the room he grew up in. The worn leather chairs he used to read in by a raging fire, the notches in his bed posts from fighting with his brother or Ajax with wooden swords as children, the rug he threw up on many times from indulging in too much of his father’s nice wine—it had all sat untouched in the years he was away. He told his mother he would have found another way home—if Katrin had not rescued him—but was that true? For years he tried to break that gods-damned curse, but it had been sealed with blood and even a god could not break that kind of magic.
He ran his fingers along the worn wood of the desk, kicking up a layer of dust. A past perfectly preserved for when he might return. At least his mother had kept hope, even when he’d almost lost it. The torture had been easy to endure in the beginning, but Edmund had grown in power since the first time on the ship. He was able to claw deeper into the recesses of Ander’s mind, pick out bits and pieces of memory that made it look so real. Madeherlook so real. Blood still coated his skin, even if he could not see the thick crimson crusted on him anymore he could feel the oily grip it held on him.
Even though the shackles were gone, he could still hear the echoes of screaming. Was it his? Was it those sacrificed? He was not sure, but it was debilitating.
Sinking down onto his bed, Ander tried to summon just the slightest bit of fog around his fingertips, but nothing formed. He would heal now, at least most of him would, although it looked like his powers might take longer to return—if they ever did. It was unknown if Hades fed off the power, or truly depleted it through the golden pieces that now lay broken in the great hall.
Every bone in Ander’s body ached. Ached to sleep—truly sleep. Ached to lie here next to Katrin and just hold her even for a moment when everything was not going to shit. The only day they’d had some semblance of peace—of escaping reality—was that night on their way to the mountain in Skiatha. No worry seemed to plague them, only good food and better company and that smile. He had never seen Katrin smile like that before, her sparkling brown eyes wide with excitement and wonder. Even then Ander had been too stubborn to let her just say what she needed to, to take what piece of her she could give. Apologies were said, but still, he wondered if anything would have been different if he had stayed that night—if he had told her everything. Would she have run anyway knowing who he really was? Truth—that was all she ever wanted from anyone, yet she was met time after time with lies and deceit.
It was a surprise Katrin was even here now, that she forgave him with such haste, that she had come for him. Voices echoed in his head, whispering everything Ander already knew. He deserved to be there—rotting in the dungeon in Alentus—for everything he had done over the years. Abandoning his family. Letting mere mortals ruin him. Not protecting the woman he loved.
Weakness was supposed to be a fault of man not god, and yet he was the weakest of any he knew. Every lash that lined his back, every scar that traveled up his arms, the burns that lined his stomach, each was a stark reminder he was not—and would neve be—good enough for Katrin.
Faint knocking came from the living room of his chambers and the door creaked open just an inch. Copper brown hair and a tanned nose poked its way through the crack.
“Is it fine to come in?” a soft voice questioned. The sound was a smooth caress to his ears—a voice he craved for all those weeks he spent locked up.
“Yes, Starling. You are always welcome.” Deserving or not—Ander would never say no to her.
“Good,” Katrin replied as she swung the door further open and stepped inside, “I was going to come in whether you let me or not.” Dimples formed at the corner of her lips as they turned up in the sweetest of smiles.
Clutched in her palm was a vial filled with thick black liquid. Seeing it made Ander’s stomach roil. Drinking rotten eggs would have a better taste than what Cal concocted up to help him heal. It definitely would have smelt better than the ashen and fleshy aroma that wafted in his nose every time Katrin uncorked the small bottle. Ander’s lips turned down and his nostrils flared.
“Oh stop being such a baby.” Katrin hustled over to his side, where he still lay on the bed, now propped up against the wooden headboard. “If you want to heal, you need to keep drinking this—even if it does smell like feet, or the stables.” Her lips puckered and her forehead wrinkled.
“It’s worse than that. The shackles are off now, Starling. I don’t need my uncle’s sorry excuse for a potion anymore.” He shoved a hand in front of the vial, stopping her from pouring it down his throat. He loved Katrin—yes—but that liquid was enough to send him running, scars be damned.
“They aren’t healing,” Katrin piped up from beside him, swatting his hand away.
“Theywill—”
“No, Ander, they won’t.” Her voice deepened and this time he let her spill that horrid potion down his throat.
Katrin was not wrong. The tools Edmund and Khalid used were laced with the venom of vipers, or something akin to such a sick creature. The vile substance knew close to no cure. It would kill a mortal untreated within hours, even a god could not fully heal, not without a potion concocted from the narcissus flower—and even then, it only worked if taken quickly, not weeks later. So the scars would not heal over, but merely match those he was marked with years before, but the potion might make the incessant screaming fade from his ears. Ander would wear each scar with a sense of pride, knowing it most likely stopped one from being added to the woman who sat beside him.She is too good for you, the whispers filled his mind once more.
No, Alexander, I am exactly what you deserve, that silky voice smothered the gnawing voices in his head.
Katrin locked her shimmering golden-brown eyes with his, a light rose coating over the bridge of her nose. “I’ll never get used to that.”
“Used to what, Starling?”
