It takes two days for Lier to send word through one of Mara's assassins back to her. Gired and Rasted are invaluable as spies because they can't be seen, but they can write. Mara came up with the idea of using charcoal sticks to communicate. The assassins simply needed to find Mara's brother. He's in Ersetu, with Inanji. Word has spread through the city that the Lady Grief is going to be questioned about her new bonds with the Twins of War.

Mara herself spread those rumors using her Basru. They are the heroes of the Underworld, eclipsing even the Champions of the Arena as local favorites. It's a good lure for the jealous goddess. And now it seems that it has worked.

I sit with Belen, pouring over the map of the city one more time.

"Here, in this Square, is the house where Inanji is located. Lier confirmed that he is trapped in some fancy house, but he wasn't sure how many souls are there with her."

"He'll use the tea tonight," Belen says grimly. "Is your Lady prepared?"

I glance over at Our Heart. She is carefully stirring a small pot of bright red liquid that smells of rotten oranges. Her mouth is moving as she silently talks to herself. Her hair is piled on her head, with wisps and tendrils escaping and sticking out everywhere. Her eyes are stressed and her skin is bright from the heat. She bites her lip and my body responds with the heat that I've learned happens all the time when she's around. My Heart.

At her side is Patriarch Rimon and Blood-letter, who are examining scrolls spread out on the table next to the fire and Mouse, who is cleaning the gleaming surfaces of the cairns over and over.

"She is ready," I confirm. Her cleverness amazes me. I shake my head at the thought of Inanji trying to destroy this female.

"Thelios?" my female calls out.

"Yes, Firesprite?"

"Do you know if Inanji is right-handed or left?"

"Right, my Heart," my brother responds.

"Lier is left-handed," she huffs quietly to herself. She walks to a trunk left open next to the table and checks the items she's packed inside for the dozenth time.

"How will we do this, Our Heart?" I ask her. I know the plan, but I keep her talking to stop the panic that is thrumming just under her beautiful surface.

She takes a breath. "We will have to wait for Inanji to be sleeping. Then, find Anthea. That is a problem. I'm not sure if Erra has had a chance to locate her or not. If we take Inanji's blood from her, unwillingly, then this won't work... I think. So, we need blood freely given. Anthea will have her blood. I hope," she mutters. "So, this liquid will make her vomit out everything she's consumed, including Inanji's blood."

"So," Belen says slowly, "Lier has to drink Anthea's bloody vomit?"

My Heart looks up, "yes?" she says, looking guiltily.

"That's disgusting," Belen says matter-of-factly. "Well, better Lier than me."

Mara shrugs helplessly with tears in her eyes.

"It's the only way to do this, young Belen," Patriarch Rimon states matter-of-factly.

"Then what, Our Heart?" I bring her panic back down easily.

"We perform the burial rites on Anthea, so that she is no longer a Forgotten soul. And, we can take part of Inanji and pour it into Lier."

"Fucking shit, Princess, that's fucking complicated," Belen blurts out.

She bites that luscious lip again and nods. "I know. So much can go wrong."

"It will all work out, Our Heart," I soothe her, sounding utterly confident. I am the arrogant Prince, after all. And, fuck if Urto wasn't just as arrogant as me. It's been an interesting combination.

"It has to," my female says stubbornly.

Suddenly, her face pales. She turns to seal the small bowl of red goo. "It's time. Erra is here."

My brother runs his hands down her arms. Kissing her forehead, he murmurs that he adores her.

We don't tell Our Heart that we love her anymore. We refuse to use that word to describe our feelings. It's too weak of a word, anyway.

She looks at Mouse, picking him up and scratching between his ears. "Ready. We're ready, Thelios, Belen." The slight red glow of the bracelet of flesh on her right wrist tells me that Rasted is here and talking to her.

I pull her into an embrace, feeling the tiny nervous tremors running up and down her body. "It's going to be alright, my sweet Heart. Everything will work."

She tilts her head up and I meet her halfway. Letting my eyes close, I lose myself in kissing her until Blood-letter lightly smacks our cheeks with his tail.

"Right, little beastie. It's starting," I nod to him. Solemn black eyes reflect my own tension. No matter what, we must protect our female first.

Rolle and Carnak are the first to enter the mausoleum. Rolle is still wolven, but Carnak has shifted back and is dressed in a loose loincloth. By the grim look on his face, the collection of Anthea wasn't without problems.

"This bitch is... She's not right in the head," Carnak says to us without saying 'hello.'

"Where is she?" my Heart asks him in a hushed voice. Her eyes are darting all around.

"Chained and being coaxed closer by the young blood-drinker. She nearly took a piece out of Rolle." Carnak strokes his palm over the wolven's bleeding side. "She's beyond control, My Lady. I don't know how you are going to use her, but it won't be easy."

"I just need her to drink this," she says, holding out the clay bowl.

"Drink it?"

"Yes, preferably in this room." Her eyes look over the glossy, serene tombs.

