Earth Borne (32 page)

“It is peaceful, this way of life.” The leftmost nymph smiled. “Many of our kind choose to slumber when we tire of our longevity.”

The nymph on the right stepped forward. “You must transform in front of them, so Philaeus’s revenge will be satisfied. And
he
cannot claim you.”

Who was this
he
they spoke of? Was he the same male Philaeus had mentioned—the one whose use of her would be a fate worse than death? Melita closed her eyes and lowered her head. The mystery male mattered not in this moment. Her centaurs did.

Did she have the strength to do this? To abandon the ones she loved? Did she even have a choice? Those men were ready to die, perhaps savagely. Was she not as brave as them?

This fate the
Meliae
offered, it would be pleasant. No more pain or sadness. It hardly seemed fair, as her loved ones would grieve while she felt nothing. She squared her shoulders, bracing. If this was how it must be…

So be it. Lucian would be well-loved, surrounded by his family, his father. And Thereus? Someday, he would love another. The notion stung worse than a million arrows in her heart. He must find happiness. With or without her.

Melita extended her hand and accepted the gift. Her birthright. Her salvation and her doom.

The tiny glowing seed sat heavy in her palm. The nymphs around her whispered reassurances and transformed into a swarm of bees. Humming, they departed, hovering at the entrance of a tunnel, waiting for her to follow them. They would guide her to her fate.

Melita let out her breath and held it. Only as her lungs burned did she allow herself to breathe once more. Her heart ached to follow the path the others took, but that option wasn’t one she could choose. The bees buzzed, urging her on. Dawn approached and they had many miles to traverse. Melita ignored the soreness in her limbs, the fire in her lungs. This was the last time she would feel anything. She absorbed each of her senses as she sprinted, following the twinkling lights of the bees. So like stars. And yet, when one followed a star, ’twas like following a dream.

This fate of hers was no dream. No dream at all.

Chapter 29

Thereus paced. In a few minutes, the first rays of the sun would breach the opening between those two mountains.

“Brother.” Agrius gripped his arm, coaxing him to hold still.

He was like a bull, bristling to stamp its hooves and charge. The glorious golden light of Apollo would herald the death of many. Many Lapiths. A grim smile spread across his face. He lusted after blood, their blood, for threatening his family.

Unlike the bull, the scarlet hue would soothe, not enrage him.

Agrius once again tugged on his arm, so he complied, settling for a shuffling of his hooves instead.

He swept his gaze across the fields below them. The Lapith army assembled in the distance was huge. Thousands strong, at least. He’d never battled such numbers. And the centaur army? He studied left and then right. The odds were even, if each centaur did indeed slay five or six Lapiths.

Bloody hell. No time to call for more, though new soldiers continually arrived. Their efforts might be enough, depending on how long this battle lasted. If they lost today, they’d fall back to Great Meteoron and the war would begin.

His army’s archers were nestled in the mountains. They might have a chance if the few tricks they had worked. Agrius tensed next to him, so he studied his brother. Thereus frowned as he followed Agrius’s stare. Damn. That must be Eione’s family, her Lapith father and brothers, out on the battlefield. What a way to test his loyalty.

He cursed again, shaking his head. The gods possessed a truly gruesome notion of humor. Agrius wasn’t the only one facing his family in battle today. Their races had been blending for centuries. Gods, the loyalty these people carried for his father. How deeply they trusted in Cheiron’s wisdom. Enough to die, enough to kill their kin. He whistled low.
Wrong.
This war should be fought between Philaeus and himself. No one else.

Had Philaeus been born of honorable stock, he would have faced Thereus alone, man to centaur. Thereus would tear him apart. What he lacked in physical strength, Philaeus compensated for with his army. Aye, he’d make them pay for his weakness.

Thereus growled. It was wrong. None of them should be here. What other choice did he have? He’d never give them Melita.
Never.
He clenched his hands into fists. He ought to trust in his father’s judgment, as the rest did.

