My feet scramble underneath me. I can't hear Thelios, can't see anything. I collide with something soft and warm. My arms close around Poppy instinctively. A hand slips into my own. My mother.

"Pari!" she says, panicked.

"Father, what is happening?" I whisper.

Run Mara

Run daughter

Let the spirits guide you

I listen to my father blindly, rushing along corridors as the Fourth House shadow warriors push and pull me this way and that. I can hear the screams of fear, shouts of males, the clank of iron against iron.

I run.

"Mama?" Poppy is crying, her breath short as she sobs into my neck. I clench my mother's hand in mine, hard enough to grind her bones together. But, I don't stop running.

We emerge into the sunlight. I hear shouts and cries of little children from the school as we twist along a path behind the low building. The dirt is hard-packed, uneven. Twice my mother stumbles, tripping over rocks and roots. I haul her back to her feet, moving forward. Brambles stick to our clothes, our hair. My arm holding Poppy is aching, but I just clench her tighter. Her little arms, wrapped around my neck, are choking me. My breath is ragged.

Don't panic

Find your shadow warriors

It's harder to see them in the light. I am racing down the path, not sure where I am going.

In there

We reach a dark building that I recognize. A hysterical laugh bubbles up in my throat. My shadows, and most likely my father, have led us into the mourning rooms. The rooms that the inhabitants of Love use when one of their own dies, before the body is transported to the Death temple.

I can remember sitting in here for hours, days maybe, after my father died when I was only Poppy's age. Even then, something about this place was peaceful.

We rush inside the empty space. The feeling of Love, of the goddess, is lessened in this space. Panting for breath, we stop running. My side hurts and Poppy is slippery from the sheen of sweat dotting my skin. We still need to escape, but my shadows are still, waiting in the silence.

"Why did you trust this House?" my mother's words are like a stake to the heart.

"What do you mean?" I ask her, pulling away from her, dropping her hand.

Her eyes shimmer with tears. "My sweet daughter. Love is not a benevolent goddess. She has taken so much from us. Your father..." she swallows, "you must take your baby and leave. I will get your male and he will meet you at the Wisteria tree in the south garden, near the gates, alright?"

I shudder a little. The tree where Thane and I would meet? No, I can't go there. I open my mouth to deny her, or ask her a question, or protest, something, when we are interrupted.

"You must leave at once, Lady Grief," the elder priest walks into the building on shaking legs, blood dribbling from his lips.

Treachery to her own

My father hisses.

"Egar! What is happening?" My mother cries out, kneeling next to him as he slumps to the floor. I kneel next to him on his other side, knowing that he is nearly dead, just moments in his life here left.

"They have taken your husband, Lady. The First House. I... my heart is pounding... too hard... too hard." I grab his hands with mine and he squeezes, "don't trust your love, child."

He gasps again. "I am afraid."

"Don't be afraid," I whisper. "You will find your walk easy."

He offers me a smile before his head lolls, lax in death.

Standing, shaking, with Poppy still stunned into silence in my arms, I look at my mother.

"Come with me."

She nods, just as the doors are battered in. It happens in an instant, her body bows and red liquid splatters, showering me in her blood.

"Mama!" I scream, paralyzed at the sight of the blade sliding back out of her chest.

Warriors pour through the door. The First House. I feel my father's rage, but I am numb. My shadows are fighting, warriors being attacked by unseen hands are flung to the side.

"Mama!" Poppy cries as one of the First House warriors reaches out to grab her from my arms.

"Poppy!" I scream, holding her with one hand as my body is jerked forward by the male. I reach for the blades dangling around my neck as if in a trance. Sobbing, I slash at his hands, holding my daughter.

He wails, throwing his head back and shouting his pain as his howls of agony mix with the bay of his wolf.

I cut his animal spirit. Just like Tafia...

The other warriors fall back. There are only a few of them, I see now that I am thinking clearly again. But, I know that the wails of the wolven warrior will draw more soldiers here.

I hold Poppy tight to me as I race to the rear of the building I'm in. Here, the coffins are laid out, ready to receive the bodies of the dead.

