Dreams of the Vengeful by Adelaide Forrest
8
Thalia
Twelve years later.
My pencil scratched at the page carefully, methodically outlining the details of the narcissus flowers woven into Persephone's hair. Lifting my left hand up from the page, I studied the wisps of smoke floating around Hades' beautiful face. Touching the side of my palm to the page, I smudged the lines until I was happy with the way the shading blended together.
He was bathed in darkness, hidden in the shadows with only light eyes and the subtle features of his fierce snarl peeking down at the lightness of Persephone. With her white hair and fair skin, the lighting seemed to make her sparkle. I dropped my pencil to the page, heaving out a sigh as I leaned forward and draped myself over my desk.
In just a few minutes, I'd have to tuck the sketch away from prying eyes.
I leaned over the drawing, smiling down at it. A moment later, the cane sliced through the air, the sound always so similar to the memory of my father's axe. To the thudding of it striking the sand after severing my mother's head from her body.
I might not have seen it, but even after more than a decade, that sound was firmly trapped in my memories.
Pain exploded across my back, old scars rising to ache with the injury I'd suffered through far too many times to count. "You're slouching," Lydia reprimanded as I smoothed my back to ramrod straight instinctively. My stepmother moved through the room silently, leaning against the edge of my desk and pursing her lips at the stain of lead on my hand.
Her cane tapped against the scars on the back of my left-hand knuckles, the skin warming instantly under her attention. "Your father won't be pleased to see you've been disobeying him again," she tutted. With a frustrated shake of her head that shook her light hair from side to side, she heaved a sigh. It wasn't often that she caught me drawing, not when I did everything within my power to keep it a secret.
I knew the consequences should my father discover I wasted time on such a frivolous activity that a woman of my stature shouldn't partake in. But the day had been long. The wait had been exhausting.
The sun had set hours before, leaving me to wonder just how long it could take for such a choice to be made. "He called. He'll be home soon," Lydia said. I nodded, keeping my expression carefully blank.
Emotions were for the weak. Love was a lie. Perfection was demanded.
Emptiness was my closest companion, and I'd long since accepted its place in my life. There was only one person who mattered to me. One who I would do whatever it took to protect. Even allow myself to be forced into a loveless marriage that was to be determined by a trial by combat. A barbaric way to determine who would earn the right to marry the eldest Karras girl.
"Is Malva asleep yet?" I asked Lydia, turning my eyes to stare into the empty fireplace in the corner of my bedroom.
"She finally drifted off about an hour ago," she said, a hint of warmth creeping into her voice. Despite her willingness to show me cruelty according to my father's rules, Lydia loved my half-sister with all that remained of her cold, cruel heart.
I nodded, drawing in a deep breath before I shoved my chair out and strolled into my bathroom. I scrubbed my hands raw, furiously removing all traces of my sketching from my skin. "He expects you to be waiting in his office when he returns," Lydia said, clearing her throat before she ducked out of the bedroom. I heaved a sigh of relief once she was gone, turning my eyes up to look in the mirror as my wet hands clutched the edge of the counter.
In two months, I would be married. I didn't even know the name of the groom, only that he would be an heir to one of the other four remaining families. In the days, weeks, and years leading up to the spectacle that my father found so hilarious, not one of my potential husbands had bothered to get to know me.
They hadn't done more than give me a glance-over at parties and determine that I'd grown up well before moving about their business. I'd given them the saccharine smile that had been forced into my muscle memory, all the while wishing I could go back to being the runt of a child that nobody bothered with.
Scrawny had grown into lithe limbs and a too-thin body that was often painful to maintain. High cheekbones and wide upturned "amber" eyes made me look ethereal according to Lydia. An odd sort of beauty that required a second look to truly appreciate.
Because the first look was just odd and flawed, and I had the “type of beauty that took time to appreciate.”
