Rust-colored leaves dropped from the oak trees beyond the kitchen window, scattered by the harsh autumn wind, tossing this way and that before fluttering to the rain-soaked pavement only to be trampled on by the passersby that busy Tuesday morning – not unlike what remained of Slayte's nerves.
Usually, Slayte would have taken her tea to one of the unoccupied tables to enjoy the view of the autumn atmosphere through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the tea shop's seating area. But now, the boarded-up windows and the sign indicating the tea shop was closed for renovations had lent an ominous gloom to the once cheerful place and Slayte could not bring herself to take her tea there without falling into a melancholy matching the bleak outlook.
With a sigh, Slayte peered into the depths of her Ceylon tea. Some mortals believed the future could be told according to the dregs of the tea leaves left at the bottom of the cup. She squinted at the swirling, dark leaves – crumpled up and dried out only to be boiled again until they were limp and exhausted. To Slayte's mind, that was a far more accurate reading of her present.
Only a select few of the gods knew what the future held, and those stingy bastards tended to be as close-lipped as an oyster. Slayte wasn't sure if she even truly wanted to know what was coming. She could hardly stomach what had already come to pass. She had let her best friend go to the underworld - had not even made a decent attempt to stop her, choosing to trust Thanatos' intentions. As for herself, selfishly remaining behind with the mortal she loved more than anything in the three realms… she felt her stomach churn every time she asked herself whether or not she had made the right decision.
Slayte bit her lip, anxiety coursing through her as it had without rest for the past seven days – ever since Elissa had left for the Underworld. It left her with a gut-churning nausea, made her skin crawl, and kept her second-guessing herself.
Although she told herself that there was no better protector for Elissa than Thanatos, she could not help but feel that she had sent her best and only friend into the place she herself most despised – friendless. Something tore at her being, howling with the force of a hurricane that Elissa needed Slayte by her side.
The shadow nymph worried her lip as the incessant anxiety of the last week reared its ugly head again. If her only options were to abandon Levi or let Elissa go to hell alone… how cruel could the Fates be to put her at such a crossroads? Thanatos' final, unspoken words to her set her knuckles white as she tightened her grip on her teacup – one of the few surviving. He had addressed her telepathically, where none of the others could hear and his words were frustrating – but true.
"Will you have these mortals face death for you?" A jab at her cowardice, and then, almost gently – like a mentor giving sage advice, "You must be prepared to bear the consequences of your choice."
His voice in her mind had sounded weary - as if he knew something she did not. As if there had been another reason he had intended to take her to the Underworld other than the simple fact that she belonged there. As if she were making a terrible mistake.
Her turbulent thoughts were interrupted as firm, calloused hands came to rest on her shoulders, the pads of his thumbs massaging gentle circles into the nape of her neck. Slayte's eyes fluttered closed and a sigh floated from her lips as the tension seemed to leave her body – chased away by Levi's warm touch.
"What's eating you again?" he muttered, his narrowed eyes focused on easing the knots from her muscles.
"Everything," Slayte mumbled in return. "I can't stop thinking. I wish I could take my brain out and toss it in a drawer."
"And here I thought you had done that ages ago."
Slayte lifted her face towards him, where he towered over her, standing behind her chair, and gave him a pointed look. His impassive expression did not let on that he was teasing, but the years they had shared were enough to know.
"Not funny," she pouted, turning away again as she reached up for one of his hands and brought it to her cheek. His familiar warmth always dissipated all her fears and worries – but was relying on that anything other than a willful ignorance?
Her gaze caught on the calendar hanging on the opposite wall – a frame of acorns and fall leaves adorning the month of November. "It's nearly the 18th," she said quietly, holding onto his hand as if the mere mention of the date would whisk him away.
Levi patted her shoulder, a signal to release his hand, and crossed over to the sink to fill the tea kettle. "It's nothing to worry about," he commented offhandedly, "I'll go and be back before you're even done with the evening prep."
