Sevensworn

X. Traitor's Eyes

"Shivaroth," Aevar said with only the slightest hint of surprise. His voice bore the same musical accent that Shivaroth's did, though his tone was gruff and sharp. "I see you finally came to your senses."

"I do not want to stand on the losing side of this war," Shivaroth muttered. He sounded pained. "I have seen what you do to those that oppose you."

"A wise decision." Aevar's calculating gaze swept Ronan's figure, and he raised his eyebrows. "I see Illirium took a toll on you."

Ronan, still reeling, spat at Aevar's feet.

"May the seas take you," he hissed.

He just had to stall until Zia got back. She could give them a chance to run, to escape. There was no way they could fight two gods. All they could do was run.

"Were you responsible for the events that brought me here?" Shivaroth sounded genuinely curious. Ronan's stomach turned violently at the ease with which the god spoke, but he remained tense and vertical in Shivaroth's grip. His eyes narrowed. Traitor.

"I was, though I did not know who the ritual would choose to bind. I should have imagined it would be you; you have always had a strange bond with the boy. It may have been wiser if he had chosen Felhan or Eltirash, but the mortal's subconscious made its decision, and it got us here." A sickening grin spread over his lips. "I will not complain."

"He had a hand in the decision?"

"Not in any way he could influence. I was the one that made you mortal and brought you to this plane, all he did was lend his mind to me so I could find someone he was more willing to trust."

"Clever," Shivaroth mused. "You figured whoever he chose would eventually come back to your side."

"I knew they would." Aevar's dyed leather kilt was stiff with dried blood. "Most of the pantheon stands with me as it is."

He felt Shivaroth shift behind him; he stayed silent. A wrong word could get him maimed, a wrong move worse than that. He tried to hold back the tide of defeat, but his mind was still struggling to process the situation at hand. This was the end, this was it, it was over. He had made a noble effort, but it had failed. He was done. The bounty on his life would be collected, Aevar's mark burned from his throat, and his corpse left to rot.

"There was another mortal coming to meet us here." Shivaroth finally said the words that he had been dreading.

A look of intrigue crossed Aevar's face. "Oh?"

"She could prove to be an issue."

"Not for the both of us," Aevar said with a shrug. "We can kill her, and then go." Ronan stiffened in Shivaroth's hold. He raised his head, meeting Aevar's eyes with a renewed fury.

"Touch her and I tear your throat from your neck," he growled. "She is not your bounty."

"No," Aevar murmured, "but she certainly seems to hold some power over you."

"She is not worth it," Shivaroth insisted. "She has an army at her command, and a sharp mind. If she sees something is wrong, she will send it after us. If we are gone by the time she gets here, with no trail for her to follow, you are free to do as you please."

Aevar cast a glance over his shoulder, and nodded. He motioned for Shivaroth to lower the scimitar, and after a moment of hesitation, he did so. Ronan stood still for a moment, waiting for the sound of the blade being sheathed, before he whirled around and lunged for Shivaroth's throat, eyes bright with fury, fingers clutching at his scarf, his collar, anything he could reach.