Erra walks in, his bright blue eyes seem to glow in the dim light. My Princess greets him with concern, but he gently waves her off. There are no signs of upset in this male. Nothing to say that seeing his mother act like a beast has bothered him in the slightest. I understand, there was almost always something animalistic about that bitch. A greed that drove out everything good, a rot in her soul.

Four of the Basru are needed to drag Anthea into the room. Not that she's that strong, but she keeps trying to bite the males.

"Don't get close" I warn my Heart.

"I need this to be poured down her throat."

"I'll do it," Erra volunteers.

"No," my Princess says right away.

"Yes, she responds best to me," Erra counters. His tone is bland, but there is no argument there. He will administer the poison or no one.

We all watch him walk to the creature that was once his mother.

"Drink," he orders. She hisses, her open mouth revealing teeth sharply filed into points.

"Fuck," I mumble softly. "I chopped that bitch's head off and thought I was done."

"Just another sign that Inanji gave her blood. Anthea is undead, Thane," Patriarch Rimon says grimly. "And, unlike her son, she is dangerously insane and bloodthirsty."

Carnak and Grey hold her claws from Erra's face as he forces the red concoction down Anthea's throat, deftly avoiding her sharp teeth. The female screams, one low gurgled sound of extreme agony, her face twisting grotesquely. Then Anthea vomits forcefully.

Red liquid flies half a length away, into the air, splattering on the floor and the closest Basru. It's a veritable fountain of blood. I even see flecks of red on ceiling.

My Princess is one her knees, searching through the blood with both palms, smearing it to and fro almost frantically. "There must be some of Anthea's blood here," she mumbles frantically.

Anthea vomits again, head down, so the blood pours out onto her lap and just underneath her. Grey yanks her backward as Mara crawls forward on hands and knees, her fine grey robes quickly covered in blood.

"Nothing, nothing. It will be silvered. Does anyone see very shiny blood?"

"Calm, Mara Stay calm. She isn't finished, yet," Patriarch Rimon says. Anthea's body heaves, she's going to vomit again.

I look around the room, frowning. Shiny blood? The floor around Mara is covered in the stuff, but it's red, some of it darker, almost purple as if congealed. Nothing looks 'silvered.'

One last keening wail from Anthea, and she chokes. Mara's head comes up, her dark eyes narrowing on the undead female, calculating.

"Erra, get the bowl."

A gasping screech of a hellish pitch comes from Anthea's mouth, then, silvered blood. Erra catches most of it, holding it up with a smile of wicked triumph.

"Give her the tea," My Princess orders.

Anthea is sleeping only moments later.

The wild-eyed Princess of the Underworld turns to us, the bowl clenched tightly in her hands. "It worked," she says with a tremulous smile, "so far."

---

My males smile back at me. Thelios looks proud, awed even, while Thane is smirking in amusement, his gaze heated as it travels up and down my body.

I wipe my hands clean on a soft cloth that a trembling, shocked Harku hands me. His mausoleum is a mess. Alnue is ready with the red wax to seal Inanji's blood into the bowl.

"We need to properly entomb Anthea. Then get this to Lier," I proclaim.

"Calm, Our Heart," Thane says. He takes another rag and wipes my face clean. I glance down and feel my stomach pitch a little. Blood coats my robes, the hem of my skirts is heavy with it and it's smeared all down my front.

I press my nose to Thane's throat and take a moment to breath in the comforting scent of brimstone and forest that my males smell like now. It drives the scent of blood away for a moment.

The sound of scraping stone makes me lift my head. Nasir, Grey, and Holsten have opened the cairn I chose for Anthea. The other Basru and Belen are filling it with sacred water.

"Place her inside. Make sure the water doesn't cover her face," I say quietly.

They are gentle when they lay Anthea in the tomb. It's much larger than she is, as if meant to hold two or three of her.

"Nateos, accept this soul," Patriarch Rimon says. The torchlight dims. The Underworld holds its breath. "Free the chains that bind her soul and take her to your kingdom below." He drapes a light grey cloth over Anthea's face.

"That doesn't even make sense," I whisper to myself.

We watch the cloth move with Anthea's breaths.

"Close the tomb," Patriarch says. I seal it with the red wax, then softly pray to my father under my breath. I sense my right wrist burning slightly. The red glow lights as Rasted approaches. I stare at the shadow of the male until it suddenly hits me.

"Open the cairn," I blurt out.

My Basru leaps to obey, Nasir burning his hand on the still-hot wax without any complaint.

I stare at Anthea. "I need a knife, please."

"For what, Mara?" Patriarch Rimon asks me.

"To carve out the heart she stole."

"She ate it," Erra points out. I jump a little and frown at the young male. I would prefer it if he wasn't here. He's still just a child.

"Then it's in her stomach and more easily retrieved," Thane points out with a little too much glee. He takes over the job of carving up his former wife. "I sliced her head off, you know," he mutters to Thelios conversationally. "You'd think that would take care of shit, you know?"

Anthea's stomach is sliced open easily. The water in the cairn immediately mixes with the blood. It's not a smooth mixture, more like oil and water. Reaching in, Thane yanks out intestines, something that may be her stomach, then, finally, a hard, black lump that looks more like a stone than a heart.