Slayte brought her other hand to the ugly Christmas mug she held and cupped the garish ceramic, but the warmth of the tea was quickly fading and only the cup's cool surface met her touch. "Take me with you," she mumbled into her cup, subdued and miserable.
"And have you mope around while we're trying to get some work done?" he scoffed. The burner sprang to life as Levi put the kettle on and he crossed back to the table to flick her forehead, "No, thanks."
"I can be helpful," Slayte argued, "you know I can."
Levi only shook his head, taking her cup from her hands to have a swig of her tea and then pulling a face at the lukewarm bitterness. He crossed to the sink to dump out the remains before he began the fixings of a fresh cup of tea for her as well.
"The less they know about you, the better."
He still recalled how he had very nearly cut out the tongue of that shitty ruffian the other night. When it came to Slayte, his basest protective instincts were awakened, and his brain seemed to take leave of him. Probably to go join Slayte's in that drawer of hers. He couldn't predict how he would respond when she was involved and that made her presence a variable he'd rather not have to deal with. He preferred to keep his wits about him.
The tears in her eyes as she begged for him to consider his afterlife, and her pitiful endeavors to earn his forgiveness from his victims' families still haunted him. He wasn't quite sure what Kenny would require him to do on the 18th, but he was certain it was something Slayte didn't need to see.
Slayte sighed again, rubbing at her temples now that she could no longer clutch at her teacup. "I'm scared," she confessed, her voice scarcely a whisper.
Levi paused, a scoopful of tea leaves held steady in his hand as he half-turned to look at her over his shoulder, his winter eyes cold – but soft.
"First Elissa, now you." She glanced up at him, embarrassed to be admitting her weakness to him. "I'm supposed to trust you guys and sit quietly? But what if something happens? What if I'm left behind and I regret it forever?"
Her brown eyes locked with his, pleading. "How do I know I'm doing the right thing?"
She was asking about more than just the 18th, he knew. He had heard her whimper through her recurring nightmares and held her through them. The shadows under her eyes darkened with every passing day as the guilt seemed to eat her alive. For once, Levi did not truly know how to comfort her. It was his own selfishness, he knew, that bound her here. His unwillingness to let her go where her conscience demanded.
He turned back to the burner as the kettle hissed to life, and gently poured the boiling water into the two mugs. It was a fluke of destiny that had led her to come into his life at all. They were two people that never should have met under ordinary circumstances. But because Slayte was a stubborn, indomitable ball of chaos, she had stumbled into his tea shop and into his life. The first years of their time together, he had encouraged her to move on, to see what the rest of the world had to offer but she had wanted none of it. And now…
A dark side of him didn't care what the consequences were, he wouldn't give her up to a world that made her miserable, a world from which he knew – without quite knowing how he knew – she would never return. It wasn't like him to impose his own wishes onto her, but at the same time, if he left her to her own devices, she would follow her conscience into an untimely end – immortal or not.
He placed the two cups on the kitchen table before taking the seat across from her. Slayte's hands were clenched into fists on the stained wood of the table's surface leaving a band of whiteness around her onyx engagement ring. Did that ring give him the right to hold on to her and refuse to let her go? He didn't know.
He reached across the table and covered her hand with his. Warmth seeped into her as she met his gaze. "I don't know," Levi admitted, as much to himself as to her. "I don't think anyone knows for sure what the right thing to do is until it's too late. That's why we should make the choice we'll least regret." He squeezed her hand once before releasing her and turning to his tea. "And I would regret letting you go."
Slayte wiped tears of emotion from her eyes, as she took a deep, shuddering breath. "I don't want to let you go either. I don't want to live in a world where you don't exist."
"I'll be back," Levi reassured her. "I promise."
And because the words were so rare, and the intonation so sincere, she nodded and reached for the tea he had made her. A steaming lemon lavender tea that seemed to comfort her soul.
"I'll hold you to it."
Elissa stared into the mirror; her gaze locked on her own gold-flecked hazel irises as if trying to find herself in the stranger who stood before her.