Viciously, I pray to my father that many, many of the coffins are used by the Fifth House after today. I hope my father burns this temple to ash.

Stone is stone daughter

"Not the time for a cryptic lesson," I whisper to him.

It is a simple lesson

Go to the wall

There is a door

I find the small, red door and exit, feeling my feet falter just a bit. I am in the First District. I can feel it.

Step softly daughter

Momo creeps out from under the eaves of a house, his head swiveling to and fro. I am eternally grateful to see his face. I am even more confused and heartsick about why they didn't come into the Fifth district. Why?

Why did I keep going when they stopped? Why did my mother die?

Where is Thelios?

Where is my male?

Pay attention

I snap back to the here and now. Mishu is skulking around the corner. In his arms is a soft green robe with a bright yellow sash.

He hands it to me and I freeze. Saffron yellow, the color of prostitutes.

I look down at my once-fine grey skirts. They are torn, covered in blood and filth. I throw the green robes on over top of me, wrapping Poppy underneath. I use the yellow sash to tie her to me as a sling. We are misshapen, a good thing, I think. No male will approach a disfigured prostitute.

"Thank you, Mishu."

He coos, ears drooping sadly. He crawls over to the corner of the building we are huddled inside of. We have to cross the city to reach home.

I take the first steps onto the busier city street. My route home will have to be circuitous. First, I'll head toward the Fourth District, away from the Fifth. Then, I'll make my way south, to the Mother, then finally home.

The streets are alive with noise. The First House has invaded the temple of Love. Every shifter will speculate that the war is between the First House and the Fifth House. I know the truth, it is my father who is at war. It remains to be seen who is on our side.

I start walking, slowly, unhurried. It's not hard, my legs are weak and trembling. My soul is heavy. Every step I take is taking me farther and farther away from my new husband.

He is a warrior

You must save my granddaughter

I know, father. I know. But, even the god sounds sad.

---

"Thane?" The soft feminine voice trickles slowly into my consciousness. I frown, feeling heavy.

Fuck, I'm wounded. I wrack my memories of what demon managed to get to me, but there is nothing but blankness in my head. I can only remember fighting some Barok demons, little shits they are, then... nothing.

"Can you hear me, my love?" a gentle, soft hand strokes my forehead.

I take a deep breath, assessing my condition. My back is the worst of it. Gods, it feels like my wings have been sawn off. My left thigh feels pulverized, barely any feeling left going down to my toes.

My arms are good, head seems fine, if a little wooly. There is a foul taste in my mouth. I have been drugged.

"Thane?" the soft hands strokes me again. I bite back my growl. I know I need to force my eyes to open, to see who this unknown female is who is calling me by the wrong name and acting so familiarly with my body.

I blink, twice, trying to focus my gaze.

Dark brown hair, pretty blue eyes. She's a sexy female. She smiles with relief, a cute little dimple on her right cheek. "Thane!"

I don't smile back. I don't like being called by a different name. I open my mouth to snap at the pretty female, to tell her to call me my own name, but all I can manage is a groan.

"Be at ease, my love. You're home now, you're safe," she soothes me.

I manage to growl this time. What home? I belong in the pits of the Underworld. The closest thing I have ever had to a home was the nest of a pit viper.

"Easy, sweetheart, let me call the nurse for you."

I growl again. I don't need a nurse. I'm not some pathetic wimp of a male. My eyes drift close and I can't open them again.

"Thelios," the goddess of love purrs at me.

"Where the fuck am I?" I ask her harshly. I'm terrified that she has me penned up in some palace in the realm of the gods. Her viscious warrior-sex slave, ready and waiting to be mounted.

"In the above realm," she says breathlessly.

I flash fang, weakly. I've never been allowed in the land of the living. I died and must stay in the Underworld like everyone else.

"Don't lie to me," I snap.

"Don't take that tone of voice with me," she snarls back.

I force my raging demon deep under the ice in my heart, where it belongs. It simmers and fights, my demon, before succumbing to the cold that has followed us to wherever we are.

"I am not lying," Love sniffs. "You are in the First House, in Tmari. You are in the city, Thelios."

