The Darkest Seduction (Lords of the Underworld #9)(68)
Author: Gena Showalter

He inclined his head ever so slightly as he accepted her appreciation. “And that’s not the only gift I come bearing. I have what you need.” A clear vial filled with glittering violet liquid followed the same path as the rose. “My apologies for the tardiness in its delivery.”

His apologies? Seriously? “Don’t worry about it?” A question when it should have been a statement.

Cronus cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. “Drink.”

Because she had no desire to confess that she’d already been fed, she took a small sip of what she now knew was ambrosia. What she didn’t know was why she needed ambrosia, or why Paris had looked ill when he’d handed her that flask.

Cool coconut flowed down her throat, sprouted wings and flew through her entire body. And wow, it packed a powerful punch. Both strength and weakness blazed through her, cannibalizing off each other and leaving her in a fog.

“That’s a good slave girl,” he mumbled.

I love being patronized, I really do. “Why are you being so nice to me?” she asked, swaying as she returned the vial to him.

He waved his hand and the glass disappeared. “I must show you something,” he said, and with another wave of his hand, her surroundings fell away. From warm to cold, dark to light.

From salvation to damnation.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

SUDDENLY SIENNA WAS STANDING inside an unfamiliar chamber with white walls that stretched so high she could barely discern the domed ceiling above. Portraits hung everywhere. There was no furniture, just marble columns that boasted the occasional string of ivy, and stands that held sculptures and other crafted artifacts.

To stop herself from screaming from the mental calamity of the location switch, she bit her tongue until she tasted blood.

“This,” Cronus said, splaying his arms and slowly pivoting, “is the Chamber of Futures.” There was a reverent quality to his voice, one she’d never before heard from him. “Here, destiny takes shape and endless possibilities await, for this is where my All-Seeing Eye records her visions.”

“All-Seeing Eye?” She was still so disoriented that it was nearly impossible to get the words out.

“A female who sees into heaven and hell, time and space, present, past and future.” Every syllable held a new layer of urgency. “When one dies, another takes her place. Over the centuries, many have served me. There are no limits to how far back or how far forward these women can view. No limits to how high or low their scope.”

To have such a power would be both a blessing and a curse, she thought.

“Everything you see here was created by my Eyes.”

Sienna tucked the rose behind her ear, forgetting about his weird mood as she tripped her way to the nearest portrait. In it, an older, frailer version of Cronus stared back at her. He had gray hair, wrinkled skin, and wore a long white robe. This was the god she’d first met. Only this one was dirty, bruised and trapped in a cage.

“I have learned that everyone has several different futures, and the choices they make ultimately decide which road they will travel. Come,” he added without a breath, taking her by the forearm and ushering her through the long, seemingly endless expanse of the room. “There is something you must see.”

With every step she took, the portraits rearranged themselves, gliding over the wall, changing places with fluid grace. She didn’t try to pull away from him. Dizziness held her in thrall, and she needed the anchor of his hand to keep her upright.

“These Eyes, they do not always understand what they see, for they cannot determine the context of the actions they record. They do not know if they see past or future, how to stop something or how to make it come to pass.”

“And so you have to guess,” she finished for him.

“Correct.” He stopped, and so did the movement of the portraits.

In the frame now in front of her, warriors fought to the death in every direction. Not just any warriors, but familiar faces. There was Galen, his white wings outstretched, his long, bloody sword raised. Before him was Cronus, with a thin line of blood connecting one ear to another—his head about to slide from his neck.

Sienna’s heartbeat quickened as she took in the rest. There was Paris, off to the side, watching what happened to Cronus with wide, shocked eyes. Blood caked him. His mouth was open, as if he were shouting something.

“This is one of the futures that await me,” the king said. “Long ago, my first Eye warned me that a warrior with wings of white would someday slay me. I assumed it would be an angel, only to later realize there were other warriors, like the Lords of the Underworld, who were equally capable of doing so. And then my newest Eye painted this.”

“Why didn’t you kill all the Lords, then?” Sienna asked. She knew he’d already considered that route. A being like him wouldn’t have been able to help himself. “Just to be safe.”

He moved two steps forward. Again the pictures danced into new locations. “The reason is here.” He stopped, as did the pictures. “Look.”

Frowning, Sienna obeyed. In this one, a young Cronus sat on a throne of solid gold, the Lords of the Underworld lined up behind him, expressions reverent and stances determined. They were clearly protecting him, guarding him with their very lives. So badly she wanted to reach out and trace her fingertips over Paris’s lips. How beautiful he was. How strong.

“This is my real future,” Cronus said. “Or rather, the one possibility I must ensure comes to pass.”

“How?”

“The answer lies in the two warriors missing from this army.”

She gulped, studied every face. “Galen is missing. And…no one else.”

“Do you see the keeper of Wrath?”

“Of course. Aeron is right—”

“I do not speak of Aeron. He is no longer the demon’s keeper.”

“Me?” she squeaked.

“Yes. You are the key to this future, Sienna.”

Disbelief thrummed through her. “I don’t understand.” The angel had mentioned she would get her answers—and that she shouldn’t trust what she heard. Seemed like an eternity had passed since he’d issued the warning. She wasn’t sure what to believe, what to discard. “How am I the key?”

“Look closely at the bottom.”

She leaned over, gaze homing in on the portrait’s lower edge. Surrounded by a crowd of onlookers was a woman. Her profile was to Sienna, her skin freckled, her nose and cheeks and chin— Her eyes widened. Hers. Those features were hers. The woman’s hair was brown and wavy, just like hers, and black wings stretched from her robe. She stood beside a kneeling man who had his arms wrapped around her calves, holding on as if she were precious to him.