All the servants had departed to prepare for the grand event that would be her introduction to court, and even Pasithea had left her to her own devices in order to tend to the preparations – promising to return as soon as she was able.
Elissa's gaze trailed down the lovely champagne gown she wore, the glittering gold thread that seemed to sparkle not merely by virtue of the precious metal it was spun from, but with a magic that seemed to linger in the very air in this realm. The long cape sleeves flowed elegantly nearly to the ground, almost meeting her golden sandals that molded to the arches of her feet as if they, too, had been fashioned out of some sort of sorcery. The gold chains that draped along her form, all but dripping with priceless jewels, the heavy pearl and gold earrings hanging from her earlobes, and the diamond-encrusted golden combs they had pinned into place along her updo, glimmering beautifully against her brown tresses all spoke of a wealth that was not even imaginable on earth.
Elissa tilted her head as she beheld the ensemble, wondering how she would have chosen to describe it – if this were a scene in one of her stories, and the thought was suddenly jarring, so at odds with her current situation. Gone were the times she could sit at her desk with her laptop and a cup of tea and lose herself in a world of her own making. Now, she was within the very world she had wondered and written about.
Her eyes darted back to her face, wondering if she would find a sign there that this was all no more than a dream, but they settled instead on her frown, and she sighed. At least her expression was still her own.
Like so often since she had come to know Itachi, she had been washed helplessly along with the events taking place around her, deprived of the agency to direct the path they would take – simply expected to keep up as Itachi and even Slayte charged forward, armed with knowledge and abilities that she was continually deprived of.
Although she had expressed her willingness to come to the underworld, she admitted to herself that it had been merely a reflex – a desperate desire to get Slayte and Levi as far away as humanly possible from the horrors that spiraled perpetually around her.
She didn't belong here.
She wanted to believe in Itachi and Shisui. Wanted to say she was certain they had her best interests at heart, wanted to stake her life on it, but the truth was – she simply didn't know. How could she? All she knew was what she had been told. She lacked the resources to determine the truth.
And being so helplessly left at their behest, having to rely on whatever it was they decided for her, drove her mad with frustration. Not to mention, this feigned betrothal with Itachi had her stomach turning over – both with anxiety as well as something else, she admitted to herself. Something decidedly more dangerous.
She had to master the tightrope walk of controlling her own riotous feelings, while at the same time putting on a convincing show for all observers.
His family was here. His parents and the brother he had spoken so fondly of. Their act would have to hold up to their scrutinizing gazes, and what exactly would that entail? What would she be expected to do? She recalled, briefly, their encounter in her family's garden, the way his lips had brushed against hers, and heat pooled in her stomach.
She shook her head, quickly banishing the recollection. It would not help.
The woman in the mirror looked back at her, eyes glowing with fierce determination. What she needed, was knowledge. Information. The whole of it – unadulterated, and not softened to a mash they thought she could stomach.
At the end of the day, no matter how much she begged for honesty and agency – they simply did not understand. With their godly gifts and immortal lifespans, they likely couldn't understand that agency was all that humans had to their names. And if she understood correctly what Itachi had told her of what it meant to be a god, it was the one luxury that was denied to even the deities themselves.
They were losing. She knew that much, even if Itachi denied it. If she had come that close to death – this often - there could be only the one explanation. Even the god of death himself had no true plan to save her – or any of them - or else, he would have done something already. And instead of communicating that, instead of perhaps leaning on her in turn, he expected her to trust him as he tried to find a way.
But Elissa was no damsel in distress – for all she had played that role the last few months. She'd rather march to her own death than be helplessly delivered to it. She didn't know if she could make a difference, but she had to try. She had seen now, how precarious their predicament was, and how many people had already been helplessly dragged into it.
Even if Cain had been an asshole - she shuddered at the mere memory of him - did he really deserve to go out that way? As a monstrous, inhuman giant of a beast? Barely sentient? He would have gone out as an asshole even without her involvement, but if he had never met her, he would have at least died human.
And Slayte.
