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Back Seven Devils
Chapters (62)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. 1.
  4. 2.
  5. 3.
  6. 4.
  7. 5.
  8. 6.
  9. 7.
  10. 8.
  11. 9.
  12. 10.
  13. 11.
  14. 12.
  15. 13.
  16. 14.
  17. 15.
  18. 16.
  19. 17.
  20. 18.
  21. 19.
  22. 20.
  23. 21.
  24. 22.
  25. 23.
  26. 24.
  27. 25.
  28. 26.
  29. 27.
  30. 28.
  31. 29.
  32. 30.
  33. 31.
  34. 32.
  35. 33.
  36. 34.
  37. 35.
  38. 36.
  39. 37.
  40. 38.
  41. 39.
  42. 40.
  43. 41.
  44. 42.
  45. 43.
  46. 44.
  47. 45.
  48. 46.
  49. 47.
  50. 48.
  51. 49.
  52. 50.
  53. 51.
  54. 52.
  55. 53.
  56. 54.
  57. 55.
  58. 56.
  59. 57.
  60. EPILOGUE
  61. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  62. ABOUT THE AUTHORS

A chill went across Discordia’s skin. “He’s suffering. Finish him.”

His eyes snapped up to hers. “This is my duel. It’s done when I say it is.”

Xerxes looked at her, pleading. They were all taught to dispatch each other quickly. No prolonged, painful death, but a death with the respect given to fellow soldiers. Theirs was a difficult deity to please, but Letum did not reward torture. He only rewarded for the collection of souls.

This isn’t right.

Discordia knew she and Damocles were never destined for a merciful alliance—their upbringing and expectations were too violent for compassion—but this? This was the only thing that came closest. This was what separated them from monsters.

One small act.

“No,” Discordia said. “The duel is done when the God of Death gets his sacrifice.”

Discordia dove to her knees. With a quick strike of her blade, she slid it into Xerxes’s throat.

“No!” Damocles grasped her wrist hard, pulling the blade out. Their bloody hands gripped the knife as they struggled over it. “This was my duel. My death. Mine. You had no right to—”

Slow, steady claps came from behind them.

Discordia and Damocles startled. Their father leaned against the door frame. His body was so broad, he commanded the space of the doorway. His gaze was steady as he took in the two dead bodies bleeding out on the ground. If he cared at all for his two sons, it didn’t show. He stopped clapping and lowered his hands, but the sound still echoed in the gymnasium.

The duo scrambled to their feet, bowing. “Father,” they said at the same time.

The Archon came forward, his eyes only on Discordia. “Duels weren’t supposed to be issued for another hour.”

Damocles let out an almost panicked breath. “Yes, Archon, but—”

“Your excuses don’t interest me.” Discordia went still as the Archon reached out and grasped her chin. He studied her for what seemed like hours. He released her. “I’ll be seeing more of you, I believe.”

Without even a glance or a word to his son, the Archon strolled from the room and shut the door behind him.

Damocles stared at Discordia with an expression she couldn’t place. Anger. Or hatred. Before she could decide, his features smoothed to indifference. “I’m going to my room,” he said, walking away from her. Then, over his shoulder: “Say a prayer to the God of Death for me. He seems to favor you.”

With a shuddering sigh, Discordia took off her necklace. She pressed the small scythe into her palm, and whispered her prayers over the bodies of her brothers. She tamped down the heaviness in her chest as their blood pooled at her feet. An unfamiliar feeling made her ache. A burden she didn’t recognize. Didn’t understand.

Years later, she would realize that was the first time she had ever felt guilt.

13.

NYX

Present day