For so long she’d believed the winter was something the N’skari had created. That the goddess Skadi was responsible for its eternalness.
She now knew the truth.
That the desecrated temple of Mazzulah was the only entry into the dark realm that existed on the Sirian continent, and its cold depths could not truly be contained behind two doors.
“I will always come for you,” Risk whispered. Her lips were chapped and cracked. Her skin drawn tight from exhaustion and lack of sleep. A great black bird of prey sat on her shoulder, its golden eyes staring at Quinn shrewdly.
Neiss descended from the twin throne Quinn had sat upon and slithered across the cold stone. Risk lowered her hands from Quinn to the snake at their feet. He lifted his head in greeting to Risk, and she lowered her face, resting her forehead to his.
“Hello, old friend,” she said to him, speaking fondly. The emotion that coated her tone was different from what she used with Quinn.
After a moment, she raised her head once more.
There was a sadness in her eyes. A sorrow.
“I’m not sure you should have,” Quinn whispered. She felt it the moment the dark god rose from his throne. The very air changed, and the creatures that cried out from below quieted. Cold winds settled in the sky where they stood, overlooking all.
“Mariska Darkova,” the god said. His voice wrapping around the syllables of her sister’s name. Turning it into something more by simply speaking it.
“Mazzulah,” her sister uttered his name as a curse and a prayer.
The dark chuckle the god gave revealed what he thought of that.
“Are you angry with me, child?” he asked her.
Her sister’s white eyebrows drew together. “N-no.”
“Then what has brought you home?” the god asked, looming closer. Her cold fingers burned as they brushed Quinn’s bare arm. She stepped back, obliging to the god’s silent command.
“I have come for my sister,” Risk said, lifting her chin. To her credit, her voice did not quiver again.
Mazzulah never stopped smiling throughout their exchange.
Quinn looked away. She was torn between the feelings in her chest; such immense gratitude for what Risk meant to do, and such horror for what it would cost her.
Mazzulah didn’t tell Quinn his plans, but she’d watched him long enough. Knew him well enough to know that her sister should never have set foot in the dark realm.
“Which one?” he asked. Risk frowned, and then it occurred to her. She was half-raksasa, after all. And the raksasa were Mazzulah’s children.
“Quinn,” she said, speaking harsher again. “I have come for Quinn.”
“Hmm,” the god hummed.
A cold hand wrapped around Quinn’s waist, pulling her into his side.
Like him, she wore two strips of dark fabric. One over each shoulder that extended the full length of her body. A silver chain around her hips kept the cloth in place.
His clawed nails pressed into flesh as his dark bicep curled around her. Lips trailed from her jaw to her temple.
Risk’s eyebrows drew together once more, and Quinn knew she both understood and didn’t. That her innocence, and lack thereof, kept her from fully grasping this situation.
“Quinn died, and because the darkness of her soul, she was mine to claim,” Mazzulah murmured.
“She shouldn’t have died,” Risk said. “It was my fault.”
“Perhaps,” Mazzulah mused, his eyes sweeping Quinn’s face. Watching her reaction to Risk’s words. “But she did, and now she’s mine.”
Her sister’s hands clenched into fists.
“Alpis brought me here. He said that there is a way for me to bring her back.” Her tone was desperate now, and Quinn closed her eyes against it because she could not interfere. The god was not wrong that her soul was as dark as they came. He was owed that. Owed her.
But if this Alpis brought Risk here, Quinn could only take that to mean that Mazzulah sent Alpis to her sister himself.
She wondered if Risk realized it yet.
“There is,” Mazzulah said, pulling away and turning back for his throne. The god of the dark realm was a fickle creature. Mercurial as they came. Possessive in a way that rivalled even Lazarus. “But you see, I’ve grown quite fond of Quinn. Her darkness . . . it’s beautiful. Neiss went above and beyond with her. The greatest of his heirs. The worst of his heirs . . .” he murmured, and she recognized the signs of him getting lost in that maze of an immortal mind of his.
Quinn could see it then, that her sister was starting to understand.
“I will not give her up for nothing, child. In fact, I will only give her up for everything.”
While she was dead, she was still fear. Her magic was her soul, and she did not lose that in death. She simply became it in a way that she couldn’t with a flesh body tying her to the realm of men.
Quinn did not feel fear at Mazzulah’s words.
But Risk did. Still, she stepped forward with her head held high and said, “What is the price?”
At once his golden eyes flicked up, regarding Risk once more.
“War is coming to your world. The war to end all wars. The final fight. You will need her to win.”
“I . . . I don’t understand,” Risk said. “You want us to win a war?”
Mazzulah didn’t hesitate as he regarded the half-raksasa.
“Yes,” the god said. “But that is not all.”
Risk looked between Quinn and Mazzulah, as if her sister could say or do anything to explain what the deity was asking. She shook her head, and Risk’s lips pressed together.
“What else do you want?” Risk asked, both her fear and her ire with men was rising. Quinn could see it as surely as she saw the dark sun.
“You,” Mazzulah said. “I will release Quinn from this realm, but you will stay.”
“I—” Risk started, her indignation giving way to panic.
“I don’t want you,” he said. “Not as I want her. I need you. To train you. You will stay until you reach ascension. Because as surely as my lovely little fear twister will be needed for this win, so too will my own heir be needed.”
“Heir?” Risk said. Quinn noted it too. She noted many things in Mazzulah’s ramblings and meanderings and violent delights. She didn’t know how long she’d been here. Only that it seemed like a very long time and yet no time at all.
“Yes,” the dark god purred. He motioned with his hand for Quinn to join him. His golden eyes the only warmth in the realm of beasts and death. The intensity with which he stared at her set her blood aflame.
But Quinn didn’t act on it. Not yet.
Something held her back, or rather, someone.
Much as Mazzulah made his interest in her clear, he never pushed beyond what she’d offer. He wanted her to want him of her own will. By her own choice. Sometimes she wanted to as well. In this cold realm of misery, who wouldn’t?
But she couldn’t forget him. The man with dark eyes and calloused hands.
The Maji that found her and molded her and then unleashed her upon the world.
She couldn’t forget Lazarus. She couldn’t move on.
Even in death.
Still, Quinn liked games as much as the dark god. She strode over and placed herself on his lap. He slipped his left knee between her thighs and one muscled arm came to wrap around her torso.