Marked

CHAPTER EIGHT

From his chair near the window, King Leonidas gestured for Theron to join him with one frail, bony hand. “Come, come. Sit.”

The elderly ándras had lost weight since Theron had seen him only a week ago. His red-checked pajamas and blue silk robe hung on thin shoulders. Hair becoming more and more silver captured the sunlight shining through the tall windows. Lines Theron hadn’t noticed before deeply creased the king’s sagging face.

As Argoleans only began to age during the last twenty-five years of their lives, the changes in Leonidas were amplified more each day. It was to be expected, yet each wrinkle and jutting bone seemed like a cruel death sentence to such a wise and boisterous male, and not for the first time, Theron cursed the gods who gave them such amazing powers but limited their existence to that of mere mortals.

“I’ve been waiting for you, my son.” Leonidas nodded weakly toward the double doors Theron had closed at his back. “The old hag with the thermometer could rule the Argonauts with an iron fist and run Zeus himself into the ground if she wanted. Don’t show fear, lad. She smells weakness.” A mischievous glint lit his eyes as he glanced at Theron’s jacket. “Did you bring me a gift?”

Theron reached into his coat. The king had few weaknesses, but among them was his well-known penchant for Irish whiskey. Whenever Theron went into the human world, he brought a bottle home with him just for the king.

It was one of the things Theron had always enjoyed most about Leonidas—his passion for life, so unlike other Argoleans who were, as a race, more reserved. He suspected the king had developed his desires during his time secretly spent among the humans, but the elder ándras never spoke of those days, and Theron had never bothered to ask.

Theron pulled the bottle from the inner pocket of his leather jacket and handed it to the king. “If she finds this contraband, I’m going to have to turn you in.”

The king grabbed the bottle like a parched traveler in a dusty desert. “Pansy.”

The human slang brought a smile to Theron’s lips as he eased into a chair across from Leonidas.

The king broke the seal and took a long swallow of Jameson, then let out a contented sigh. “The damn Irish got one thing right. If you were half as smart as Zeus contends, you would have bought a bottle of this magic for yourself when you were there.” His violet eyes narrowed with unseen knowledge. “But you didn’t. Did you?”

“No.”

The king took another long swallow and eased back into his seat. Though Leonidas’s body had decided after six hundred and eighty-four years it was time to wind down, his mind was still sharp as a tack. And the cunning light shining in his eyes confirmed exactly what Theron suspected was on the old ándras’s mind. “Tell me, Theron. How do you find the human world?”

There it was. The same question he always asked whenever Theron came back.

How did he find it? Last night it had been steamy and sultry and nothing like what he’d experienced before. And he had a feeling the memory of that heat might haunt him long into his marriage.

Since that wasn’t something he suspected his future father-in-law wanted to hear, he simply said, “Hot.”

Leonidas chuckled. “It is that at times. But vibrant.” He waved his gnarled hand around the room. “Oh, most would say nothing could compare to Argolea, and I would agree for the most part, but there’s always been something intriguing about the human world…something we lack here. Olympus lacks it as well, which is one of the reasons the gods have always been so intrigued with humans, themselves.”

“That and that they like to meddle,” Theron muttered.

Leonidas grinned. “True. But Argoleans are fascinated as well. Look around you. Sometimes I have a hard time believing this is the same kingdom I was born into. Styles, speech, even our technology—though more advanced—are similar these days to what you find in the human realm.”

Theron frowned. Yeah, he’d noticed that over the last two hundred years as well. Argoleans were applying for passage into the human realm more and more, even when it wasn’t safe as the daemons grew ever bolder, bringing back popular culture as if it were treasure to be coveted, and the Council was letting them—though only the males. Didn’t matter that most thought they were intellectually and physically superior to humans, they were still enthralled with what they didn’t have. Theron couldn’t see the fascination. And frankly, it disgusted him. Or at least it had. Before last night.

Leonidas took another swallow from the bottle. “Tell me, Theron. You’ve been all over the human realm. What’s your favorite place there?”

“When I’m in the human world, I’m not paying much attention to the landscape.”

“No, of course, you wouldn’t be, now would you? You’d be hunting daemons, doing what you were bred to do.”

Leonidas eyed Theron a long moment, as if debating what to say next, which was something new for the king, as he’d always seemed to know what to say and do. Theron’s intrigue was piqued.

“You know, don’t you,” Leonidas finally said, “that you are probably the greatest Argonaut since Heracles. Your father was a great guardian, and a good friend of mine, but Solon was never as strong as you. He would be proud of what you’ve become.”

Would his father be proud? Theron doubted it. Solon hadn’t ever wanted to see the humans caught in the middle of their war. Theron thought differently. The only thing he enjoyed was the fighting. And since legally he couldn’t unleash his anger on humans, he took that rage out on the daemons he encountered.

