The Rise of Deragon (The Deragon Duology #2)

36

Ren

I mull over what I saw in my chosen sanctuary while I wait for Geneva to resurface.

Nothing in my life ever mattered like traveling the world did, so each time I found my way back to the Sacred City, I always paid a visit to Mercury. The god of travelers and tradesmen always welcomed me with a warm embrace and never sent me on my way without pointed guidance towards my next adventure.

But this time, the sanctuary lay vacant. I stepped into a stone-walled room, the same statuesque depiction of the god from the main mezzanine resting in the center of the otherwise empty room. I waited a minute. Then two. Then ten . I almost wondered if one of the attendants had given me a defective dosage before a small voice in my head said You’ve already found it.

When Geneva fades into view, I finally understand why Mercury’s sanctuary stood barren.

Because she is my sanctuary. There’s nowhere left I need to traverse to feel satisfied. I’ve seen the world by land and by sea, seen the sun rise and set on so many glorious places, but I always knew how to leave them behind and move forward.

Genny is different.

The thought of parting ways with her twists my stomach into knots. The idea of having to relearn life without her feels no better than torture. As she gets closer to me, I feel a supernatural sense of calm and excitement all at once—and if I thought I was spellbound by her before last night . . . the here and now won’t let me brush aside the truth.

I am so off the deep end for her, and she doesn’t even know it.

Genny walks towards me on an uneven rhythm, her eyes darting between the steps and literally anywhere else but my eyes. My pulse begins to hammer against the tender point in my neck.

Oh gods, did I do something wrong? Or wait, what if Minerva relayed bad news? What if there’s no way to recover her daughter after coming all this way? Is Genny starting to see all this time we spent together as a pointless distraction? What if—

“Did I keep you waiting long?” she calls out a bit breathlessly.

The question takes me by surprise. “Not at all. How did everything go?”

“Just fine,” she says, not elaborating further.

“Any worthwhile answers?”

I don’t know if it’s my wording or my tone or something else entirely, but Genny dons the expression of someone deeply nauseous. “To an extent. Perhaps we should—”

Suddenly, a slight commotion from the temple atrium sounds off. Gasps, hurried steps, hushed conversations. Genny and I both study our hands—the brands slowly materializing but not completely stamped in yet—and we make the simultaneous decision to investigate further.

I knit our fingers together and lead us back inside, following a small herd of bystanders down to the second floor. I’m used to the resistance the mark gives off when I’m meant to exit the temple, but Genny isn’t, and she squeezes my hand tighter as her mark develops fully. Just this once, I’m grateful to something that brings her pain, if only because it brings her closer to me.

Suddenly, the crowd goes still, halting our steps when we’re barely halfway down the stairs to the third deck. Two deities grace this floor, and while Neptune’s side is otherwise empty, it feels like the temple’s entire nightly congregation stands enthralled before the closed door of Apollo’s sanctuary.

Where enchanting music pours out from the crack beneath the door.

No one moves nor breathes, listening with undivided attention as they come to recognize the same thing I do within mere seconds.

“The Lover’s Grand Lyre.”

Genny peers up at me from her lower step. “The what?”

“It’s a well-known story I learned about when I was young, one of the most famous recordings in Mosacian History,” I murmur as to not disturb the others entranced by the blissful music. “The lyre was rumored to be crafted by Apollo himself, and somehow in the transit of time, it fell into the possession of a man named Orpheus. His talents in music already went beyond the extraordinary, but with the lyre in tow, he captivated the world. His music warded off malicious sea creatures, wooed a lovely maiden into marriage, and in the overwhelming grief of losing her tragically young, it even moved the god of the underworld into bringing her back to the land of the living.”

The wonder in Geneva’s eyes radiate like faraway stars before sharply retreating. “A love that surpasses even death,” she mumbles with the most somber of smiles. Like she almost knows the feeling.

I don’t bother telling her how sourly the story ends, not when I know she’s thinking about Kurt.

I don’t know every detail about Pandora’s father—only the pieces that Genny has given me on her preferred timetable—but the way her demeanor takes a nosedive, I know enough to try and gear her attention back to the music.

