3. Sariel
SARIEL
ATRATUS
“ A ny luck today?”
Book in hand, my father glances down at me from the bridge of his glasses. Take away the book, spectacles, newly procured and finely tailored clothing—you’d think he were a daemon come to torture your soul. Lethal horns pierce the air above his head, and between that, his leathery wings, spaded tail, and midnight skin, he looks like one of the creatures found in Terrenean fairytales. And despite my mother’s Sanguinati genes, I’m the spitting image of him.
The only considerable differences are my slightly paler skin—dark grey—and my infernum— the visible veins of magic marking my body. While mine are gold, in geometric and celestial patterns, my father’s are red and whorling.
My parents and I have searched tirelessly for a realm that matches the one my brother fell into. We spent much of what treasures we’d managed to salvage from the rubble of our palace on seers and mages to help us find him after we willingly stepped through one of the gaping portals into Atratus.
“No. Not yet, but I did read about some kind of enchanted ear that allows you to communicate across realms through telepathy.”
My brows leap. It’s been a year of searching, and even my faith—despite my usual sense of fatal optimism—is beginning to wane.
“An actual ear? Does it say whose?”
My father shakes his head. “Some god I’ve never heard of.”
That is… mildly fascinating. “Did it grow back?”
He shrugs, returning to his book.
While my parents have made it clear to me that they don’t blame me, I can’t help the gnawing guilt in my gut, regardless. However, as of late, a slightly more urgent matter has stifled that guilt and replaced it with the demand of the Summoning.
“I need to use the mundrapedra.”
My father’s eyes remain fixed on his book, his voice bored. “No.”
My jaw works in frustration—both at my father and the building physical agony that is the symptom of trying to ignore the Summoning.
“You don’t understand. I cannot keep ignoring it. ”
He still doesn’t meet my gaze, but I can see his mouth press into a hard line. “I won’t lose another son to that blasted ring again.”
At yet another denial, I feel the weight of the last three months upon me. The sole reason I haven’t ignored my father’s denial and tried to borrow the ring from them is out of guilt. My parents have already lost one son—something I am at least in part to blame for—when he slipped through the cracks to Akash- only-knows-where after our home realm, Vassileo, was split open by a goddess, the Queen of Atratus.
A deep grunt escapes me as my too-large body drops onto one of my mother’s chaise longues, and I throw an arm over my eyes. The settee groans beneath my weight, a plea for me to get off of it. “You wouldn’t be losing me because I have the mundrapedra. I’ll be able to come back.”
The book in my father’s hand slams shut before he slides it back onto the bookshelf. “And what will you do when all the humans see your horns, wings, tail, stone-colored skin, hm? When they run in terror from you?”
“I can wear a glamour.”
“What if you can’t convince her to come back with you? What if you have to stay there until you can? What will you do while you sleep? You don’t have the magic to maintain a glamour when you’re unconscious. What if someone finds you?”
“I can come back here to sleep. No harm done.”
My father gives me a look like I’m an idiot for even daring to say something so ridiculous. We both know once I find her, I won’t be without her—even if it is just to sleep.
Hopefully, there won’t be any sleeping, and she’ll feel the Summoning as strongly as I do—and I’ll be buried up to my knot in her pretty pink cunt I’ve been dreaming about for the last three months.
With a long-suffering sigh, my father shakes his head, not even bothering to argue. Silence ensues for so long that when I move my arm and open my eyes, I’m startled to find him standing in front of me. The male moves like a fucking cat. “Akash almighty. Can’t you walk louder?”
“It is not worth the risk.”
“You do realize how hypocritical that is don’t you? If it weren’t for that ring, you and my mother would never have met.”
His scowl deepens. “If you’d been to Terrenea, you’d understand. It may be filled with humans, but they are as barbaric as they are clever.”
“So what, I’m just supposed to ignore the Summoning?”
“There are plenty of humans here in Atratus. Maybe she’s here.”
She’s not. The world I saw was nothing but humans, but I don’t need to remind him of what I’ve already said.
“Great, then the mundrapedra won’t have to take me very far.”
My father frowns.
