Winds of Fate [Books I-III]

Chapter Eighty-Six: Reaping

March 1720, Present Day
The Queen of Sparta

White roses and sprigs of lavenders burgeon from the intricate carvings of the wardrobe, stretching out their vines and thorny stems in a webbed fashion. Eleanore cocks her head to the side, a palm raised to stop her creation from devouring the elaborate woodwork.

"Lovely decoration."

"I have yet to command well without threats to my life." Eleanore sighs. "Or to the ones I love."

"Mortals." Luca shakes his head. "Enjoying your free will, but ruled by a feeble heart!"

"Are you done judging mankind?"

The God of the Night walks over and touches a white rose. The petals curl into itself, silky white turning to cracked, crisp brown. Eleanore gasps in horror and frowns.

Luca snorts, turning away. "Revive it."

"What the fu-"

"Give life to the flower, Eleanore. I am waiting." He sits down on the settee. "Hurry, your captain is coming."

She wags a fist at him and takes a deep breath. Start with your intention. His soft reminder this evening drifts once more. She sifts through her soul, and a buried dream comes to fore.

Give life.

Nena.

Baby, I would have named you after your abuela and grandmama. She smiles, at the child that would never be. Your Papa would have called you Elena foremost... Oh, I know. He is the sweetest man. 

She sighs. Eleanore wraps all the tenderness in her heart. A thread of light answers within, surging through her veins, under her arm. With a soft breath, she eases the power to her fingertip, and touches the dried flower.

The petals unfurl at her touch, iridescent white chasing the curse of death away. The white rose blooms as if it had just awoken, petals plump and shining, with a sweet smell swirling to her nose. She retracts her hand and smiles at her handiwork.

"Hm."

She raises a brow and turns around. Luca remains in his seat, but Anton is oblivious, standing by the desk with arms crossed. The Aztec God had been enjoying intruding in her cabin, and sometimes she dreads what else he has been intruding in. Eleanore stares at them both, resisting the urge to smack them together.

Anton raises both brows, a knuckle under his chin. The past days, if he wasn't chasing tiny shadow figures back in the obsidian mirror, he was dealing with tons of pink sparkle on their bed during quick trysts. Eleanore sighs at his face. A man could only take so much madness, she knows. So she smiles up at him and owns her new mistake. "Do you like it?"

He glances sideways, refusing to take a step nearer. Oh, he learned.

"You made a garden?"

She shrugs.

"And our clothes?"

Eleanore swings the door and regrets it. Bushels of flowers spill over her feet, tumbling down the floor. She gawks. The sweet, sweet scent of a fresh garden fills the air.

Anton appears beside her, kicking blossoms with his boots.

"Hey! Stop that!"

"What if they become tiny monsters?"

"My magic doesn't summon monsters all the time you know!"

"Of course, tesoro." He smirks and rubs the back of his neck. "Let's clean up later."