Tale of the Heart Queen (Artefacts of Ouranos #4)

Chapter 4

C HAPTER 4

GAbrIEL

A PHELION —T HE S UN P ALACE

M y sword dangles from my hand, the tip dragging over the pavement with a dry scrape. It feels like it weighs a hundred pounds. Maybe a thousand. I step over a body, barely noticing it, my legs heavy and leaden, and make my way towards the palace.

I stare at the carnage, the air singed with smoke and ashes. And death. So much death. More than I ever imagined and so much more than I ever hoped.

When I concocted the plan to reveal Tyr to the world, I knew it would break us. I knew it would stir up ancient grudges and shake the foundations of our existence, but I hoped it wouldn’t be this bad.

What a naive asshole I was.

The sky is finally lightening after an endless day and night of fighting. Red bleeds into the sunrise, mimicking the blood that runs along the streets.

Gods, I fucked this all up.

Running a hand through my hair, I feel my fingers tangle in the knotted strands sticky with sweat and blood, and Zerra only knows what else.

Everyone finally saw the truth. Tyr is alive, and Atlas is a fraud.

I’ve lived with this secret for so many years, but its release doesn’t feel as light as I expected. Now I stand burdened with something entirely new and unfamiliar.

Tyr is alive, but he isn’t present . And Atlas is a traitor. He has always been a traitor.

He cursed me as they took him away, screaming and hurling accusations of my betrayal. I tried to drag up an ounce of sympathy for what I’d done. I’ve condemned him to an inevitable fate, but will this be where it ends? I’ve lived in Atlas’s shadow for so long, a victim of his ambition and his cruelty, but I’m not sure if I have the strength to face what comes next. There’s a punishment for traitors in Aphelion. The rules are clear. And for what reason would anyone want to show him leniency? I’m just hoping I’m not the one forced to make that call.

My only consolation is that I got Tyr to safety before the fighting became unmanageable. I’m not exactly sure what precipitated the eruption. Tensions were high, and people were angry and confused, but I don’t know what single entity triggered the match that lit the fuse. It probably wasn’t only one thing. It was a thousand tiny moments, each one pulsing with blood and fury and betrayal, crackling with dry sparks until the wildfire could no longer be contained.

My toe catches on a piece of paper. A torn poster with Atlas’s face on it. I lean down and pick it up, staring at his likeness. The crimes against the low fae are listed in bright red ink. Not only had he sequestered them to The Umbra, refusing to meet their demands or even hear them out, but he’d never had the authority to do any of this.

It all became too much.

Thunder rolls overhead, dark grey clouds tumbling over one another. A gust of wind tears the paper from my hand, and I watch it toss in the air like the final leaf falling in winter. It feels like an omen.

The gilded Sun Palace stands muted against the dull sky.

I wonder if it will ever sparkle the same way again.

I scan my surroundings, searching for my brothers. I spy their wings in the distance, their shoulders hunched. Drex and Syran guard Atlas in the dungeons while we all attempt to make sense of everything.

My gaze wanders to the palace and the shattered throne room ceiling. The dome that once looked over Aphelion is gone, every single piece obliterated into dust.

That awesome show of power might have been the spark that ignited the chaos. When those red bolts of lightning filled the sky, it shook something loose that had been squeezed tight for far too long. Lor . She got to the Mirror. But what happened to her? The fact that I haven’t seen her yet sits like a rock in my stomach, and I ask myself why I care at all.

Somewhere along the way, I started to care, and I know that’s dangerous. Caring always leads to disappointment. I’ve learned that the hard way, far too many times to count. But I recognize the good in her. She is brave and strong and loyal. She approached those barbaric Trials head-on and never faltered. Even I’m not too much of a cynic not to respect that.

She’d give the people of Heart the queen they finally deserve.

I shake my head and run a hand down my face. Shit, when did I get so sentimental?

Sighing, I limp towards the palace gates hanging askew from their hinges, my knee twisting with each step. I don’t remember how I injured it, but it’s enough to hamper my movement, sending jolts up to my hip.

Small fires burn all over the place, rubble coats the street, and ash drifts from the sky, dusting everything with death. What a fucking mess.

My thoughts of Lor wander to her family and to Nadir, who is also missing. Mael and Lor’s brother, whose name I can’t remember—Tyler?—have been helping around the palace, attempting to subdue the riots and bring order to the chaos.

Her sister—who I am sure now was Apricia’s maid who looked so familiar—hasn’t been around, and I hope she got to safety.

They were obviously trying to find a way into the palace, and I have to admire their cunning, though masquerading as Apricia’s maid was a lot to ask. Maybe they were spying on me too. I can’t really blame them for that. I have so many secrets.

Had. Now everything has been exposed.

I inhale deeply, wincing at the ache in my lungs. When Tyr finally released me from Atlas’s commands, it felt like drawing a proper breath for the first time in a hundred years. Still, it was short relief because . . . well, look at this place. I’ve just exchanged one set of problems for another.

Slowly, I approach the palace doors, dreading what I’ll find inside.

The nobles had no choice but to fight back, some with magic, leaving the scarred evidence on the walls and floors. The mobs didn’t care who they hurt. They only cared for blood. They only cared about making the High Fae hurt. And there are plenty here who deserve every bit of their vengeance.

Inside the palace, I find a scene of destruction: rugs torn up, mirrors smashed, broken glass crackling under my steps, blood covering the walls. I’d expected as much. I just hope Tyr is still safe. I’ll check on him in a moment, but first, I must deal with something.

As my Fae healing catches up with me, my steps become more sure while I proceed through the halls, relieved to find the palace unscathed the deeper I move. I pass my fair share of bodies and avert my eyes—not because the sight of death bothers me, but because I’m not ready to face it yet.

When I reach the entrance of the dungeons, I find it unguarded, and my senses prickle with alarm. Entering the dim stairwell, I circle down into the depths. It’s too quiet. When I arrive at the bottom, everything breathes with the silence of stone. I hear nothing, not even the soft murmurs or the occasional whimpers of the inmates.

I lift my sword, pointing it towards the darkness, noting every door stands open and every cell stands empty. Did the rebels come down here to break out their friends? Moving along the narrow corridor, I sense there’s more to this eerie dread swirling in my gut. What if they saw Atlas and tore him to shreds? My feelings for him are complicated, but I would never wish him that.

I continue walking, staring into each empty cell, then reach the end as my breath stalls in my chest. A neatly folded golden jacket lies on the floor in the middle of a cell. On top of it sits an ornamental gold crown, like an offering.

Not an offering. A signal. The immutable evidence that Atlas was here and now . . . he isn’t. I recognize the crown and jacket he wore during the presentation when I tore apart my home.

I swing around, wondering how he escaped, then bile surges up the back of my throat.

Drex and Syran, the warders I assigned to guard Atlas, hang suspended to the wall, iron pins shoved through their white wings, and long gashes slit across their throats. Gold blood drips down their feathers, and crimson stains their gilded armor, their heads hanging, and their bodies limp.

And Atlas . . .

That fucking traitor is gone.