"That's it," I say, ready to faint.

"Truly?" Belen asks. "What happened to it?"

Thelios looks at him, "it's been through a lot, Bel."

"It looks... damaged."

"Burned, then consumed," I say in a raspy voice. All I can think is that I really do not want to vomit. "Place it next to her."

The lid is shoved back on, then I re-seal the cairn. "Alright. Now both souls are free." I hope.

"How long will we wait?" Erra asks into the silence.

I just shake my head, feeling helpless. I don't want to leave Anthea entombed for any longer than it takes to heal her soul from Inanji's diseased control. I know what it's like to be trapped in a cairn. For me it wasn't the worst thing to happen to me, but I imagine that for others it's horrifying.

"Not long, young male," Patriarch Rimon says calmly. I'm glad he's here. It's a little like having my father here, even though I didn't tell my father about this plan. I don't want him to try and stop me from attacking Inanji.

The bonds above Anthea flicker and move, but I keep my eye on just one, the lavender bond that stretches between Anthea and her son. When it lightens and seems to be brighter and stronger, I nod in relief.

"Her soul is free," I tell them.

"Can we just leave her in there- fuck!" Thane huffs when Thelios punches him in the gut.

Once again the lid of the cairn is slid open. The blackened heart is gone completely, just as flesh from the above should be. Anthea looks... better, maybe? She is still sleeping, the concoction Alnue and I created is strong. Hopefully, strong enough to keep even a goddess asleep.

Thane steps forward, "alright, time to move. Rolle, Carnak, wolven. Nasir and Holsten, carry the Princess's trunk. If you have to piss, do it now."

"Thane, bring her with us," I say softly as Thane gets the Basru ready to leave the Palace.

He scowls at Anthea's body with disgust, but nods, his jaw clenched. "Get the trunk. She'll fit inside."

"Truly?" Belen asks in disbelief. "Sorry," he mumbles when Thane and Thelios glare at him.

I pull from the trunk chains, a stake, a sealed jug, and a package wrapped in cloth. Making a pile on the floor I look at Anthea.

"She'll fucking fit," Thane snarls. He approaches his former wife with a hard glare.

Thane and Thelios force her inside the trunk. Just in case... I take the bowl and a candle of red wax and drip it on the latches of the trunk.

"I need water," I mumble to herself. Wiping my face, I spread my tears on the surface of the trunk.

"Let's go, Our Heart," Thane brings me to my feet.

I take a deep breath and nod. Time to see my brother.

---

I always thought it was odd in the Underworld that we don't need to eat, but we drink and bathe and sleep.

We still have breakfast, and supper, but it's just water and wine for those meals.

One day maybe I'll know why, but for now I'm just glad that we sleep. Sneaking through the city of Ersetu in the wee hours of the morning is much easier when the souls are not awake.

"This is it," my Firesprite murmurs, her fingers tightening on my hand. I pull her to my side and kiss her cheek.

"They're in first, Princess. Let them clear the house, make sure no one is allowed to flee."

She nods. We've been over the steps again and again. The Basru appear on rooftops, in alleys, coming out of the shadows and surging into the luxurious house silently and swiftly.

I pause, just a moment, to admire the unity, the effortlessness, that the Basru show as they swiftly enter through doors, windows, onto balconies, converging onto the house as deadly as any Underworld demon. Deadlier. My brother did a good job training them.

I listen for any signs of alarm from the house. It's as silent as my female's tombs and graves.

From an upper-story window I see Nasir, an arm raised in half-salute. The signal.

"Let's go, Our Heart. Quickly." We walk fast to the open door, greeting by Holsten and Rolle with a nod.

When we are deep in the house, away from any ears outside, Holsten catches us up.

"Lier has knocked out the bitch good. She had the entire cup of tea, so no problem there. Most of her shifters are male, did you know? Handsome fuckers, according to Rolle," he adds in a rush.

I hide my smirk. More important that teasing Holsten is that males are easier to beat into unconsciousness. If it was a household of females we would struggle to do what's necessary.

Deep in the interior of the house, we walk into a room that has me sneering in disgust. The part of me that is Thelios is wincing. The part of me that is War is ready to set this shit on fire.

Inanji is asleep on the bed, nearly nude in just a deep blue half-skirt. Her blond hair is messily strewn on the pillows, her mouth slightly open.

She's gorgeous, the perfect vision of sex and female, and it makes me want to commit violence. It makes my entire being rage at the idea of being her instrument to cause pain for my FireSprite. Her beauty pales in comparison to the fire I now curl up with at night.

Inanji used us both. War and Thelios. Just pawns in her game to grab power from my Firesprite.

I meet Lier's eyes. The male looks tense, angry, and ashamed. He won't look at the blonde beauty asleep on the monstrosity of a bed.

The bed is so fucking familiar. Silver tassels, gauzy drapes, too many pillows. It's hot in the room, but the fire is out. Lier must have doused it. I fight back the shiver. It's not cold. I'm not cold anymore.

I feel lips kiss my shoulder and relax. No, I'm not cold anymore.