Drying my hands with the towel, I stepped away from the vanity and made my way into my room. Tucking the drawing with the others in the alcove in my closet, I made my way out into the hallway. With calm, measured steps and a carefully straight back, I held my head high as I passed my father’s men, Leon and Peter. They’d been there the day my mother was murdered, and I hadn’t been able to look them in the eye after watching them restrain Calix so he couldn't get to me and take me with him.
I'd have gladly gone, and I'd waited for the day when he’d sneak back into the city to rescue me from what he had to know was a horrible life. A mother, dead and murdered. A father who wanted nothing more than to hurt me to spite both her and Calix.
I'd have been better off bleeding on the sand of ο λάκκος than living the life he'd left me to.
But Calix never came back for me.
Peter slid his gaze down my body, lingering on the swell of my breasts in the dress Lydia had laid out for me that morning. I ignored him, turning the corner and descending the stairs as my hand ran over the railing.
My breath caught with panic, and I snapped my hand off the bannister as quickly as I'd set it there. My father didn't wait at the bottom of the stairs, and there was no cold smirk on his face to haunt me. But knowing he was at ο λάκκος haunted me. Nothing would change the fact that my future husband wielded a weapon in much the same way, bleeding men and fighting for the right to wed me like I was some prize and not just a broken doll.
Like I would be anything more than another expendable toy to sit on the shelf.
I turned the corner at the bottom of the stairs, making my way for my father's office at the back of the house. The door was open, the first sign that I'd taken too long before coming down.
It wouldn't please him, but I had to hope he'd had time to wash the blood from his hands and face before I would have to look at him. But I found as I stepped into the room there wasn't a speck of shadowed grey on his suit or his skin, because he'd had no need to fight.
He owned the prize the others wanted.
I stepped in front of his desk, hanging my head and dropping my eyes to my feet while I waited for him to speak. He sucked back another sip of his scotch before he stood, stepping around the desk to stand beside me. Leaning against the desk and crossing his ankles, he waited for me to flinch as he reached out a hand toward my face.
But there was no fear left in my body, no attempt to protect myself against the inevitable.
"Good girl," my father chuckled, touching my chin and turning my face until I looked over at him. "They fought hard for you."
I said nothing, allowing Origen to work through whatever grand speech he had planned for me. He loved nothing in this world except to hear himself talk.
He nodded, pursing his lips and moving away when he didn't get the affected reaction he wanted from me. "You're to marry Damianos Hasapis," he said finally, dropping into the seat behind his desk. "You should be pleased with that arrangement, I think."
I blinked once, the only sign that I'd even heard his words. I didn't know what I'd ever done to give him the impression that I had opinions of the men who might be my husband.
It mattered little to me since they were all the same. A symptom of the archaic traditions that ran rampant in the families and needed to be dismantled from the inside out before Malva could suffer the same fate. "He would like to spend some time with you before the wedding. He wants you to be comfortable with him and to understand that he intends to treat you well." My father scoffed his disapproval, rolling his eyes as if it was a ridiculous notion. "God help me, but I cannot seem to escape insufferable fools who would treat you like a precious gem. Tell me, what exactly have you done to earn such treatment?" he asked. "Besides becoming mute as well as half fucking blind."
"You've made it very clear that I serve one purpose, and it is not to be heard. I'm uncertain why you want me to speak if you don't wish to hear me, Father," I said, keeping my voice as neutral as the empty expression on my face.
"Even when you say everything right, you somehow manage to make me want to smack the smartass right out of you," he grunted, huffing a laugh as he waved his hand to dismiss me. "At least I won't have to deal with you for much longer."
I took the dismissal for what it was, turning on my heel, anxious to make my way to the relative sanctuary of my bedroom without another word. There was no lock on my door, nothing to keep me safe from him if he decided he wanted to invade my space. But Origen didn't seek me out. If he needed me, he'd summon me like a dog.
"Thalia?" he called. I paused, turning my head to look at him over my shoulder as rage gleamed in his eyes. "Try not to do anything stupid. I would hate for you to end up like your mother." I swallowed against the reminder, nodding my head briefly and shoving down the pain.
I lived my life by a very simple set of rules.
The first was to never let them see you bleed.
