[THIS STORY WILL BE TAKEN DOWN ON SEPTEMBER 30, 2024]
He had hunted me, captured me, and locked me in a tower.
Season 3 'Of Crows and Thorns'
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While in RISING, Tabitha discovers something peculiar that may assist Nelle in her plan to escape the...
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The ambling gait of the Horned God, with the clatter of his cleaved hooves on stone, resounded in the room ahead of his reappearance. Florin's attention was arrested by the roadkill I'd brought with me. He headed straight to the writing desk and eagerly peeled apart the burlap sack to reveal the squished opossum. Closing his eyes, he sighed softly. "I haven't had something as delicious as this since your mother last visited."
As a child, I'd watched wide-eyed as my mother peeled apart a croissant while Florin dragged a manky dead squirrel from a drawer beneath the workbench. He'd chopped it up into pieces and then stuffed it inside the soft, flaky pastry.
Snagging the roadkill, the Horned God shuffled over to the workbench and dragged a heavy wooden chopping block closer. He tossed the flattened opossum onto its gouged surface, and reached for a vicious-looking cleaver, wrapping his taloned fingers around the handle. He raised it upward ready to strike.
"My mother..." was all I was able to say, my voice cracking. There was so much bottled up, so much torment, so many questions that I needed to unpack and ask. I dropped my gaze to my boots and toed the ground, pushing back against the sorrow.
Clearing my throat, I tried again. "Did my mother visit you the day she..." and again the words got stuck in my throat. I glanced upward, bleak misery clouding my chest. Florin was staring at me along his broad shoulder. His eyes glowed with pity. He nodded, the ringed ram's horns bobbing gracefully with the gesture.
"I didn't know that would be the last time I'd see her." He turned his attention back toward the chopping block, lowering the cleaver to poke the squished opposum about absentmindedly. "I didn't know what had happened to your mother, not for a while. She always visited once a week, sometimes more. And if she couldn't see me, she'd let me know in advance. But when she failed to turn up the following week...and then the second...and by the third week..." He stopped fussing and yanked the cleaver upwards. His nostrils flared and his jaw clenched. He brought the cleaver down, fast, hard. The strike split apart the roadkill and struck the block of wood, ringing through the air. His rage and hurt vibrated like a sonic wave, shooting through the warm room, guttering candles and sweeping over my skin like a cold, brisk breeze.
He continued talking while chopping up the roadkill, turning it quickly into thin strips of leather and mangy fur. "In my line of work, though my customers are my kind, it's unusual for them to be aware of what's happening within the world of Houses. That's Sirro's domain. It was in the third week that I learned about your mother's death as a result of a car crash."
"We let the Houses believe that's what had happened. It was close enough to the truth and easy to swallow." We couldn't afford for the Houses to know my mother was other, or they'd work against us and sow discord. Nor could we afford for the Horned Gods to distrust my family or suspect that we knew she was still alive. Back then it was assumed that all others claimed by the Horned Gods were slaughtered. Trusting no one, and keeping our machinations in the shadows, was our only advantage.