I ask the burning question, "why?" My demon and I wait for the response. Love is a dangerous bitch when she doesn't get her way and the King of the Underworld, Lord Death, Nateos, has been thwarting her efforts to bring me here for my entire existence.

I was angry with the god Death for years until I realized just how duplicitous Love is. She doesn't truly care for me. I'm just her prize.

"We can finally be together. You brother is dead. You are here in his place. His family doesn't know that you aren't Thane."

Ice trickles in, those hard crystals dangling like icicles on my soul. This crazy bitch took my wings. That was the difference between my brother and I; the reason for why I was tossed into the sand as a newborn. I didn't give a fuck that my wings can't be hidden. They're useful... and now they're gone.

"What am I supposed to do?" I snarl at her. My brother... Thane... the other female had been calling me by my brother's name.

"Live," she breathes happily. "Enjoy your life."

"With my bonded?" I ask sarcastically. The female who was here, she must be Thane's Fated. "With my brother's Fated wife?"

"Just pretend with her," Love laughs, "she's just a pawn, a foolish twit. Easy to manipulate, weak-minded. An easy conquest for you, my warrior."

I have had so many lovers, most of them sent by this goddess to seduce me. I treat it like everything else, fuck them as if I'm in battle. Don't anger the goddess by spurning her 'gifts.' My demon hisses. We don't like being used.

This is different. I am effectively her prisoner until I can break free from her, from this place. If I have to pretend for a while to be my brother then so be it.

My heart is solid. Like someone reached in and took the beating organ out and replaced it with a chunk of fist-sized hail.

---

"How is everything going, Captain?" Lier settles down next to me.

"They are learning rapidly, we are working smoothly as a unit. Everything is fabulous," I tell him shortly.

The chuckle grates over my raw nerves. "You sound frustrated, Thane."

"I am." I leave it at that.

"Oh? Too many nightmares?" he prods.

I repress the shudder that courses through my body. Bastard. He knows that I can barely sleep. Every time I close my eyes I hear Love whispering threats to me.

"Haven't seen our old friend in awhile," Lier says.

"Something is wrong," I tell him.

He just looks at me.

"I can feel it. His rage, his fear. Something is wrong with the god."

"Then we best be ready," he replies.

I nod. I can feel the anticipation in the air. All of our jokes and banter ceased days ago. The Basru, the demon guard of the Underworld, is on edge.

"Back to work," I tell him. We both stand, taking up swords.

The slow tapping of a cane on stone is the first sign that something is wrong with Patriarch Rimon. When he enters the cavern, we all stop sparring and turn to stare.

Slouched over, he is leaning on his cane heavily. His robes are disheveled, his hands and knees are trembling. Grey-faced, his hair is rough. He looks as though he has been through a battle and taken wounds, or sickened.

Which isn't possible in the Underworld. Holsten died a few days ago in a battle and came back, screaming in agony, just a few hours later. Our wounds heal in time, as if they never happened. No one gets sick in the Underworld. Unless... there is foul magic at play.

"Patriarch," I greet him with respect as he slumps into his customary stone bench.

"Captain," he says hoarsely.

We all wait as his eyes close, as he takes deep breaths, and steadies himself. Another thing that the Underworld has taught us all; patience.

"I have little power in the above," he says slowly.

"I am the god of this realm. Of the dead. Of the Underworld. Being amongst the living is... difficult."

He swallows as if his lips are parched. I nod to Rolle, who takes his canteen off of his hip and hands it over. All we consume down here is this drink. The wine of life.

The old male takes it gratefully. He sips it, then hands it back to the warrior.

"My heart is torn today," he says. "I am... my lover has been sent to this realm. I have been with her, helping her. Her sorrow..." he takes a deep breath. "Her worry over our daughter..." his voice breaks.

"Our daughter," he says, head bent.

His exhaustion is explained. If he has been trying to interfere in the above because of his daughter, than he must be worn thin. Even gods have their limits, their rules.

"Congratulations on your lover's return to your side," Lier says. Suck-up.