“You, of course,” Leonidas went on, oblivious to his thoughts, “are smarter than Solon was. I like to think I had something to do with that, though I know it’s probably more a testament to your genetics than it is to our friendship over the years.”

The king was obviously feeling his age. Theron pushed aside the sting of the memory of his father’s death and the revulsion it caused, and relaxed his shoulders. “You’ve taught me many things, Your Highness.”

Leonidas waved his hand. “Bah. I took advantage, Theron. We both know that. If it were my choice, the kingdom would fall into your hands upon my passing. The Council—” He heaved out a breath. “The Council has different ideas.”

“Tradition is to be upheld. It’s fed our race for centuries.”

The older ándras glanced out the window, a faraway look in his eyes. “Fed, but not nourished. Mark my words, boy. They will run this kingdom into the ground if they can. You are the only one who’s strong enough to stop them.”

He looked back at Theron, and whatever regret had shown in his eyes earlier was long gone. “I know you’re not thrilled with the prospect of marrying my Isadora.” When Theron opened his mouth to protest, Leonidas held up his knobby hand to stop him. “No, now let’s not mince words. There are too many things I must tell you tonight, and I fear our time is coming to a close. Know this though, Theron. The sacrifices you make now and in the future are done for a reason. We may not see them at the time they are offered, but they are there nonetheless. You and I, we are both of Heracles’s line, and therefore honor and duty rule us. Remember your blood when all is said and done. Remember the vows you took when you were inducted into the Argonauts.”

Wariness crept over Theron as he listened to the king. There was something on the older ándras’s mind. Something more than the regrets of a long life and worry over his failing health.

The king took one last swig of whiskey, capped the bottle and handed it back to Theron. “You were absent these past few days. I take it you ran into trouble.”

Theron replaced the bottle in his inner jacket pocket. “Four daemons converged just as I located Isadora.”

The king nodded. “You sent her back here and dealt with them on your own. Your bravery is commendable. Four against one. Those are insurmountable odds, even for you.”

Theron thought briefly of his knight in shining armor and the way she’d taken care of him in the aftermath. Strength, he knew, often came in unforeseeable packages, but he hadn’t expected it of the human woman he’d stumbled across. “Not quite insurmountable.”

The king eyed him a moment, then pushed himself out of his chair and hobbled toward the windows. Late-afternoon sunlight splashed over his wrinkled features and the weariness was evident in his withering body. “You are holding back. What’s troubling you, Theron?”

Theron shifted his weight in his seat. Among the king’s greatest powers was his ability to sense emotions in others. Some said he could read minds, but Theron had never known that to be the case. Leonidas did, however, have the ability to draw whatever you were thinking right out of your head, and in this case, though the king knew Theron didn’t love Isadora, he didn’t want the older ándras to know his thoughts kept running back to a human he had no right thinking about.

“The daemons’ powers continue to grow,” Theron said, hoping to distract the king. “Though the Argonauts have been successful in eliminating a large number of their army over the last few years, we aren’t making the dent we should be.”

The king showed no reaction, only continued to stare out at the city and the first twinkle of lights from houses far below. “That isn’t what truly troubles you, though, is it?”

Theron thought back to the night he’d sent Isadora home. To the fact that the daemons hadn’t killed Casey when they so easily could have. He chose his words carefully. “They’re not hunting humans. The few we find dead seem more like random accidents than intentional murders.”

“No,” the king said without turning. “There’s no benefit to them to kill humans outright. Not unless they kill the right one.”

Theron’s brow wrinkled at the strange comment, and while he waited for the king to go on, his spine tingled.

The king finally turned his way. “You know the story of Atalanta, Theron.”

Yes, every Argonaut knew the story of Atalanta, who’d traded her soul for dominion over the daemons after Zeus refused to appoint her as one of the original seven Eternal Guardians. Even millennia later, she was still seeking revenge. Her goal was twofold: kill the Argonauts guarding the portal between Argolea and the human realm, and at the same time build her army of daemons.

“Each Argolean soul she sends to Hades makes her and her army that much stronger,” Leonidas continued. “And that includes the souls of the half-breeds they kill as well.”

“Half-breeds?” Theron asked. “I thought they were a myth.”

“And humans think we’re a myth. Half-breeds do indeed exist, though they are rare,” Leonidas said with a sigh.

Theron thought back to the marking he’d seen on Casey’s lower back—the Greek omega surrounded by wings. He’d convinced himself it was nothing more than a human tattoo. All Argoleans had the alpha marking—a brand from the gods themselves that signified the beginning of their race—but this was different.