A shadow fell over Elissa's expression, thinking of her best friend. She had known Slayte for so many years already, and she had always known that Slayte's past was a source of intense grief for her. She'd long assumed her friend had some sort of PTSD and chosen not to push the topic so as not to cause her further pain. And then, she - Elissa - had been the one to get her best and most loyal friend caught up in that world again. The world that plagued every one of her nightmares.
She was the reason Itachi had found Slayte again. She was the reason Slayte had almost been dragged back to the Underworld, and she, alone, was the reason her closest friend faced mortal peril - again and again. Elissa could never forgive herself if any more harm came to Slayte at her hands. The shadow nymph had finally found happiness with the man she loved, and Elissa had very nearly ruined everything for her. Unwittingly, perhaps, but absence of intent did not absolve her of accountability.
She knew better than that.
Whatever nonsense Cain had been steadily feeding into her mind - the reason her memories were so vague and marked by one peak of emotion after another - it could only excuse so much. Elissa had to keep Slayte out of this before she caused her friend even further harm.
She could manage on her own. Elissa willed it to be true as she stared into the face of the foreign, ethereal princess in the glass.
She would face her enemy, she decided, knowing it was both dangerous and foolish – but determined all the same. She would find out everything she could about the power that had somehow come into her possession – and she would find a way to make it out of this mess alive.
There's always more than two options, dumbass.
A wry smile danced on her lips. Levi had been right, of course. There were always more than two options, and what Itachi and Slayte would not give her, one because he outright refused and the other, possibly because she was not able, she would take for herself. She was just a helpless human, wasn't she? All the better to use that to her advantage and strike – somehow – where they least expected it.
This power was hers, after all. And if she could only learn more about it, if she could properly claim it, somehow, perhaps she could shift the tides.
A warm, ruby-ringed hand came to rest on her shoulder and Elissa started in surprise. Had she been that distracted? Or had he simply materialized out of the shadows without entering through the chamber door? Her eyes lifted to meet Itachi's sharingan in the mirror, crimson and brilliant and deadly – though laced through with a gentle affection for her – an affection she could not fathom. Those devastating eyes met hers in the mirror, alighting on the jewels in her hair - pausing at the precious earrings that had replaced his own - before journeying down the rest of her form with an unreadable expression. With an intensity that had her breath catching in her throat.
How could a being thousands of years old be so taken with her? She was no one special – and as the god of death, he had known every single human being to walk the earth these last millennia. Elissa wasn't naïve enough to believe that she, alone, was the only woman born in thousands of years unique enough to catch his eye – for all she wanted to. For all a part of her wished his affection were sincere, wished to believe that he truly desired her – another part outright refused to accept it. It made no sense.
Just as a part of her trusted him wholly, leaned into his touch, and another sent sparks of alarm up her spine – reminding her coldly of the weeks she had spent sobbing in front of Evangeline's grave. Reminding her that death did what it needed to and damned the consequences.
"Itachi," she breathed, her lids fluttering half-closed as the tension seemed to go out of every bone in her body. There was that effect he always had on her. Was it because he was so devastatingly beautiful? Because her heart pounded so thunderously in her chest at his proximity? Or was that her soul weakening in death's presence, robbing the strength from her legs?
Banishing the useless ruminations, she turned to face him, lifting brilliant hazel eyes up to his. "Is it time?"
He nodded, concern etched in his hauntingly lovely features. "Are you well?"
Well enough, he was asking. Well enough to face the entirety of the mythical underworld and among them those anonymous, leering faces that sought to kill her and rob her of something she had not even known she possessed.
Elissa snorted, despite herself, at the impossible question and shook her head. "As well as can be expected, I guess." With a deep breath, she added, "Time to face the music."
There was something of a warrior in her expression, Itachi thought. Something of a muse. And something of an illusion that drew one in to trap you in its depths.
For all she claimed he was withholding information, he wondered if he, too, sometimes failed to glimpse beneath the surface of her demeanor and see what she was hiding close to her chest. Or was he overthinking it? Perhaps she was simply the beautiful, kind, and fearless maiden he had come to know and nothing more.
