Winds of Fate [Books IV - VI]

Chapter 150: Without You (Part One)

The shadows begin to move with every step of the God of the Night in the mortal realm. Anton remains where he is, obsidian mirror in hand. It takes all his control not to pull out the family saber, but the God of the Night still sees the fear in him and simply raises one brow. "Tell me your petition, mortal," he simply says, "who dares hold my gift in his hands."

The captain glances down at the relic in his hands and grits his teeth. Being at the whim of deities never appealed to him. Granted, that is the truth, but he is all content living in ignorance of them...

Rather than meeting them face-to-face.

Finally, the god stands before him, in the guise of a man dressed in the blackest coat that seems to suck the light in the room. That dark hair fits above a waxy white face like a cowl. Those silver eyes focus on the captain. There is an emerald on the black collar about his neck, but his mouth appears to have a purple tinge on it as he parts his lips and whispers with a smirk, "Do you even know my name?"

Anton nods. "Tez—"

"Ah! Stop there." The God of the Night raises a forefinger. "You have no right to say it in entirety..."

Torkin glances fretfully at Anton.

But the God of the Night smiles.

"Conquistador."

Icy air swirls about Anton. His stomach coils as he vaguely remembers an ancestor... the one who went to Mexico with Hernan Cortés; the one who was responsible for Del Santo children being banned from sailing, ever again.

The war for Nueva España, formerly known as the Aztec Empire, was bloody, deceitful. One that turned against them too. It broke Don Tiburcio Del Santo's spirit—sent him back to Sevilla a hollow man haunted by ghosts. Family tales suggest the Aztecs cursed him, as many from that fleet that brought about the fall of Tenochtitlan were. Anton shivers and closes his eyes. Indeed. How dare he. He even said it himself. This is the god of a people his blood helped decimate, without mercy.

Now, he dares ask for their help.

Anton presses his lips together. The god gave him a most undeserved chance. There is only one right act he must do.

He drops on his knees, hands open... head bowed. Torkin squawks, surprised, and flees to settle on the desk—half-afraid. Anton takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. "I will not defend my blood. I know my family's sins, my kingdom's."

The God of the Night does not reply.

"I can only ask of you to forgive us," he softly says, "it took centuries, but now I am aware of these wrongs, and I shall right them."

"Do you now?"

"To the best of my abilities." Anton nods and soldiers on. "And I come here... not as a scion of the family I came from."

A cold breath sweeps the room as the God of the Night listens.

He lifts his eyes to the Darkness. "I come here for the family I have made," Anton says, not even knowing how he came up with the words, himself shivering at the conviction with which he uttered , "for my dearest wife."

"Wife?"

The God of the Night raises his brows. Anton holds his breath. Something isn't right with the tone of this god.

As if he is surprised and repulsed by the thought, all at once.

And it only stung Anton more when the God of the Night clarifies with a skeptical glance at his person, "You are married to Eleanore?"