That a false god could reply.
“Demis,” I whispered hoarsely, my eyes widening. “You’re a demis. A false god.”
One side of Isbeth’s lips curled up, but it was the golden Rev who spoke. “Well, apparently, he is rather clever.”
“At times,” she said with a shrug.
Holy shit. I’d believed that the demis were as much a myth as the lamaea. “Is that what you’ve always been? A poor imitation of the real thing, hell-bent on destroying the lives of the desperate?”
“That’s a rather offensive assumption. But, no. A demis is not born but made when a god commits the forbidden act of Ascending a mortal who was not Chosen.”
I had no idea what she meant by a mortal that was Chosen, and I didn’t get a chance to question that because she asked, “What do you know about Malec?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the golden Rev’s head tilt. “Where is my brother?” I demanded instead.
“Around.” Isbeth faced me, clasping her hands together. They were free of jewels except for the Atlantian ring.
“I want to see him.”
A faint grin appeared. “I don’t think that would be wise.”
“Why?”
She inched toward me. “You haven’t earned it, Casteel.”
The acid spread, hitting my veins. “Hate to disappoint you, but we’re not playing that game again.”
Isbeth pouted. “But I loved that game. So did Malik. Admittedly, he was much better at it than you ever were.”
Fury pounded through every inch of my body. I launched off the floor as the rage was given sound. I didn’t make it very far. The bonds at my throat jerked my head back as the shackles on my ankles and wrists clamped down, yanking me against the wall. The Handmaidens stepped forward.
Isbeth held up a hand, waving them back. “Did that make you feel better?”
“Why don’t you get close?” I growled, chest rising and falling as the band at my throat slowly loosened. “That will make me feel better.”
“I’m sure it would, but you see, I have plans which require me to keep my throat intact and my head still on my shoulders,” she replied, smoothing a hand over the chest of her gown.
“Plans can always change.”
Isbeth smirked. “But this plan also requires you to remain alive.” She watched me. “You don’t believe that, do you? If I wanted you dead, you’d already be that.”
My eyes narrowed on her as she tipped her chin in a curt nod. The golden Rev stepped out into the hall, returning quickly with a burlap sack. The stench of death and decay immediately hit me. Every part of my being focused on the bag the Rev carried. I didn’t know what was in there, but I knew it was something that used to be alive. My heart started pounding.
“It appears that my once amicable and charming daughter has grown quite the…violent streak with a knack for showmanship,” Isbeth remarked as the Rev knelt, untying the sack. “Penellaphe sent me a message.”
My lips parted as the golden Rev carefully tipped the sack, and a…godsdamn head rolled out. I immediately recognized the blond hair and square jaw.
King Jalara.
Holy fuck.
“As you can see, it was a very interesting message,” Isbeth stated blandly.
I couldn’t believe I was staring at the Blood King’s head. A slow smile spread across my face. I laughed—deep and hard. Gods, Poppy was…damn, she was vicious in the most magnificent way, and I could not wait to show her just how much I approved of it. “That’s…gods, that’s my Queen.”
Surprise widened the golden Rev’s eyes, but I laughed until my empty stomach cramped. Until tears stung my eyes.
“I’m glad you find this entertaining,” Isbeth remarked coolly.
Shoulders shaking, I tipped my head back against the wall. “That is the best godsdamn thing I’ve seen in a long time, to be honest.”
“I would suggest you need to get out more, but…” She waved dismissively at the chains. “That was only a part of the message she sent.”
“There was more?”
Isbeth nodded. “There were quite a few threats included with it.”
“I’m sure.” I chuckled, wishing I’d been there to see it. There wasn’t a single part of me that doubted it had been Poppy’s hand who’d ended Jalara’s life.
The Blood Queen’s nostrils flared. “But there was one warning in particular that interested me.” She knelt in a slow slide that reminded me of the cold-blooded serpents found in the foothills of the Mountains of Nyktos. The orange and red, two-headed snakes were just as venomous as the viper in front of me. “Unlike you and my daughter, Malec and I were never granted the privilege of the marriage imprint—proof that either of us lived or died. And you know that not even the bond shared between heartmates can alert the other of death. I have spent the last several hundred years believing that Malec was dead.”
Every ounce of humor vanished.