His father’s last words to the soldiers resounded within him,
Do what you must to prevail, but where possible, wound. Do not kill. At the end of this, we may have need of salvaging our peace.

He grasped what his father had meant.

A movement in the opposing army caught his eye. The first ray of dawn cut through the mountain pass, and the army parted with it. Philaeus rode forward, dressed from head to toe in thick silver armor, no doubt laced with enchantments as well.

Thereus snorted. Coward. Centaurs wore little armor. He only sported a leather breastplate and arm greaves. More for decoration than protection. Armor inhibited one’s agility. One’s ability to move smoothly, quickly. If one fought well enough, one’s enemies would be dead before they had the chance to strike back.

Philaeus rode forward, escorted by his herd of personal guards. Where was King Pirithous then? Dead or on his deathbed? Did he even know of this battle?

King Cheiron, shining in a brilliance of white and silver, strode through their army, down to meet Philaeus at the bottom of the valley. Down to refuse Philaeus’s demands and declare war. Hector accompanied him, and the two galloped with confidence, no guards for them. A declaration of strength, of power.

Would I be able to face Philaeus without killing him?
He snorted. Unlikely. He’d wait for his righteous opportunity, upon the battlefield. Grinning, he flexed his fists. His body coiled and his blood thrummed through his veins in eager anticipation of facing the coward.

He was so looking forward to it.

The two leaders met on the common ground between their armies and exchanged words. From here, he couldn’t hear them, nor could he perceive Philaeus’s expression beneath his helmet, but the haughty set of his shoulders was clear. He wanted Melita dead, for certain, but he wanted war first. Thereus growled, thankful Melita and Lucian were safely hidden. Philaeus would never harm them. Never.

The two parties separated—the only civilized portion of a battle—and retreated to their respective sides. Soon, the bloodbath would begin.

In their wake, a mist rose on the battlefield and swirled around centaur hooves. Shouts carried to him from the soldiers, who shuffled but held their ranks. The dense, dark ooze settled before Cheiron and Philaeus. Thereus squinted. No, not a mist. A swarm, of
bees
?

The insects dispersed; a lone figure stood in their wake. A form he would recognize anywhere.

Dread pounded through his veins, a mixture of fire and ice. Melita. No. Impossible. A trick? An illusion? If so, why hadn’t anyone told him? He rubbed at his eyes, but the bees remained.

Both leaders rode toward what had caused the crowd’s exclamation and halted a few yards from her. He cursed his ears as he spotted her lips moving, the sounds too faint for him to catch. Then she opened her hand. A tiny glowing seed rested atop her palm.

Thereus growled and shuffled his hooves. What the hell was going on? Hastening his footsteps, he shoved through the crowd. He had to get her out of there. Damn. What was she thinking? Why didn’t she listen to him and remain safe? Sprinting, he thrust past the crowds, desperate to reach her before Philaeus laid a hand upon her. He would not permit her to martyr herself.

***

Calm energy poured through Melita as she faced Cheiron and Philaeus. Her half-brother lusted for her blood. Cheiron would willingly give his own to appease the Lapith Prince. She wouldn’t permit either such sacrifice.

She displayed the seed in her trembling hand. A feral growl echoed from Cheiron’s army.
Thereus.
He charged toward her, furiously knocking aside the soldiers blocking his path. This was the hardest thing she’d ever done, yet she must do it quickly, before he stopped her.

She met his gaze and held it. “I love you, always.” Drowning in his emerald eyes, she drew her hand to her mouth and swallowed the seed.

***

The ferocity of his roar tore him in half. Thereus shoved aside another soldier and bolted toward Melita. Ten feet from him, her body burst into a brilliant verdant glow. Everyone watching her stumbled backward. Shielding his eyes with his forearm, he trudged forward.
Don’t be too late.
He had to reach her.

The flash of light dimmed, and Melita’s form changed. Luminescence swirled about her legs, lashing them together. Her arms elongated. Another radiant flare and his Melita was gone.