He held out a hand towards her and Elissa hesitated a moment before taking it, that now familiar rush of cold racing up the bones of her arm as she did so. Her soul always seemed to scream at her in his presence, begging her to get to safety. To save her life.
That was just because of what he was, not who he was, she reminded herself and set her jaw as the two of them left the chamber.
Of all the wonder she had glimpsed since coming to the underworld, when those gargantuan, heavy, golden double doors opened before her she was taken anew by the magnificence that was to be found everywhere in this realm, struck absolutely breathless at the opulence that was the grand throne room. From the gleaming, black marble that lined the chamber from the vaulted ceiling to the shining floor, where the tiles were inlaid with fanciful, golden geometric designs, to the brilliant chandeliers that hung throughout the chamber, casting their radiant rays on the assembly.
Elissa briefly glanced around the long walkway that led up to a raised, black marble dais. The way up to the dais was cushioned by a long, luxurious cobalt blue runner, edged with gold, and on either side of that carpet, a crowd had gathered – far beyond the number that she had thought to expect. Oh boy, Elissa thought to herself, as she saw the crowd that had gathered for her introduction to court. Gods and goddesses of varying standing stood elbow to elbow, some on tiptoe, to get a glimpse at her in unabashed curiosity.
Gold, silver, and rubies. Velvet, silk, and chiffon. Luxury and disdain met Elissa's eye wherever she glanced. The congregation itself was opulence poured into a mold of arrogance, cast by whatever being she would find upon that awful throne. A hushed silence had fallen over the room, interrupted only by the whispers that were hidden behind folding fans – although the words were garbled, the intent behind the tittering whispers was not lost on Elissa's ears.
So, they had come to gawk and gape and belittle her, Elissa told herself, straightening as she did so. She had gone to high school – this would just be more of the same. She disregarded them with a raised chin. Whoever wanted to kill her could be among them, she knew, but she would not present herself as an easy target.
Itachi led her down the walkway, her hand still resting in the crook of his arm. She chanced a glance at him – only to find that his expression had gone hard and cold, an impenetrable stone wall the gathering could not peer beyond. She took that as her sign to do the same.
They drew to a stop at the gleaming black, marble dais where three thrones were to be found. The first two on a platform above a flight of four steps, sat empty. Seven steps higher, another platform was raised, this one singular and more imposing, the seat of power raised above all present.
Elissa stopped her wandering gaze abruptly. No looking at the Hitler of doomsville, Elissa, she reminded herself as she lowered her gaze.
Itachi dropped smoothly to one knee, and she clumsily followed suit, not having fully mastered the curtsy she had practiced with Pasithea yet.
"My Lord."
When Itachi spoke, it was with such deference that it made Elissa feel a little ill. She had never known the proud deity to lower his head before anyone. And this was not a statement of true respect, she realized, but one of demonstrative submission – driven by necessity.
For all the wonder of the Underworld, they seemed to lack any sense of freedom or independence, bending under the yoke of some tyrant. Of all the words that came to mind to describe their social structure, old-fashioned was the only one fit for polite company. She had always been bad at respecting people she didn't think deserved it – and she hoped she would be able to rein in her tongue as Shisui, Pasithea, and Itachi had advised her – repeatedly.
She didn't raise her head and her legs began to ache as she held the unnatural position, but as Itachi waited, still, so, too, did she.
After what had felt like an eternity, a booming voice rang throughout the throne room.
"Rise, Thanatos," and a moment later, almost as an afterthought, "and your plaything as well."
Elissa's face burned at the open insult, but Itachi only rose to his feet – not responding to the comment. Elissa followed suit, with considerably more grace than she had going down – as was usually the case when her pride had been attacked.
"So, this is the waif that caught the eye we had so long considered blind to the wiles of womenfolk?"
The voice resonated within her, dark and foreboding. There was a heaviness to it that seemed to barrel against the stark walls of the throne room and echo back to her forcefully.
