Chapter 15
Avriel
I t was well past midnight and the festivities in the atrium were still going strong, even though the empress had left over an hour ago, Shadow before her. Their destination was the same—her private chambers.
My stomach churned. I wanted to vomit, and it wasn’t just because he was with her. It was because I knew what happened in that room.
The whole Mother Realm knew.
In the arena, the men in the empress’s harem were soul crushers, but in the palace, they were concubines—slaves to her desire, her lust, her greed. Forced to do whatever she wanted, no matter how degrading or painful.
No matter how badly it broke them.
Beyond her chamber’s opal doors, the word no did not exist.
Sometimes the empress requested to see more than one at a time, but when it came to Shadow, it was always just him. Out of all her concubines, he was her favorite, someone she would never share, even though she pretended she would.
But I remembered that night all too well, when Shadow had lost the fight and had been shipped off to a private room with a young lady, chosen by the empress.
The second they’d left, the empress had grown irritated, her nails carving up the arm of her throne.
She had lasted maybe ten minutes before she left the festivities and charged after them.
The girl was never seen again, and Shadow had been taken back to her chambers, where he’d been forced to stay for weeks.
One night, I’d grown so concerned for him that I’d created a distraction, telling the guards that there was a disturbance further down the hallway.
When they left, I pressed my ear to the door, listening for any signs of life, but what I heard was so much worse—
Agonizing screams , coming from Shadow.
As he’d cried out in pain, the empress had growled at him about daring to let the female kiss his face. As she’d scolded him, I could hear the slicing of something, like a knife carving steak. It made me sick to my stomach, and I had to cover my mouth to stifle my sobs.
His horrifying screams were etched into my mind.
Right beside my mother’s.
Both of them had suffered at the hands of the empress, and no one was willing to do anything about it. They all just turned a blind eye.
But I wouldn’t .
I would do something.
I didn’t know what or how or when.
But the one thing I’d come to realize the second I left Sage’s cell—she was going to help me achieve my goal. I couldn’t explain it, but it was a feeling, deep down in my gut, and I was going to lean into it.
Which meant I needed to figure out how I was going to buy her more time when she was scheduled to die this Saturday. Mentally, I rolled up my sleeves and got to work—
I walked up to a trio of goddesses standing around a tall table.
One of them was Mercia, a tired-looking parrot perched on her shoulder.
She clasped her hands together, laughing as the goddess across from her, Oraina, told her ridiculous tale about the time she’d ended up stuck in a giant spiderweb—one I had heard many times.
Eirwen stood between them, a drink in her manicured hand.
She was the Goddess of Winter, her stark black hair as dark as night, her bright-red lips a nod to February, and her skin a snowy-white, like the month of January.
She just happened to be one of the goddesses who had gasped during the council meeting earlier that week, when Sage had been brought into the room.
I wanted to find out what she knew, but I was going to have to do it carefully. Otherwise, I might risk arousing suspicion.
“Mind if I join?” I asked, my tone sweeter than sugar.
“Of course, Avriel dear,” Oraina replied, waving me in .
“Want some?” Mercia asked, picking up the wine jug from the table, swishing it from side to side in invitation.
“I have a bit of a headache today,” I lied. “I’ll stick with water tonight.”
“Understandable,” she said, lowering the jug, and then waved over a servant who carried a tray full of goblets. “Are any of these just water?” she asked the servant.
“This one is,” the meek female replied, pinching the stem of a gold-rimmed goblet and giving it to her.
“Wonderful,” Mercia replied, long, elegant fingers clasping it. She turned my way and handed me the goblet. “Here you are.”
“Thank you,” I said, accepting it, the stem cool against my fingers.
The servant bowed and then swiftly returned to where she had been standing before.
“That was quite some fight earlier, wasn’t it?” I started, hoping to ease into things.
“Was it ever,” Mercia agreed. “Talk about muscles!” She shimmied her shoulders, stirring the parrot from its dozing state.
The parrot popped its head up and exclaimed, “Muscles, muscles, muscles! Talk about muscles!”
Mercia chuckled as she petted the colorful bird, stroking her beautiful feathers.
I took a small sip from my goblet, swallowed the cool water, and said, “Will any of you be attending the games on Saturday?”
“If it was here, then I would, but I couldn’t care less to go to Lorphiah. The amphitheaters there are so horribly old—full of dust and cockroaches.” Oraina grimaced. “No thank you.”
“Agreed. They really need to tear them down and rebuild,” Mercia added on. “I don’t know why they haven’t yet.”
Oraina concurred, “I don’t know why either.”
I looked at Eirwen. “What about you? Will you be going?”
“I’m thinking about it,” she answered, giving me nothing more.
Even though no one asked, I still said, “I’ll probably go. It’s Nockrythiam’s mate , after all. It seems like a pretty monumental soul to be crushed. History in the making and all that.”
“I just hope crushing her soul doesn’t come around to bite us all in the ass,” Oraina stated with a degree of concern as she drained the remnants of the jug into her goblet, filling it to the brim.
I held my breath, hoping someone would respond so I didn’t have to. I didn’t want to insert myself too much.
I waited a few seconds more.
Still, nothing.
They all appeared to be lost in their own private thoughts.