“Are you even ready to take on the responsibility of having a mate and all that would follow? Are you ready to ascend to archdaemon? Begin breeding little hellions of your own? You know that’s what would be expected of you.”
I would love nothing more than to have a mate and fill her belly with our young. Ascending to archdaemon, however, is a responsibility I do not want. Theriel was supposed to assume that role.
“… It’s not like as soon as I have a mate, you would have to step down from the throne.”
The frown before me deepens into a scowl.
“Tell me how old I am.”
Sympathy strikes a chord within me. I would not wish for the burden of responsibility at his age. His brows lift, urging me on.
“Tell me, Sariel.”
Expelling a heavy breath, I reply. “Eight hundred sixty-four.”
He shakes his head, eyes fixing to some distant point as his voice softens. “ Akash almighty, that’s even older than I thought.”
His gaze eventually slides back to mine. “Just… promise me in a few years, you’ll consider it.”
My throat works on a rough swallow. “Okay.”
With a nod, he attempts a hopeful smile. “Do you think she’ll be receptive to the shift?”
Anxiety spreads through my gut like poison in water. When a daemon consummates the bond with his soulbound through sex and a claiming bite, if they are mortal or a minori— those with little to no magic, and thus, shorter lifespans—they become part daemon. They won’t suddenly sprout wings, but there will be some shift in appearance: growing fangs, pointed ears, perhaps even horns and claws. Their lifespan will match that of their soulbound— and will potentially live thousands of years. It also means that if their soulbound is killed or dies, so will they.
What’s just as daunting is that they will also need to consume blood on a fairly regular basis in order to sustain their magic and life force. They will also gain some portion of the magical potential their mate has, usually abilities that will compliment their soulbound.
“Who knows. I would imagine so, but she’s a human from Terrenea. I imagine what little she’s heard or seen of us has been reduced to the obscure and grossly exaggerated references made in fairytales or religion.”
My father nods in understanding. “Do not fear, my son. She is your soulbound. Akash would not have coupled you with a mate who will reject you.”
It’s happened before. Though I don’t dare speak the words aloud, my heart squeezes in empathy for the poor souls who have suffered such a fate. Like Azrael.
As if he can read my mind, my father’s solemn gaze returns to mine.
“Did I ever tell you what Azreal said when he gifted the mundrapedra to your great-great-grandmother?”
“Perhaps, but too long ago to remember.”
“That you create a karmic debt by manipulating the universe in such a way that you were not born with.”
“What? Why would he even give it to us then?”
“He said, ‘No matter the debt, there are some things worth suffering for, and there is no greater suffering than to live a lifetime without one’s soulbound.’”
My face scrunches up in disbelief. “You’ve literally just proven my point.”
“Yes… I just thought I should make you aware of the potential consequences.”
Fearful hope sparks to life in my chest as my father’s expression softens, his black eyes filled with tenderness and love that would otherwise contradict his fearsome form.
“My darling boy...”
I am nearly a century old, but I don’t bother to correct him—eternally grateful for the fact that I couldn’t possibly have had more loving parents.
“For aeons, there have been countless others who found their soulbound without the mundrapedra. I used it to find your mother, and now I have lost a son. Perhaps that is the balance of life. Do not forsake the magic of the universe by trying to force your limited perceptions upon it. Just because you don’t see how it’s possible doesn’t mean that it is im possible.”
No matter how true his words, the demand of the Summoning is unignorable. He studies me for a moment in understanding. He knows me well enough that if he does not give me the mundrapedra himself, I will either find a way to steal it or risk getting mixed up with a mage or seer that could lead me astray.
“Prepare your home for your mate. Return this evening, and your mother and I will give you the mundrapedra and a drop from The Well of Tongues.”
While it doesn’t contain any actual tongues, a single drop of it will endow the one imbibing it with the ability to speak the language of every tongue.
Excitement unfurls inside me with the force of a cracking whip. In the next moment, I’m lunging toward my father to wrap my arms around him in gratitude. His chest tenses beneath mine, and I can clearly hear the rasping emotion rising in his voice. “Just promise me you’ll come home to us.”