She frowned. It was somehow familiar.
Polite laughter erupted around them, and Elissa's expression blanked, a neutral slate. She could figure out how to play this game on the fly, but there was no point in giving away her cards from the onset.
She glimpsed a small gathering at the foot of the steps leading up to the throne. A man, a woman, and what seemed to be a young teenager.The familial resemblance was striking, and Elissa knew without a shadow of a doubt that this must be the family Itachi had spoken of. His stern father stood taller than the rest, the smooth planes of his forehead marred only by his furrowed brow of concern - if not disapproval outright. Deep lines along his jaw suggested the weight of centuries of responsibility weighed even on an immortal being, and the dark shade of his hair reminded her of Itachi's. The God of Shadows, she knew, Erebus.
The woman beside him wore an expression of aloof disregard, her beautiful countenance marred by that haughty, unfeeling demeanor. This was Nyx, Elissa noted with vague alarm. The Goddess who had given Slayte so much grief. Elissa's protective nature flared. In such a hierarchically structured society, she could begin to piece together how Slayte must have been treated.
At the same time, however, Elissa picked up on an odd vibe from her, she seemed to be brimming with eager energy as if she were about to lift right up into the air but was doing her best to conceal it.
Beside the godly husband and wife stood a young man who was scowling at his brother, unabashed. Hades, she knew, the protagonist of her novel.
Well, this is embarrassing, she thought to herself.
He was beautiful in a different way from Itachi. Where Itachi was all mysterious, elusive beauty and dark, tempting, ruin – this boy was more like his mother. Softer features, blue-black hair, and a petulant demeanor. At her scrutiny, his gaze shifted to her and as those onyx eyes met hers, his scowl deepened.
Elissa could not help but like him.
He seemed to be the only one with an honest expression in the entire chamber. Almost as if he were immune to all the politics around him. As if he had not learned to be artful and deceitful. She could understand why Itachi was so taken with him.
Her musings were interrupted as Itachi suddenly spoke up beside her. His smooth baritone settling over the assembly, reducing the hushed whispers to stillness.
"I present my betrothed, Angelissa Caelum, to the assembled court," Itachi said, his voice deceptively soft – but with an undercurrent of danger, as if daring anyone present to voice protest. The unspoken threat settled over the assembly, and the silence weighed heavy on them, none daring to be the one to take up the challenge.
Elissa felt warmth rush to her face to hear her name thus spoken before all the nobility gathered. She hadn't sufficiently prepared her heart for the effect it would have on her, it seemed.
"Yes," the despot King drawled with an air of boredom. "We've heard."
"You. Chit." His voice did that damned thing again as if it were penetrating through her very being. She didn't like it.
"Look upon your king, wretched mortal."
It took her a moment to realize he was speaking to her. Was he telling her to meet his eyes? Hadn't Pasithea strictly instructed her otherwise?
Deciding it couldn't be a faux pas if that was what he expressly commanded, she straightened her back and lifted her chin.
The god seated on that throne was a vision of absolute, devastating power. His long hair framed his form as if held aloft by a constant outflux of sheer energy. He lounged on his throne, bored for all appearances, but every inch of his body was lined with a thinly-veiled hunter's drive, ready to spring into action.
As terrifying as he was, it was his eyes that cast an arrow of fear directly into her heart. Although they were alight with cruel humor, as if daring someone to defy him, beneath that glimmer of mirth, she recognized, lurked a darker being still. One eager to mete out punishment, as if plagued with an infernal boredom. As if peace were his mortal enemy. It was as if he hungered, eternally, for death and destruction. For carnage. To be the one burying his hands into it. To rule over ashes and entrails.
She could not control the shiver that went down her spine, despite herself.
"Afraid, human?" again, that cruel mirth laced his words like velveteen poison as a sadistic smirk curved those awful, proud lips.
Elissa shook her head, like hell she was about to admit fear to this pompous elephant of a god. "I believe there is a draft," she said in an attempt at Slayte-speak before adding as an afterthought, "my Lord."
