The Young Daughter of the Goddess 16

It was a shape combining the character “Kidella” (representing love, lovers, blindness, sacrifice) with the character “Theta” (signifying downfall, destruction, failure, separation). It was larger and more distinct than the others. To be precise, it was as vivid as if it had been branded yesterday and as blackened as if it had burned.

“This changed just yesterday. If I may be so bold as to do this…”

Ayub reached out and grabbed Laban’s arm. Immediately, the symbol in question turned red like a lit cigarette, emitting the smell of burning flesh as smoke began to rise. His face, visible only around the mouth, twisted with pain. Finally, Ayub staggered backward as if leaping away.

“Phew… Do you understand what has happened?”

Laban struggled to suppress the dreadful foreboding rising within him.

“I don’t know. Explain it to me.”

“This mark was something I inscribed to cast a curse on Erectina and Politimos. The fact that it reacts to you means that the targets of the curse—namely, those two—must have been near you. And for a very long time.”

When Laban failed to respond, Sabina spoke up.

“Well then, do you care to explain?”

“I… have nothing to say. If my sister chooses to believe this man’s sorcery, what explanation could I offer that she would believe?”

“So you’re refusing to admit it, is that it?”

“I don’t know that woman. That’s all I can say.”

Silence followed. Laban wondered what would happen if he bolted from the room at that moment. He genuinely wanted to. If only he could escape. If only he could disappear from this place like the sorcerers do.

“I want to believe you,” Sabina said, pulling Laban abruptly back to reality. He thought he might have misheard her, so unexpected were her words.

“If what you say is true, there’s no need for us to hate each other, is there? It would be good if we could return to how things were as siblings.”

Laban had no desire for such a thing, but he only shrugged his shoulders. Sabina mirrored the gesture with a wry smile before turning back to Ayub.

“Bring the jars.”

Ayub stepped out onto the terrace and returned with two small jars. They looked ordinary, save for the fabric tied over their lids and sealed on one side with red wax. Ayub placed the jars on the floor with utmost care, as though they were precious treasures. Sabina spoke.

“Even if you have lied, there’s still a way to restore things between us. All you need to do is set things right from now on. I wouldn’t forgive anyone else for a single betrayal, but you’re my brother. Still, we need some sort of guarantee, don’t we?”

“A guarantee of what?”

“Of course, a guarantee that you’ve truly changed your mind.”

“To change one’s mind, one must first have committed a wrong. As far as I know, I’ve done no such thing.”

Even as he spoke calmly, Laban couldn’t stop thinking about the jars. What could be inside them? Sabina couldn’t be this composed without having something to rely on.

Ayub interjected.

“I, as one who deals with demons, have previously rendered humble assistance to Ekenos, Lord Herodion, and Her Majesty the Queen. Though their rewards have always been far more than I deserve, I am not one who covets wealth. As long as I can continue to refine my craft, I would be content in a shack wearing rags. However, there is one thing I always ask for when I perform sorcery. It is something essential for the advancement of my studies.”

Ayub gestured towards the jars as if introducing someone.

“Allow me to present them to you.”

The wax seal cracked, and the lid of one jar was removed. Ayub spread a cloth on the floor and poured out its contents. What rolled out was a human head. It was shrunken, dried to a size so small it seemed like a mummy’s head severed and preserved.

As Laban recoiled in horror, Ayub smiled.

“Are you so frightened? The dead would grieve in the afterlife if they saw you like this.”

“What?”

“Look closely. Do you know who this is?”

In the flickering torchlight, Laban stared intently at the head. The skin had dried like leather, the hair disheveled like straw. The gaping mouth seemed frozen mid-scream, as if calling someone’s name. His gaze reached the earrings on the shriveled ears, and suddenly, a tightness gripped his neck, and his throat felt aflame.

A narrow forehead, a delicate nose, slightly chipped front teeth, and two silver earrings. It was Iole.

Sabina watched as Laban’s lips twisted, his cheeks trembling. Eventually, tears began to fall. When Ayub poured out a slightly smaller head from the second jar, Laban lunged at him—or tried to. Four soldiers, seemingly prepared for such an outburst, grabbed his limbs. The silent struggle lasted a while, but in the end, Laban’s resistance was futile.

“I didn’t want to go this far, but…” Sabina said, gesturing for Ayub to put the heads back into the jars. Ayub bowed slightly as he complied.

“My apologies for making you uncomfortable by bringing up old matters,” he said, looking at Laban, whose arms were now bound and held firmly by two soldiers.

“I curse you. I’ll deliver you to the hands of Adalnus,” Laban spat.

Adalnus, the god of vengeance and curses, was known for wielding indiscriminate power. He paid little heed to justice or consequences, responding only to those who invoked his name. His curses were effective but often came with great cost—hence his nickname, “The Two-Edged Hand.”

