Chapter Forty-Six #2
He gives a slow and solemn nod. ‘It was a funny thing. Even the Neyktar rejected him, the darkest of all magics, found him too sinful to bind with him. I thought he’d throw away the notions for the Divide as soon as he felt the sting of rejection, but it only riled him more.
If the Neyktar was not to work with him, he was to find a way to employ it to work for him. And that he most definitely did.’
Images crack into my vision, like hot searing lava bursting through scorched earth. The depiction of hundreds of tiny men.
Nykrostes alnum mion. Death to the men. If my father could not bind himself with the Neyktar, he would have found another option. The ultimate sacrifice. His own men, for the concentrated power of the Relic to exist only in Reyhen.
Ansel’s father did not die for his rebellion; he died because my father saw him as little more of a means to an end. The presence of my father said it in that cave, his words ringing in my ears as they reverberated from the walls.
They must all die.
‘Blood sacrifice,’ I say, my epiphany a mere whisper.
‘I did not know a man capable of such a thing. The offering of innocent blood. The trading of lives for power. As soon as I got word of his plans, I made sure that book was taken from him. But, in the end, it was of no use, he had it memorised. He could recite that blasted thing cover to cover.’
‘You put the book at what would be the other side of the Divide, didn’t you? In Umbra?’
‘I admit I did not have the time to hide it efficiently. And it would seem that it did not long fall into the hands of another king.’
‘Eliaz does not use Neyktar for the same reasons my father did. He uses it for good. You should see how he has rewritten pages, how he has formulated recipes of regeneration, of restoring life into—’
‘There is no such thing as goodness, and it can certainly not be found in that book – or that boy for any matter. It is a great shame, he was, from what I can remember, a gentle soul.’
‘He still is,’ I say through gritted teeth, wound up by his insistence that Eliaz isn’t any different from my father.
‘Why else do you think we are here together? The people of Reyhen are dying, by some unknown affliction that is interfering with their connection to the Relic. The same thing happened to the Umbrians when the Divide went up. Eliaz had no choice, and he made the educated decision to find power for his people, so that he might save them, as he does with the Reyheni’s now. ’
Raffan leans back in his chair, taking in the sight of me as though I am nothing more than a whining child, hands gripping the armrests. ‘What exactly do you expect from me, Eira? I certainly have no power to give.’
‘It is not power I need from you. You have answers, I know you do. About why the affliction is spreading, how to tear the Divide down so that we might stand a better chance at healing the Isle, our people. So that we may protect the Relic together.’
His face twists into a thundering storm, dark eyes clouded over with pure incredulity. ‘You insolent girl,’ he spits. ‘Do you not see? The Relic was bestowed upon us by the Virtuae Gods. So that it may gift you power, enhancements, eternity. That power can be taken away.’
No. They wouldn’t. Not when it means their precious people will die.
The Virtuae Gods are not kind, or forgiving, or uncruel.
But would they really purposefully send millions of their people to their deaths in such a horrific way?
Umbra is dying because of my father. Surely the affliction in Reyhen is not the work of the Virtuae.
‘The gods…’
Raffan shakes his head. Words do not reach his open mouth. He stares at me, waiting for something to hit, for me to find in the silence the real answer. If not the gods then...
‘The Relic?’ I question, my throat cracking. Raffan closes his eyes, and nods. ‘The Relic itself is withdrawing its power. Why would it do that to our people, to those who protect it still? And why am I still able to access its gifts.’
‘You ask the wrong questions, Eira. That will never present to you the correct answers. It must be maddening how circular your questioning is.’
I clench my jaw, holding back a remark that will earn me no respect from him. I sigh, hunching over in defeat. ‘Fine, then I will ask you one thing.’
He swishes his hand through the air, gesturing for me to come out with it.
‘What questions should I be asking you?’
The corner of his lips pull upwards, a phantom smile I truly believe I am imagining.
‘You question my knowledge of your father, of the Divide. You beseech from me cruel truths about the gods and the Relic and that dreadful withdrawal of both respectively. It is not about what they have done, it is about what you must do. Tearing down the Divide will offer only temporary reprieve.’
I frown at him, unable to figure out what I could possibly do as a girl who wishes to defy the gods in the opposite way her father did, as a girl who wishes to hold a mirror up to the sky and make them look past the monsters they have made us, and directly into the eyes of the unfeeling beasts they have become.
What good are gods, if they do not intervene in the suffering of their creations, when there are wishful prayers whispered into their ears, pleas for something to end the torment that is the life of man?
Immortal or mortal. It does not matter. We do not matter.
Because they are gods. And we came much too close to bridging the gap between us and them. ‘What do you suggest I am capable of?’ I ask, dismissively.
Raffan turns his attention to the fireplace. ‘Are you familiar with the old fable of The Rain and the Seeds?’
A little irritated at his change in subject, I ball my hands into fists until my fingernails bite into my palms. ‘It is a very popular tale on the Isle, Ori and I…’ I trail off, the taste of his name on my tongue a bitter, oily taste, knowing that the emperor knows the truth of his character now.
The memory of my brother, tainted as I feared, by the knowledge that Raffan – and everyone else – knows the truth about him.