The king gave him a searching look and nodded. “I can see your mind working, my son. If there’s no benefit for daemons to kill humans, and they aren’t intentionally hunting humans, what are they after? What are you and the Argonauts really protecting? The answer to both of those questions is simple: the key to the prophecy.”

“What prophecy?” Theron asked cautiously.

“The one that will change this war forever.”

Theron watched as the king crossed to the large hand-carved desk in the sitting area of his suite. The older ándras pulled a leather-bound book from a shelf against the wall and laid it out on the shiny wood surface. After flipping the book open, he sat in his regal chair, looking every inch his six-hundred-plus years, and very royal.

“When Atalanta was passed over as an Argonaut and she made her pact with Hades for immortality, Zeus was very concerned she would wreak havoc on humans in retaliation, since the Argonauts were guarding the portal and she couldn’t get into Argolea to extract her vengeance on us. It’s no secret Zeus and Hades have a long-running feud, or that Hades found humor in unleashing Atalanta on the humans Zeus has long been so fascinated with. In payment for creating Argolea, Zeus commanded the Argonauts to protect not only our race, but humans as well—some would say to right the wrong of what was once one of our own. And the Argonauts have done so, for nearly three thousand years. But as you pointed out earlier, Atalanta continues to grow in strength, regardless of your efforts.”

His hand paused on the book. “Soon she and her army will be strong enough to overpower the Argonauts, leaving the portal unprotected. Then she can slaughter our people at will. That’s where the prophecy comes in.”

He turned the book so Theron could see it. Tentatively, Theron stepped forward and looked down at the handwritten page before him. The script was old, but he instantly recognized the native Argolean language.

“Loosely translated,” the king said, “it speaks of a—”

“Loophole in Atalanta’s agreement with Hades,” Theron cut in, as his eyes scanned the page. The chronicle he was reading was three thousand years old and bore the seal of Heracles himself.

Leonidas nodded. “Yes. Hades loves a good joke, and as you know, there’s always a catch to his bargains. Basically, this outlines the end to Atalanta’s immortality. In every generation there are to be two halves of the same whole that, when joined, will render Atalanta mortal once again.”

Theron’s eyes narrowed with understanding. “She’s hunting for the prophesied. To ensure her immortality.”

“Yes.”

“And the halves are human?”

“No, my son. One is a half-breed. And one is an Argolean.”

Theron lifted his eyes to Leonidas. “Why have you never acknowledged the existence of half-breeds?”

The king sighed. “Because there aren’t enough to warrant our concern. They learned early on to keep shielded from humans, and from us as well. The earliest kings believed, unwisely, that Argoleans were superior to humans, and that included the offspring of an Argolean and a human, as well. You see, half-breeds tend to live longer than the average human, but they don’t possess the powers we do. The few half-breeds who popped up were…strongly encouraged to remain with their human parents.”

“Why weren’t the Argonauts told?”

“It’s been the burden of every king to decide how much to tell his guardians. I decided long ago, the fewer who knew of the prophecy, the safer we would all be. We have had, as you know, some Argonauts who have not been as dedicated to our cause as you and I. Some who have ignored the rules and let our people pass through the portal unchecked. And usually with terrible consequences.”

Theron knew that to be true. He thought briefly of Demetrius.

“Unfortunately,” the king went on, “I’ve changed my thinking on this point.”

“Why?” Theron asked with narrowed eyes. “What’s changed?”

“My daughter is dying.” The king moved around the desk to stand in front of Theron, wincing at the pain in his legs. “Callia has informed me of Isadora’s dwindling health. I had hoped we’d have more time, but I see now that’s a dream.”

The king stiffened his spine, and the regality he’d once commanded seemed to flood his shoulders and prop him up a good three inches. “I’m left without a choice, Theron. In her current state, Isadora will never rule, and without another heir, the Council will override everything I and the kings before me have fought to contain. Your marrying her will not solve this problem, not unless she is well enough to bear an heir, which we both know she is not.

“The Council does not understand Atalanta’s thirst for vengeance. Over the years and with the buffer the portal maintains, they’ve forgotten how vicious she can be. They want the Argonauts disbanded, seeing no need for the services you and your kin provide, aside from protecting the portal. Which, foolishly, they feel they can do themselves. If that happens, our race will be slaughtered.

“I’ve thought long and hard on this, and I want you to know now this is a heavy burden, one I would not place on your shoulders unless it were ultimately unavoidable. Isadora bears the marking of the One. I’m fairly certain my other daughter bears the other mark.”

Seconds passed as the king’s words sank it. If Theron had thought the king’s admission of the existence of the half-breeds was a shocker, he’d been wrong. Nothing compared to what had just been revealed.

