Roux gave a clipped nod. “I agree to your terms. We may ask up to three questions each about any topic. The other person cannot refuse to answer. If you lie, even once, I’ll know, and I’ll keep you chained even after my task is completed.”
“Please,” she retorted. “You’ll be dead long before then.”
His eyelids slitted. But he rose, unhooked the chain from the bed—without freeing her hands—and strode off to sit at the desk, where the bulk of food trays rested. With his back to her, he waved her over.
Testing her at the starting line? Blythe stood and stomped over, plopping in the chair across from him and digging in. He watched her. Intently. She tried not to notice or care that flutters had re-erupted in her stomach.
“So. Why did your father torture you?” Better to start with a bang, letting him know she wouldn’t be pulling her punches.
He blinked. “You wish to know about my childhood, when you have only three questions? An answer that has no bearing on our situation?” Confusion flittered over his expression. “Very well. I’ll tell you. My twin, Rowan, and I were not conceived in the typical way. Mars—”
“Whoa! There are two of you?” The second question exploded from her before she had a chance to filter it with common sense.
He smirked, the striations in his eyes spinning at warp speed. “There are, yes. And now you have a final question remaining.”
Hey! “That last one doesn’t count.” Might as well give a protest a shot. “It could have been a statement.”
“But it wasn’t.”
“No,” she grumbled, honest. “It wasn’t.”
His next smirk was even more irritating than the original. “As I was saying, Mars—our father—was bored and wondered how he might have turned out if he’d lived different lives as a child. So he cloned himself, creating the two of us. Rowan, he kept in luxury and pampered. Me, he kept in the dungeon and tormented.”
Oh, wow. A thousand other questions whirled inside her head. Roux the Astra. A clone. A freaking clone of the Roman god Mars. An exact copy. All because the (clearly) egomaniacal warrior had wished to know the difference a childhood filled with torment wreaked on a boy?
The unbridled pride required to do such a thing. The total lack of compassion. Roux’s childhood was far worse than she’d suspected, wasn’t it?
Rather than partake of the meal, he crossed his arms over his chest. “My turn. Death is involved in becoming a phantom, even for the daughters of Erebus. Tell me about yours.”
She frowned. Why would he wish to know such a thing? Unless he thought he would discover her greatest weaknesses? Yeah, that had to be it.
Well, too bad, so sad. The story revealed nothing. “I was nine years old. A year away from leaving home to attend harpy camp, where I was expected to learn to control my temper in order to better kill my enemies. My mother and aunt summoned me, explained the circumstances of my birth, asked if I wanted to be stronger, then stabbed me in the heart. First with fireiron, then demonglass, and finally cursedwood.” The three substances that made up trinite. “When I revived, boom, I was a phantom. And yes, I was stronger.”
He thought for a moment. “The actual conception of a phantom isn’t Erebus’s preferred method of creation.”
“Nope.” Usually, the Dark One killed an immortal of another species first, injected them with his death venom and seared his brand into their spirit—among other things—binding their will to his. “Don’t worry. I’ll turn my sights to Erebus soon and end the phantom-making problem at the source. Like I said, I owe him as much as I owe you.” Mood instantly soured, she sank her teeth into a bacon sandwich and ripped. The flavors burst on her tongue. Man, the ladies of Ation had no modern equipment that she’d seen, but they’d found a way to excel in every way possible, anyway.
Roux continued to watch her, the intensity of his gaze making her squirm.
“What?” she demanded.
“You harpies and your need for vengeance. It never ends.”
She replied between bites. “As if you Astra operate another way. I admit, though, I’m surprised you didn’t ask me how Erebus betrayed me.”
“Betrayal is betrayal.” A pause. Then, “Do you wish to become General, now that the rules for leadership have changed?”
Again, another question that revolved around her. “No. I’m on a different career path now.” Only a few months ago, a harpy had to be a virgin to rule over the species. Since the Astra’s arrival and Taliyah’s ascension to the throne as replacement for the slain Nissa, that requirement had gotten the boot.
With nine stars earned, only one challenge stood in the way of Blythe’s reign. Defeating her sister on the battlefield.
First, she had no desire to cut another beloved family member from Isla’s life. Second, Blythe didn’t want to harm her sister, and that’s what it would take to win a true battle between them. And third, she had her vengeance to oversee.
“Ah, yes,” he said, a little too silkily for her liking. Uh-oh. Had they switched to flirt mode again? “Your new career path. Let me guess. Destroyer of Astra.”
“Exactly. DOA for short. An acronym with a second, equally applicable meaning.”
He arched a brow, Astra-speak fordo tell.