Damn it.
I looked at Oraina and asked in a light, conversational tone, “What do you mean by that?”
Oraina shrugged. “I don’t know. It just sort of feels like . . .” She trailed off.
“Bad karma?” Mercia asked.
“Yes, that’s exactly it,” Oraina answered with a nod.
My lips thinned—that was not the answer I was expecting. I decided to push a little more. “I get what you are saying, but I don’t think it’s karma, it’s something more than that.” My eyes flicked to Eirwen, handing the conversation to her.
But in typical Eirwen fashion, she said nothing.
So, I continued, “I think it’s because she’s Nockrythiam’s mate.
If he were ever to return and find out her soul had been crushed, who knows what he would do.
” I had zero knowledge when it came to fishing, but I knew enough about it to know that was the hook.
Now I just needed one of them to take the bait I was about to dangle before them.
“Besides that, there could be people out there who are still loyal to Nockrythiam.”
Oraina disagreed, “Nockrythiam’s followers either died during the War of the Creators or they ended up wherever he did. I don’t think we have to fear retaliation from anyone.”
“That’s not true,” Eirwen cut in, lowering her goblet onto the table. It didn’t make nary a sound, her movement always so controlled and precise.
“Which part?” Oraina asked, raising a single brow.
“The vuleeries are still here,” Eirwen answered, tipping her chin up ever so slightly.
Mercia shivered. “I forgot about those dreadful creatures. ”
“They are rather ruthless, definitely not something you want to cross paths with.” Eirwen paused, her eyes flicking back and forth, as if she were remembering something. Then, “In the past, there was only one person who they showed allegiance to . . . Nockrythiam.”
Finally, we’re getting somewhere , I thought to myself.
“So, by extension, do you think the vuleeries would be loyal to Nockrythiam’s mate?” Oraina inquired curiously.
I could have kissed her, but I kept my mask in place, acting nonchalant.
Eirwen gave a sophisticated shrug. “Hard to say, but it could be a possibility.”
“Wait . . . if it’s a possibility, why would the empress send Nockrythiam’s mate to the arena to have her soul publicly crushed? The vuleeries will show up there after the games, and they’ll surely discover her body. If they are loyal to Nockrythiam, wouldn’t that be bad?” Mercia asked.
“Again, it’s hard to say. Typically, it’s only the young vuleeries who go to pick the bones after the games.
Most of them probably don’t even know who Nockrythiam is.
Although, it is a risky move on the empress’s part.
” Eirwen glared at us all. “Don’t you dare tell her I said that. You all know she’d have my head.”
“I won’t say anything,” Mercia promised.
Oraina and I chimed in with similar sentiments.
I spoke with them for a while longer before I excused myself.
I knew what I had to do, but I had limited time to do it.
My skirts swished across the floor as I walked at a very quick pace up to Sage’s cell.
As it was well past two o’clock in the morning, most of the prisoners were asleep.
It wasn’t uncommon for priestesses to spend time in the dungeon, however, it was a bit odd for one of us to be coming at such a late hour.
Which meant I had to get what I needed swiftly and get out.
The last thing I wanted was to arouse suspicions.
Sage peeked at me from underneath her covers.
“I need a strand of your hair,” I whispered, reaching through the bars.
“Why?” she asked groggily as she slowly started to prop herself up on her elbow.
“Long story, and I’m working on very little time.” I jiggled my hand. “Hair. Now.”
Sage eyed me suspiciously before she plucked a white strand and handed it over. I unfurled a handkerchief and placed it inside, swiftly folding it up.
“Wait,” she whispered, her voice almost pleading.
“There’s no time,” I said then raced back to my private chambers.
The flame of a flickering candle cast long shadows across my desk as I worked .
I dipped the end of the quill into the bottle of ink and then began to write my urgent message on a small slip of paper, my fingers pressing down on the ends to keep it from curling.
When I was done, I took turns blowing and waving my hand over the ink in a bid to dry it.
When it looked dry, I performed a small test by dabbing my thumb on the paper.
Removing it, I turned my hand over and inspected my thumb—it was clean.
Deciding that was good enough, I swiftly rolled up the paper.
Turning my attention to the handkerchief, which was sitting beside the bottle of ink, I unfolded it. I plucked the white hair, and with careful fingers, I wound it around the roll of paper, tying it gently.
Rushing to the window, I undid the brass latch and shoved it open. A burst of night air passed by me, toying with the blank papers on my desk while teasing the flame of the candle.
Chanting in the language of my mother’s people, I tossed the small scroll out the window. My breath caught as it tumbled, heading for the ground. I chanted harder, pouring every ounce of my power into my words, into my magic.
A second before the paper hit the ground, the wind listened.
It swept it back up into the air, sending it hurtling off into the distance.
Relief filled me, but my job was far from done.
My message had a long way to travel, and it was my power that was necessary to get it to where it needed to go. So, I chanted.
And chanted .
I chanted through the remainder of the night, until the sun had risen and there was nothing more I could give. Until my body was spent of energy and power. Until my muscles had gone numb and my tongue felt like it was made of lead.
Legs giving out, I crumpled to the floor in a heap of exhaustion.
Please work were the last two words that crossed my mind before I lost consciousness.