The Silver Throne is empty, Morpheus feels strange to look upon it again, especially without his Dreamer seated in it. It is disconcerting to be here at all, and not on his own power. Bast sits on his shoulder, her claws flexing slightly into his shoulder, which the regalia and robes of his natural state leaves bare.
“Why are you back?” Isis asks him, the distant sorrow weeping through her voice even though her husband sits silent beside her.
“We are back because my Dreamer’s coven is threatening the Rift.”
The Older Deities share looks. It is strange to see them gathered like this: Zeus and Hera, Isis and Osiris, Odin and Frigga, Ishtar and Tammuz. Without the Younger Deities hovering around them the room seems empty.
“Why would they threaten the Rift?” Hera asks, her tone lilting with her power.
“They are ignorant,” Morpheus replies.
“Have you not educated them?” Tammuz demands, glancing sideways at Zeus, seated beside him.
“You’re being narrow-minded, Tammuz,” Bast scolds, her tail flicking to demonstrate her irritation, “you have forgotten what humans are like, they do not listen to our reason, they act on instinct and emotion.”
“They seem set,” Morpheus puts in.
“And your Dreamer? Is she Working this for them.”
“No.”
The Older Deities raised their eyebrows collectively at Morpheus’ decisive tone.
“I cannot understand why they would – ”
“Dreamerless Rituals are possible when a Coven Master is strong enough, is Maye Darjeeling strong enough to lead that Circle?”
“She is,” both Bast and Morpheus tell her shortly.
Again the Olders share a long look, at long last, Odin raises his head.
“I will not release my son, called or not,” he declares stoically.
“You are his keeper still, my brother,” Tammuz agrees, lifting his eyes to meet Morpheus’, “are you content?”