The humor was gone from his expression and the gathering had gone deathly quiet, the silence hanging ominously for a beat – then two – before he answered, "Indeed."
Elissa thought she could sense that Itachi had gone very still beside her.
The odious god drummed his claw-ringed fingertips against the onyx armrest of his throne. She was trying his patience, she realized. Well, that was quick. He didn't seem to have a lot of it.
"Do tell, meager mortal, how came you to ensnare our Prince Thanatos?"
Was the "Prince" added on for her benefit? To remind her of her lowly station?
She glanced at Itachi, then, before deciding – to hell with it – and answering, her writer's brain smoothly translating what she wanted to say into more archaic language. "I was not the one responsible for the 'ensnaring' – my Lord." That epithet was going to take some getting used to.
The drumming continued, if this was a job interview she was definitely not getting a call back.
"And do you imagine yourself to be worthy of my heir-apparent?"
Elissa's eyes sought Itachi out again, but no help came from that quarter. His expression was carefully neutral, as if carved from stone, although she spied tension in the muscle at his jaw, as if he were internally imploring her to consider her words carefully.
But this question was not a difficult one.
"I do not," she answered honestly, returning her gaze to the underworld's ruler.
"Hmph," he seemed somewhat satisfied, at least. "And you are aware he is duty bound to reap the souls of your kin – and your own when the time comes?"
"I am aware," she agreed somberly.
Another moment passed in which he regarded her with scathing disdain, as if he had been forced to entertain some childish farce that was far beneath him.
"You appear to be no more than twenty suns of age." His devouring gaze ventured over her form, making her feel as if she had been submerged in leeches. "What do you hope for, human? To spend a paltry fifty more with someone you could never equal?" There was a malicious smirk on his face again, as if he were baiting her. As if this conversation had very little to do with Itachi, and everything to do with herself - although she couldn't imagine why that would be.
She took a deep breath, that traitorous warmth rising to her face again, hating that she was about to say something in front of all these people that she had yet to say in private.
"If he would have me, my Lord."
He regarded her coolly a moment longer. "You insult my very kingdom with your presence," he sneered. "But as our esteemed Thanatos is intent on keeping your company, I will allow it. That is a custom among you mortals as well, is it not?"
Elissa only held his gaze warily, not quite catching his meaning.
"You, too, allow your kin to take in mice or other such vermin when they are exceedingly taken with them?"
The humiliation of the barbed insult had her spine stiffening and Elissa burned with the need to return it in kind. But she reminded herself of her family, of Slayte and Levi, of everyone whose lives hung in the balance – and summoned a restraint she did not know she possessed.
"Yes, we are capable of compassion towards all creatures. It is one of our finer traits." She met the deity's eyes with her own cool gaze, before adding on slowly, with just the tracest hint of sarcasm, "My Lord."
A deathly silence hung in the air, and Elissa knew with certainty now that she was going to get in trouble with her friends the minute they left this chamber.
Cronus' eyes glittered with malice – and something else she could not quite place. "Is it this compassion," he uttered the word as if it were something vile, "that has made you grow fond of your truest enemy? Or is that simply the notorious folly you mortals are known for?"
Elissa hesitated a moment, then, considering the question and weighing her words. "Death is not our enemy."
He laughed; cold and booming and sadistic, "No? What is, then?"
She was overstepping her bounds, she knew it. Toeing the line between death and – well, a more painful death because there was no victory to be had in this banter. But she simply could not back down. Not when everyone else bowed so blindly to someone who all but radiated bloodlust and cruelty.
"Injustice, my Lord, is the common enemy of all living things."
There was yet another moment's silence as her response met with the crowd's approval and Cronus, frowning, seemed to realize he did not want to give her any further opportunities to speak.
"You bore me, wretch," his eyelids lowered, as if to prove that statement.
