Page 89 of Jailer to the Death God
But I see something else. Something concealed.
“You are loyal.” I remove my hand from her forehead and step back.
Tilda eyes me, likely wondering if I discerned her secret. I don’t see any point in pretending I did not notice.
“The Queen doesn’t know what you can do?” I ask.
Apprehension washes over her features. “It’s scarcely worth mentioning, my lord. I keep to myself, you see. My silence harms no one.”
“I suppose not. It shall be your secret to keep, for now.”
I turn away, but she catches my sleeve. “My lord—one of the guards mentioned something about the Queen being injured during your journey.”
“It is true. She nearly died.”
Tilda gnaws her lip. “I would like to accompany the two of you next time you travel to outlying villages. The Queen would not permit it before, but perhaps next time, if you spoke with her, she would agree. That way I’ll be close, in case she needs me.”
“I think that would be an excellent idea.”
“Thank you, my god,” she whispers, bobbing a curtsy.
“I have somewhere to go now.” I lower my voice so the guards do not hear. “I hope to return by dawn, but if I do not, tell the Queen I went to the Pit.”
I find the thing I’m looking for where I last saw it—lying in the misty grass of Annwn far beneath the opening of the Pit that leads to Vale’s kingdom.
Tucking it into my belt, I scan my surroundings.
More mist than usual swirls in the entrance to Annwn. Thin, haunting voices twine through the mist—wails of unrest and grief.
It is as Vale and I feared. Macha is preventing souls from passing through my Furnace into their eternal rest.
Denying these souls their peace is an unfathomable cruelty. I will not suffer it.
“Souls of the mortal realm,” I call out, in my echoing, divine tones. “Follow me to your eternal rest.”
Eager whispers and sighs shiver through the misty assembly, and as I stride toward the Furnace, the souls follow me.
Macha has set up a throne of sorts before the Furnace—a seat crafted of blood-crystal, rusted shields, and skeletons. She’s sprawled on it, legs kicked up over the armrest, nearly naked except for a loincloth of bloodstained rags and a brassiere of close-set human rib-bones. With a long black staff, she bats away any souls who attempt to enter the Furnace.
She calls to me as I approach. “Tired of your mortal bride’s pussy so soon, brother?”
“Far from it.”
“I must admit I’m surprised to see you.” She bites one of her sharp nails. “I gave that lusty Lord Venniroth very specific hints on how to secure the throne he wants.”
I’m momentarily startled that she would move so openly. It’s risky for her, blatantly giving a human the information required to bring about my death. I suppose she hoped if her trickery succeeded, the other gods would overlook it, since she didn’t attack Vale or me herself.
“Venniroth did send six men after me, with poisoned blades,” I say. “They caused me pain, but were easily overcome.”
“Fuck. I told him killing the girl would end both of you. I suppose he spared her and went after you directly, the fool. Perhaps he’s infatuated with her, like you are.” She thrusts out her lips in a pout. “I don’t understandwhyany male would want her.”
Words flood onto my tongue, words about Vale’s goodness, kindness, her courage, her dedication—but those words of praise would be wasted on Macha’s ears, so I swallow them down again.
“I’m not sorry to see you again.” Macha’s lashes flutter as she eyes my form. I’m wearing a thin tunic, too tight for me, with slits cut in the back for my wings. The pants I put on are also too tight.
“Since you survived,” Macha continues, “perhaps we can discuss my earlier proposal again. You like commitment, it seems. What if, instead of a one-time shot at the ultimate pleasure that is my pussy, I offered you the chance to rule at my side for eternity?”
A mocking laugh bursts from me. I can’t help it. After all my sister has done to me, after what she knows of my relationship with Vale—that she would even propose this is absurd.