“I don’t think anyone’s been able to hear what’s happened inside a sanctuary before. Not even the acolytes,” I add, pointing to the stunned expressions on the veiled ladies poised at the base of the stairs.

Geneva’s whole body has turned towards the door, now, just as the occupant begins to sing.

A feminine voice as sweet as sugar cane permeates the air, and people around us part down the middle to let Geneva walk through. I drift after her, and a part of my soul that I haven’t been in tune with in so long starts to stir the closer we get. The woman’s tone exhibits grief and adoration at the same time, and as the sound crescendos, my lungs forget to draw breath. My heart forgets to pump blood.

Only hoping the tune is as transfixing for Geneva as it is for me, I squeeze her hand again—and when she turns back to me, I study the way silent, streaking tears faintly sparkle in the light of distant moon. “What’s wrong, Genny?”

“Nothing,” she whispers. “That’s my daughter’s voice.”

My jaw slackens.

“We found her, Ren.”

She’s crying, throwing her arms around my neck and trying desperately to muffle the shaky sounds coming out of her. Then I’m crying.

Just not for the same reasons.

For she gained back her missing daughter, but I’m about to lose the very woman my life was missing. She finally found her lost love, and I’m about to forfeit mine to a nation that failed them both. It’s so cruel and unfair that I consider burning the temple to the ground—

My thoughts stop me dead in my tracks, and I carefully retrace them until I confirm what I thought let slip past my defenses.

Yes . . . I do.

I love her.

I love Geneva Deragon.

The thought of her walking out on me in favor of her daughter doesn’t wound me. But the thought of not telling her before she slips through my fingers? That is a fate worse than loneliness—than death.

“Geneva?”

She’s still fused to me, and I feel her jaw move as she whispers, “Yes, Ren?”

Before I speak up, a devastating sob breaks out again—but this time, it’s not from Genny, nor from anyone in the crowd. No, it comes from within Apollo’s sanctuary. From Pandora .

The sharp sound is warning enough to get most of the masses to scram, but Genny does the opposite. In fact, she storms towards the door, and she’s just out of reach as it swings open with the force to send it sailing off its hinges. In a manner that almost feels possessive, I yank her back into my hold, fearing she may be trampled underfoot somehow.

But the only thing that emerges from the sanctuary is a tall, ominous man in dark cloaks and a skeletal mask that conceals most of his face. In his arms, he carries Pandora within a death grip, who nestles herself firmly against him, as if searching for enough warmth to survive a fatal frost.

“It’s all right, angel,” he murmurs, though his voice proves to be just as icy as his exterior. He strides out from beneath the doorframe. “I’ve got you. Just hold tight to me—”

“Put my daughter down, right now !”

Geneva Deragon faces off against the formidable stranger with more gall than I’ve ever mustered in my entire life combined. Even after the statement—no, the command —hangs in the air between them, she doesn’t rescind her words—her steps. Fearlessly, her eyes barrel into his, as if forcing him to obey.

Slowly, Pandora cranes her neck out from her liberator’s broad chest. “Mother—”

“No, angel. It’s the poison spreading from your brand,” he insists, helping her situate her head back into its original position. I watch as true anger casts a shadow over Genny’s eyes as he strokes her hair with his gloved hands. “You’re not in your right mind.”

“Pandora is not your property,” I sneer. “She belongs to—”

Holding her limp body with one arm, the man uses the other to brandish a gun and point it directly at the center of my head.

Geneva shrieks my name.

“You can’t hurt me here,” I counter quickly, not bothering to raise my hands to ease his temper. “The laws here state—”

“Tribunals can’t prosecute someone they can’t catch.” The figure flashes me a vicious smirk. “And no, Pandora isn’t property. But she belongs to me .”

Suddenly, the masked man kicks out his leg, making harsh contact with my stomach and sending me stumbling backwards. I end up taking Geneva down with me when I hit the ground, and despite the crack I feel in my hip on landing, no physical pain amounts to the sound of Genny’s vocal cords shredding as she screams come back, come back, come back, come back—