"Very well, Thanatos. Your intended may remain here for the remainder of her meager existence, until such a time as you are called upon to claim her paltry soul. See to it that she remains out of sight," his gaze drifted back towards Elissa and it took more strength than she had expected to hold his gaze. Something told her that backing down at that moment would do more harm than good. "and silent," the deity added on, lethal emphasis on the final word, as if he had tolerated her rambling more than was reasonable or to be expected, and there would be no further such lenience.
Itachi lowered his head in gratitude and Elissa followed suit. Although she thought the conversation had consisted of nothing but insult after insult hurtled at her, applause suddenly lifted from the assembly and after a moment's confusion she realized the reason behind it. For all the patriarch had tested and tormented her, his half-hearted agreement had cemented her official initiation into the Uchiha clan.
She was now one of them – in a way.
Itachi's official betrothed.
And although Pasithea had warned her against it and told her it was frowned upon, she felt butterflies take flight in her stomach as warmth enfolded the hand at her side. She didn't need to look down to know Itachi's warm, strong hand had taken hold of hers.
The moon rose high in the night sky as Levi made his way through the streets and alleyways leading to the hideout Levi had shown to Slayte so many nights prior. He had thought, with certainty, then, that it would be the last time he would set foot in that ramshackle building.
He had been wrong.
Levi's black combat boots padded noiselessly against the cobblestone road, already in his element. He wore loose, black cargo pants, the various pockets stocked with whatever he might need for the task ahead, and a skintight, black t-shirt that molded to his form. A holster was equipped at his shoulders, armed with various throwing knives, and a dagger was concealed in his right boot - for the case he should be otherwise disarmed and caught in close combat.
The thrill of the hunt hummed in his veins already and he willed it away with a scowl. His engagement ring hung from his neck on a chain, beneath his t-shirt and against his skin, and the taste of Slayte's kiss still lingered on his lips.
She had stood on tiptoe, as he left, to press a bold kiss to his mouth, entreating him to come back "whole and soon", but as she turned away, he had drawn her back in, fingers buried in her dark hair, not having had nearly enough of her to last him the night.
He hadn't let her go until her eyelids drooped and she swayed on her feet. Then he broke away, leaving her to catch her breath, and disappeared into the night.
He needed to remember Slayte.
Needed to remember her so as not to lose himself, when the heat of battle consumed him, when all that remained was kill or be killed. When the thrill of the fight rushed to his head and murder was nothing but a dance he had mastered as a child, he needed to remember the tears in her soulful eyes and tame the beast within.
He lifted his gaze to the full moon glowing on the horizon and frowned. There were always psychos up to no good on the night of a full moon - just ask hospital staff and law enforcement - and Levi had no doubt that more than a few of those psychos would be on the streets tonight, either as his opponents - or his allies.
He climbed the dilapidated steps to the old hideout, remembering how he had led Slayte up these steps, introducing her to a time he had thought long passed. Here he was, he mused with a frown, marching right back into that madness. But it would just be the one time, he reminded himself, just this one favor to even the score - and he would never pick up a knife again.
When had he told himself that before?
As he stepped through the cracked and crumbling wall, reaching blindly - but knowingly - for the door that led to the main room where Kenny and his allies were likely waiting, his lips thinned into a firm line. Just the one time, he reminded himself.
"Well," a voice, coarse and scratchy from a lifetime of tobacco abuse, drawled. "Look who decided to show up."
Levi lifted his quicksilver gaze to the group of men gathered before him. They were perched on boxes, spread out on the concrete, leaning against the walls. Their filth pervaded the space where he had loved her, the place they had made promises to one another, and his ring burned against his chest within his shirt.
He lifted his stormy gaze to the man standing in the center of the fifty or so men. His scraggly beard, and deep-set silver eyes beneath the brim of his garish cowboy hat were ever familiar, as much as Levi pretended otherwise.
Levi met Kenny's eye with an expression that revealed nothing of his inner turmoil, the many knives strapped to his body weighing heavily against him. His angular features and mirrored irises were as smooth as an undisturbed midnight lake - unfeeling and cold as he spoke.
"Let's get this over with."