The old male waves a hand, dismissing his words. "Yes, yes, thank you, but my family is torn asunder. Better that my sweet Kalla had lived a moment longer."

"Magic is hard," he says. "The ways of the gods, millennia of games. Games," he snorts. "My daughter will be good at the games, she is such a smart little thing. If she studies," he amends.

He suddenly looks at me. I hold my position, my back straight, even against the blackest of eyes. "You are not unintelligent, Thane. Even with your past stupidity," he spits at me.

"Thank you," I say to him.

He glares, "but your brother is a weapon. A warrior down to his bones. You are slightly... only slightly mind, more of a planner, a thinker, than he is."

Anticipation crawls over my spine. My heart beats her name. Parijan.

No, she is Mara, now, I silently remind myself. And she is not yours, anymore. She is yours to protect, to love but not to touch, to cherish as her due as the daughter of-

"Her shield has been broken," the god says quietly.

A low thrum fills the cavern. Eight of us stand, ready, waiting, a solid wall of steel, of muscle and bone, of wing and claw, fur and teeth, scale and sword.

"You will go to her. You are the Basru," he says hoarsely. "You will serve your mistress, the Lady Grief, the princess of this realm, my daughter."

He stands, only slightly more steady.

"Go."

The male dissolves in front of our eyes, just like Love had days ago.

I turn to look into my warrior's eyes. Hard, feral, no mercy in any of their gazes. This place has driven out softness, weakness, fear. We have faced down the world's worst nightmares and won.

But there are worse things than giant spiders and worms.

"Gather everything. Prepare."

It doesn't take long. We walk towards the cavern opening, the barrier that has kept us here for so long. It stretches out as we walk silently through the dark cave. In the distance I can hear water dripping. Fur brushes against my side. Carnak. The wolven of us have shifted entirely into wolves. They move at the periphery of our group, their eyes just a little sharper, their vision longer. The rest of us are armoured with scales, fangs at the ready, claws swinging by our sides.

We can hear the Underworld before we can see it. A city of death, bustling quietly.

We walk out onto a field of softly muted grey grass. In the distance are more fields. Below us the Crone River stretches out, meandering sluggishly to a city.

It is Tmari, but not. There are no districts in this city of the dead. Everyone lives together, here. Seven gates ring the city, their spires of blackened bone stretching above all but the palace of dark, ink-black and blood-red stone.

"The City of Ersetu, the Palace of Irkalla, and the Seven Gates of the Basru, Prince Thane," a voice hisses from the darkness.

I turn to see a crouched, wizened little goblin of a male. "I am no Prince. I am the Basru Captain," I tell the creature. Idly I wonder how often I will have to correct my title. Prince? Not likely.

"Forgive me. You are one of the Princess's Fateds, yes? A Prince. But, I shall call you Captain."

Just as I'm wondering why this male has stopped us, he speaks again.

"The god forgot to tell you how to leave this place. Eager to get back to his love," the male smiles what I can only describe as a lovesick, sickening smile. "The graves of the Forgotten are doorways back and forth."

The goblin slides a look my way. "Most Forgotten graves are empty. Some few are still there. Caution is necessary. This way, this way."

We along the cliff face to a graveyard. I blink in astonishment. I know that there must be many surprises here, but this is unexpected. A lone cemetery, far outside of the Ersetu, hidden up here with the cliffs of monsters. The Forgotten.

Tombs, solid, square structures, are erected in no particular order. Some are etched into the cliff faces. Each has warnings, curses, carved above the doors.

He glances at us. "Each must choose their own."

I stiffen. I don't want to be separated from my warriors. We fight together.

"Those are oldest," he nods to the ones carved in the cliffs. "Most are empty."

He grins, "those are new." He rubs his hands together gleefully. I glance over and feel my own joy burn in my gut.

I turn back to my warriors. "Each of you choose a tomb, older, close together." All eight of us cautiously approach a doorway. We open them by the rusty, heavy iron handles, one by one. They are all empty.

"Go through. I will meet you on the other side."

I wait for all my warriors to be through, then turn, nearly tripping over the goblin. He is grinning, rubbing his hands together, practically vibrating with giddiness.