In her place stood a tree.

Thereus slammed into its trunk. He’d been intending to grab her and throw her onto his back. But this tree was immovable, rooted to the ground. A trunk thicker than he could wrap his arms around, branches stretching thirty feet above his head. The tree appeared as though it had stood for centuries. Not as if moments ago, it had been his mate. His heart and soul.

Thereus threw his head back, roared a wrenching cry of anguish, and sank to his knees. Desperately his mind attempted to piece together what had happened. The pain was so great, his heart might as well have been torn from his chest. His bonding mark spasmed in throes of anguish, as though it alone fathomed what he’d lost.

His tears wet his cheeks, splattering the ground. He didn’t even bother to wipe them away. She was gone, transformed into a tree. His mate, his beautiful Melita, was a bloody tree. He lifted his head, sobs shaking him as he extended his hand to prod the bark. Rough, cold. Nothing like her. The only thing even remotely like Melita was the faintest scent of honey.

His grief consumed him. The thousands of warriors surrounding him disappeared from his vision, leaving only him, and his tree. What had she done? He shook his head. Understanding evaded him. Why? How?

Footsteps to his right disturbed his lamentation. He glanced at Philaeus brandishing an axe. He’d removed his helmet, a sneer upon his face. “Now, to end you, Melita.” He raised the axe and prepared to swing it.

Thereus exploded. She might be a tree, but she was not
dead
. He’d burn in Tartarus before he allowed Philaeus to cut her down. He launched at Philaeus, tackling him to the ground. His fists pounded into the Lapith prince with frenzied abandon. “You will not touch her,” he growled, sounding more animal than human.

Philaeus tossed his hands in a pathetic attempt to protect himself, too much of a weakling to even fight back. A piercing pain stung Thereus’s shoulder, but he ignored it, his lust for blood consuming him. Suddenly, he was knocked off Philaeus and bound, his face smashed into the dirt. He snarled at whoever dared interrupt his feasting.

“Brother, calm yourself,” Agrius commanded, yanking Thereus’s hair.

He struggled, but with his brothers holding him down, he couldn’t break free. The pain of losing Melita slammed into him. While he’d been attacking Philaeus, the agony had dissipated, replaced with fury. Now that he was forced immobile, the anguish speared him anew. His Melita was gone. Turned into a bloody tree.

“She wouldn’t want this, brother. Don’t discard her sacrifice.”

Though his limbs were clasped close to his body, he was being drawn and quartered. Whilst some sadistic god toyed with his heart. He winced as the valley reverberated with a symphony of voices, too loud for his ears to bear.

Cheiron’s voice rose above them. “Enough. Philaeus, you have your revenge. Recall the myths. Melita will never again be human. This battle is over. Even the gods would not sanction your actions. Stand down your army or face their wrath.”

Thereus raised his head and watched a bloody and bruised Philaeus cower before scurrying to the safety of his guards. Vengeance might be something the gods would permit, but with Melita’s sacrifice, Philaeus had no cause for war. No justification to break the treaty the gods had put in place.

Thereus slumped to the ground and his brothers released him. He wasn’t going to fight anyone. Every sensation drained from his body, becoming as numb as his heart. Was it true? Was there no reversal?

“I am sorry, my son.” Cheiron set a gentle hand upon Thereus’s shoulder. “It is the way of her people. They must have gone to her. None of her kind is ever permitted to become human again. I do not know if even the gods could make it so.”

Agrius wrenched an object from his shoulder, likely an arrow, but he took no notice of the pain. The agony in his chest was far greater.

Cheiron sank to his knees beside Thereus. “Melita was one of the bravest women I have ever known. Her sacrifice will be honored. Her bravery, her courage, her gentle nature, we will remember these. She refused to flee while others would die for her. You must accept this, Thereus. In time, you will cherish the great gift she bestowed upon us.” Sighing, Cheiron stood and departed.