Chương 37: Siabith's Squirt

She should have known her goddess would never make anything easy. With a yell, she dodged yet another fucking beast, this one a giant spider that jumped on its prey with a sticky net held between its many legs. She rolled out of the way and slammed her knife into the creature's abdomen, covered in gore as it screeched its fury in death. Exhausted, she staggered to her feet, wiping the blood from under her nose.

She'd taken a hit in the face earlier that had almost cracked the bone there, giving her a wicked nosebleed and a painful bruise. Still, it hadn't broken, so she counted her blessings as she delved deeper into the pits of the dungeon. Every dungeon was different. Many were, like this one, themed to a particular god or goddess, or a particularly strong spirit, or a well-known mythological figure.

Since this one was dedicated to the Hunt, it was filled with particularly nasty feybeasts on each level as she traveled down farther into the bowels of the dungeon. The beasts would renew every day, meaning if she didn't hurry, the ones she'd killed so far would respawn with the morning light. Though truthfully, that might be the point. Maybe having multiple floors of determined and deadly feybeasts would keep the Sia-bitch from reaching her. She could only hope.

Darting down a set of stairs, she stopped at the bottom, somewhat awed by what was there. An enormous cavern. A small flat rectangle of stones with an inscription sat at the base of the stairs, with another, matching platform with a pedestal and some kind of object on a dusty pillow, and the rest crystal clear, faintly glowing waters. The air was warm in here—humid, too, meaning the water was warm. The air didn't stifle her, meaning it wasn't so warm as to be oppressive, just comfortable.

A trap if she'd ever seen one. Carefully, she inched forward on the last step, not setting foot on the platform as she leaned over to read what she could of the inscription. It was ancient fey, something she was not as well versed in as she'd wanted to be. Between the distance, the angle, the fade of the letters, and her mediocre reading skills, she barely managed to parse the words.

"Something something gift of the Father… something entrust to death… ride the… wave? Or is that horse? Ride something to… to…" she scowled, leaning out just a bit farther.

"… to… command, yield and death will set free the… the… shit, does it want me to literally die?" She groaned, falling to sit on the steps and dropping her head in her hands, muttering to herself.

"What even am I doing? Am I supposed to clear the dungeon or just hide in it?" Wiping her hands down her face, she stared down at the riddle in ancient fey blankly.

"… wave or horse… ride and entrust to death who will set free the… moon? No, that's not right." She tried to remember the few stories she knew of the Hunt. She'd never been the most devout, not even after the Hunt saved her life. She prayed and made the sacrifices, but there hadn't exactly been a temple, so she had to rely on oral traditions Stalf knew to learn about the Hunt. The Father… the father of the Hunt was the Father to them all. The Father of the gods.

The Hunt had been born fully formed, shooting her own father with an arrow for attempting to keep her in her mother's womb. Having won her freedom, she'd taken dominion over the night and all the creatures that came with it, falling from the heavens into the world the Father had made, and in her wake sprang up forests and beasts, both the fey and normal varieties, to keep the balance of the world by preventing her father's creations from fully conquering the Wylds.

Her mother had woven the light of the moon into a cloak, her bow had created the stars… what else did she know? Reading over the inscription again, she mouthed out the words, "Gift of the Father…" again. Father was the sign for the Great Father, father of the gods and of the world. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. What gift had he given the Hunt? She couldn't remember. She had a bow and command over beasts… a hunting horn… a cloak… her hounds…

the stag… Squirt groaned. She had no idea what the Great Father had gifted the Hunt. Moving on, she tried to remember what role Death had played in the sparse histories and stories she knew, glaring down at the inscription in the vain hope it would speak to her and give her the answers she wanted. Staring at the dungeon door, Feldan became acutely aware of someone behind him. Someone he didn't know. He turned and almost fell back at the horrifying sight.

He was pretty sure it was an elf, but images of zombies sprang to his mind. He'd thought those were myths, but surely— Blood dripped from her open mouth, some of her teeth having fallen out, her eyes bloodshot and crazed and her lips ruined. Her eyes were like beautiful gems, her proportions ones he would have once loved to bury himself in, but each ragged breath she dragged in only made his discomfort grow. The mouth widened in a facsimile of a smile. A wild, savage look that belonged to a wraith, not a fey.

She leaned forward, more drool and blood dripping from her ruined lips when she tried to speak, her eyes not on him, but on the door. The blood drained from his face as she straightened, a look of triumph in her face, when her hand reached into a pouch and uncorked a healing potion, downing it. With a satisfied gasp, she dropped the glass vial and let it shatter at her feet, moaning out in pain. The skin around her mouth and throat bubbled, reforming into a beautiful woman that… That… Did nothing for him.

Gods, he really did have it bad for his goddess. Not even the slightest of stirring for the pale haired beauty before him. No. He was wrong. He did feel something stirring for her. It just wasn't lust.

Siabith smiled charmingly at the prince.

"That's better. My apologies for my state but I had to wait for the gray of dawn before taking a potion and…" she gave him a flirty once over, "I had not expected to meet a prince in these woods." He gave her a hard stare. Her smile faltered somewhat, her eyes narrowing. She tried again, wiping the blood from her mouth and shifting her posture so her torn clothes revealed more than enough skin to inspire lust. As she needed was a tiny whiff of it, and she'd have him. He remained still and unmoved as stone.

Frustrated, she tilted her head just so, acting bashful.

"Sorry about… this. I was attacked and followed you hoping you'd bring me to safety." Making a point of glancing around curiously, she pulled at the torn clothes and made a calculated groan as she stretched herself.

"We're safe here, right?" The man remained unmoved. She almost tsked. Prince Feldan was famous for debauchery worthy of the Goddess of Sex herself. It was said he could never resist a pretty face, but she must have startled him too badly. Curse her pet—had she not had that advanced healing potion from her lord and master, her vocal cords would have been ruined beyond repair.

As it was, she'd had to have two potions and spend hours healing and licking her wounds, spending more magic than she cared to admit on simply cleansing her skin of that vile powder. Her pet would pay for that. She took a step forward, and his eyes hardened, making her stop. Tilting her head and placing her palm on her cheek, she said worriedly, "I'm looking for someone, you see. My friend. She was attacked back in the capital, and I thought her dead until…"

she softened with a practiced smile, "Well, until I heard rumors of a talented pixie inventor out in these backwoods. I've come here to bring her back home with me where it's safe. I promise she'll be well cared for—" Taking another step forward, he pulled out a blade. Impossible. It was like he was immune to her charms. He should at the very least be confused. But with the way he gripped the blade he'd drawn out from thin air, he wouldn't hesitate to end her.

In frustration, her lips pressed into a firm line as she asked bitterly, "Why? What did I ever do to you?" He drew in a breath.

"Tell me. This friend of yours. What happened to her wings?" She heaved a despondent, practiced sigh full of perfectly calculated earnestness.

"… she defied her master. That's why I'm here—to keep her safe—""Was it you?"

"I… beg your pardon?"

"Were you the one to ruin her wings?" he asked in such a quiet voice, she almost didn't hear him. Rage bubbled up in her as she hissed out, "Ruin? Ruin? I never ruined her wings. They aren't ruined." They were works of art that she intended to hang on their bedroom wall, an immortal reminder of who her pet belonged to. Sure, she might have gotten a little overzealous, but it was only natural that the master reminded the slave who it belonged to.

She took a deep breath, steadying herself into the smile of before, throwing all of her charm at him. Her God had never let her down before.

"No. Ali'anya has sworn herself to me, and I'd never harm her." A tense moment passed before he slowly lowered his blade.

"… I see." Perfect. Time to collect her pet.