Ayub gave a faint smile.

“Glory to Adalnus’ black claws.”

Ayub carefully resealed the jars with the cloth and wax, then placed them behind him as he sat cross-legged on the floor.

“Though my skill is not yet refined enough to preserve more than the heads, these are sufficient for my spells. The preserved heads allow me to summon their souls from the afterlife. Not for conversation, of course. Once summoned, the spirits are trapped inside these heads, retaining the same consciousness they had in life. They can perceive their surroundings, the passage of time, and even comprehend the grotesque state of their remains—forever knowing they exist as mere severed heads with no hope of being made whole again. And the most exquisite feature of this sorcery is…”

“Enough!”

“…that they will never truly die,” Ayub finished, unperturbed. “They do not need food or drink, but their existence is neither fulfilling nor peaceful. My master, who passed on this technique to me, left behind a few preserved heads. Those that are over a century old are all mad. Their prolonged consciousness has shattered their minds.”

Laban’s voice was hoarse as he spoke, his mind reeling in horror.

“My wife and son… Did you use this sorcery on them?”

“That depends on Her Majesty’s wishes,” Ayub said, his tone polite but laced with menace. “I hold no personal grudge against them. I only seek opportunities to practice my craft. Whether or not this spell continues depends entirely on her will.”

Sabina broke her silence.

“Fifteen days from now, return to this place. If Ayub’s mark does not react by then, I will return these jars to you. I will ensure the contents are burned, preventing any further use of sorcery on them.”

Laban struggled to understand her words, his thoughts a tangled mess of anger, grief, and confusion.

“You’re saying…”

“Erectina and Politimos must die,” Sabina said coldly. “If they are dead, the spell Ayub cast will conclude, and the mark will become inert, just like all the others.”

“I…”

“You claim you cannot do such a thing? That you don’t even know where they are?” Sabina let out a mocking sigh. “How unfortunate. I’m afraid I can offer no further assistance. Ayub is merely following my orders; he can do no more for you than that.”

Laban’s heart raced like a caged animal, his fear and anger consuming him. He turned his gaze toward Sabina and spoke with a trembling voice.

“Is this truly your will? To torment those you’ve already killed, to pull them from the afterlife for your amusement? Is this the mercy of the woman who calls herself the mother of the people?”

Sabina’s brow furrowed sharply, the lines cutting into her expression like blades.

“Mercy? You expect mercy from me?” she said, her voice filled with bitter incredulity. “Fine, here’s my mercy: this is my mercy for the woman who dared to defy me and covet my throne, for the brother who betrayed me and lived happily on his own terms, for all of you who deceived me for three years. If you want mercy from me, take it!”

Laban turned away, knowing further words would be pointless. He also realized with chilling clarity that he was trapped, ensnared in an inescapable web.

Behind him, Ayub bowed deeply, his voice dripping with mock humility.

“Thank you for clarifying something I’ve long suspected. This revelation will undoubtedly advance my studies. I look forward to repaying this favor someday.”

Soldiers grabbed Laban by the arms and dragged him from the chamber. Sabina watched his retreating figure, her expression unreadable. A faint stir of emotion flickered in her chest, but she crushed it without hesitation.

When Sabina had first become queen, she had believed that everything she wanted would be within her grasp. She had paid countless prices for her position, yet happiness still seemed just out of reach. To seize it, more sacrifices were necessary, and Laban was merely one of them.

No longer would anyone dare accuse her, as they had when she was a child hiding from her mother’s screams. No longer would she cower in fear of punishment. She would not share the fate of the former queens, forgotten and wasting away in the royal harem.

Ayub cradled the jars in his arms, bowing again to Sabina before he left. She didn’t even glance at him. Ayub spoke quietly as he departed.

“Have you ever heard it said that demons take human form because they spend centuries coveting mankind? They say anything observed for long enough begins to take on its likeness. When I saw Laban today, I thought I glimpsed the face of that woman in his features.”

Sabina’s gaze sharpened, and she turned to Ayub.

“What are you trying to say?”

“Nothing of consequence, my queen,” Ayub said, his voice smooth. “It’s just that Laban and Your Majesty have always resembled each other, as siblings do. But today, for the first time, the resemblance was gone. Your Majesty no longer looks like anyone else.”

“And what of it?”

“In my humble opinion, my queen, it seems you are finally ready to create something entirely your own. A new lineage, perhaps.”

The words were cryptic, but after a moment, Sabina nodded in understanding. Sabina, the daughter of Ekenos, the sister of Laban, and the queen of Roandros, was now prepared to forge her own dynasty. Her bloodline would fill the palace, overflow, and one day spread across Epherium like an unstoppable tide.