“Yes,” the king said quietly. “There is another heir, though she will never rule, because she is a half-breed. Odds are good she doesn’t even know what she is or that her fate is about to change forever.”

“How…?” Theron had trouble grasping what he’d just been told. “How long have you known about her?”

“Since she was born. Her mother was human, a student I met when I ventured to Athens. Gaia was…” Something soft passed over his eyes as he looked off into space. “Kind. Isadora’s mother had passed not long before I met the woman, and Gaia provided the comfort I needed at the time. Our affair was brief, but she meant a great deal to me. I arranged for her and her daughter to be well cared for, and I was careful not to reveal who or what I was, but I think Gaia knew. She was a very bright girl. Passionate. Full of life, and very interested in her heritage and the myths of the gods. She disappeared with the baby shortly after the birth, and though I have often wondered what happened to them, I never saw them again.”

Unease rolled through Theron’s stomach. “Then how do you know this child bears the marking?”

“I don’t. But I suspect, primarily because Isadora and this young woman are of the same strong bloodline, and because Isadora went looking for her after she found the passage of the prophecy in the chronicles days ago.”

That explained what Isadora had been doing in the human world. She’d gone to find her other half. His mind ran back once more to what he’d seen on Casey’s skin last night. To the marking he feared was more than just a tattoo.

“The only way to ensure the race’s safety is to find this marked half-breed and bring her here to Argolea before the daemons find her and kill her first,” Leonidas said firmly.

“And then what?” Theron asked. “If the prophecy is fulfilled and Atalanta becomes mortal, she’ll be more violent in her quest for revenge.”

“True, but her powers will be limited. And then, Theron,” the king said quietly, “the war truly begins. The one that will eventually give us our freedom.”

Theron thought back to everything his father had believed in. Everything Theron despised. “And what of the humans? Will she not use them to get to us?”

The king stiffened. “We are running out of options. Every king has had to balance the directive of Zeus with what is best for our people. In the end, I must think about our world first. Yes, there may be more human casualties if the prophecy is fulfilled, but it’s a small price to pay for the safety of our realm. Ultimately, I have faith that you and your kin can mount a defense. And in doing so, Theron, you will save Zeus’s precious humans. You will also save your queen. You save our monarchy and our way of life. And you ensure the Council will not rule in my stead.

“Your destiny has called you, my son,” the king said more softly. “You are the one I trust to finish what was started centuries ago. It’s what you were born to do.”

Theron considered all that the king had told him. Though the hurt of betrayal ran through his veins at the secrets kept from him and his kinsmen, he understood that knowledge of the prophecy could have caused pandemonium in the race, especially among the Council.

No matter how Theron looked at it, every choice in front of him was riddled with the probability of failure. A great many would die before the end—humans, half-breeds and Argoleans—and if he lived through it, he’d have to look back and know his decisions were made at the expense of many lives.

“What happens to this half-breed woman if I find her and bring her to Isadora?”

For the first time, the king avoided Theron’s eyes. He dropped his arm and seemed to study his slippers with great interest. “One can’t be certain.”

“But you are,” Theron said, sensing the king’s lie. “You know exactly what will happen to her. Don’t hold your tongue now, not when so much is at stake.”

The king looked up. “She’ll die. Her Argolean essence, that part of her that Isadora is losing, will be recycled by Isadora.”

“And you know this for a fact?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know it won’t be the other way around?”

“Because weak as she may be, Isadora’s Argolean heritage is stronger than the half-breed’s. She’ll take what she’s missing and she’ll be healed.” The king reached out and laid a hand on Theron’s shoulder, and in his touch there was compassion, though Theron couldn’t tell if it was directed at him, at Isadora or at the daughter he’d never known. “It’s not a question of how, Theron, it’s a question of when. You have to find this woman and bring her to Isadora. Before it’s too late.”

This woman. Theron didn’t miss the fact the king refused to call her by name. If she was indeed the Chosen One, and Theron was sent to find her, his presence in her life would lead her right to her death.

He’d killed many. Death was a part of who and what he was. But rarely a human, and only when it was unavoidable. And never a female.

What if Casey was this Chosen One? Could he do it?

As quickly as the thought struck, he dismissed it. The marking he’d seen on her back wasn’t proof. There was still a chance it had been nothing more than a normal tattoo. Or a simple birthmark. He’d been tired and injured and spiked up on lust when he’d been with her. He hadn’t been thinking clearly last night.

“How will I know her?” he asked.

“Because she bears the marking of the Chosen, just like Isadora.” The king’s voice softened as Theron’s mind spun. “Sometimes, my son, a great sacrifice by one must be made for the survival of many. Find her, Theron. And bring her to Isadora. You are the only one who can.”