A choked laugh leaped from Caelan’s throat, and he blinked away tears. Yes, he was going to marry that lunatic, and all of his family was going to be there for it.
At the gateway to Green Spring, a pair of hybrid guards stepped forward. Low, rumbling growls rose from their massive chests, and lips lifted to reveal long, stained fangs. The amazing thing was that their ire seemed to be directed at the Empire soldiers rather than at him.
One of the New Rosanthe soldiers muttered something under his breath before giving Caelan a shove toward them. The Empire forces quickly moved off, ushering Rayne, Drayce, and Eno to the camp. The guard on his left grunted and jerked his head to the city, motioning for him to continue. The one on the right reached out one hand and slipped a claw under the ropes, slicing through them with ease and freeing his hands. Sadly, that didn’t feel as reassuring as it probably should have. They either wanted prey that had a chance of fighting back or this was their way of stating that the goddess didn’t see him as a threat.
He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted her to see him as an ally considering what he’d witnessed of the treatment of the New Rosanthe forces.
Eyes followed him every step of the way through Green Spring. As they moved deeper into the city, it was clear that not everyone had been changed into this hybrid human-animal creature yet. While in Hidden Falls, Brandt had described it as a slow process.
Here and there, he still saw people who were mostly human, wrapped in bits of animal skins for protection, but there were hints of the transformation. The eyes appeared to be among the first thing to change, then maybe claws or fangs. Slowly and steadily, they all became hunters to honor the Goddess of the Hunt.
His captors, or maybe guides—he wasn’t quite sure what to call them—took him through the narrow winding streets to the largest of the buildings near the center of the ancient city. The structure towered more than three stories high with sharp spires that reached up another couple of stories. Almost like the many spires that dotted the landscape of Brightspire in Ilon.
The different peaks and arches all held statues, but this time, each was staring toward the center avenue leading to the main entrance, as if the statues guarded the goddess within. No one escaped their gaze. They saw everything and everyone. Creepy. Just way too creepy.
Caelan’s steps slowed as they reached a large, open space in front of the building. Glittering red fragments caught his eye and his heart skipped. The Blood Stone. This was where the godstone had stood, holding Zyros captive for centuries. This was where the godstone shattered and she broke free when Lore destroyed the spell that held her and the other gods prisoner.
Now the remains of the Blood Stone were half lost under the detritus of the Ordas forests. Leaves, dirt, broken branches, and even vines covered the fragments so that he caught sight of them only when the sunlight reflected on their jagged edges.
Standing in Green Spring, the site of the last God War that ended with all of them trapped in crystal, Caelan had to wonder if locking all of them away in godstones was even an option this time. Was death the only path before them?
One of his guards shoved his shoulder, pushing him forward and forcing his eyes away from the broken godstone. There was no putting it off any longer. It was time to face the Goddess of the Hunt on her terms.
Inside the building, Caelan choked, nearly gagging on the fetid air heavy with the scent of rotting flesh and old blood. The shadows instantly grew denser and were made to lunge around in the flickering torchlight. The stone floor was uneven and felt wet under his feet, but he didn’t allow himself to look as he was ushered down a long corridor and through a pair of massive double doors.
The throne room was as large as his own in Stormbreak, but that was where the similarities stopped. The throne room that held his mother’s throne had high ceilings and a wall of windows to allow in bright sunlight. Yes, the throne was on a high dais, and designed to intimidate anyone who came before the ruler of Erya, but there was a peaceful elegance about that room. It was designed to instill faith and hope in those who spoke to the ruler of Erya.
Zyros’s throne room was a place of fear, pain, and death. Torches were set at regular intervals along the walls, providing more illumination than found in the hall, but there were still plenty of shadows clinging to columns and corners. There were furrows dug into the stone walls as if by claws, and more were scored into the floor, creating crevices in which puddles of blood formed and stagnated.