44. The First Ancestors #2
Sculpting every graceful curve, the corset embraced her figure as I always had, outlining a woman so fierce yet so feminine.
I hadn’t missed the dark leather straps before she sat down, crossing her hips and fastening with polished brass buckles and rings that caught the golden rays in fleeting flashes.
Fine chains draped lazily across her hips, and every chime they’d sung when she approached the table came courtesy of measured steps filled with whispered promises only meant for me.
There was nothing fragile about the way she dressed, as clothing did not tame her; it surrendered to her. Every accent, each stitch, and the weathered leather adorning her emphasized the fact that she did not, and would never, belong to anyone. Yet she had graced me with her heart and all she was.
My little fang.
My breathtaking wonder.
“In what context?” Syoran’s joke broke me from my trance, and I transitioned my attention just in time to catch his gesture toward the deck. “I mean, I’m confident in my ability to swim, but someone—”
Before he could finish, a balled piece of the fresh loaf the chef had made for us collided with the side of his head. He swiveled, and the man he sat by, the same one who was responsible, flicked the center of his forehead hard enough that we all heard it.
“Unnecessary, asshole,” Caspian grumbled, though his timbre lacked annoyance.
Rubbing the reddened spot, Syoran looked at him beneath hooded brows. “Fucking, ow, prick.”
Wearing a plain black linen, the material was loose enough to move with ease, yet fitted enough to hint at Syoran’s refined build beneath.
Braided back on both sides, his dark hair sat in a band, its length cascading down his spine.
There was no extravagance about his attire, and when he arrived on the Scarlet Tempest, his usual steels were absent.
A man extending a fraction of his trust to a crew once deemed an enemy.
Leaning back in his chair, the former Prince of Serevalen folded his bracer-laden forearms over his chest. His navy vest accented his vibrant eyes; the cream linen, with rolled sleeves, added a tinge of the ocean to a man once confined by palace walls and regal expectations.
Seated across from Caspian, at the table’s other end, he carried the air of one bountiful in knowledge—a knowingness he once hadn’t harbored.
I combed my fingers through my hair, winking at Leilani as my booted foot brushed hers beneath the table. “Kael, would you like to say something?”
Glancing at Syoran, the Bloodmarked’s second waved him off, the two of them more than familiar with whatever information Kael had.
The soon-to-be king scratched at his stubble before saying, “I might have uncovered pieces of the puzzle that is the prophecy, as well as how to summon the gods once we obtain all five artifacts.”
“And,” Caspian’s second glanced to his right, meeting his captain’s gaze. “We deciphered the one responsible for writing the passages.”
My best friend’s brows furrowed. “Why the fuck are you so pointedly addressing—”
“The witch.”
“The bitch?” Rohen questioned, looking between them for confirmation. “Wait, what?”
“Witch,” Syoran articulated for a second time before adding, “Morwenna.”
Groaning, Caspian ran a hand down his face. “Oh, bless the gods and all their spite for me.”
I tore a piece off the still-warm loaf and popped it into my mouth.
Savoring the fresh rosemary and thyme used in its bake, I swallowed and then prompted, “Okay, so can the rest of us…”—I gestured around the table to Rohen, Leilani, and myself before motioning toward Sapphira, Lorelie, Parran, and Ignis, who had taken their places on the outskirts of our seating arrangement—“know who the hell this Morwenna witch is?”
“A woman who wants Caspian dead,” Syoran answered matter-of-factly.
We all exchanged looks of concern toward the accused man, and his shoulders rose with a shrug.
“Look, to be fair… she leveraged some form of enchantment on me without me knowing, and we slept together. The entire fucking thing was complicated, but when I accused her of using magic and potentially being Fae, she denied it.”
“Caspian Vayne,” Rohen growled, incredulity lining her expression. “The full story.”
He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “I broke one of her jars of casting oil and… set fire to it, which then spread to the rest of her shop, and well—”
“Well?” Syoran spat, as if he wasn’t aware of the story's nuances. “Caspian!”
“We are on decent terms!” he shouted back. “I visited her not too long ago, and left alive, but not without an exchange.”
“What kind of exchange?” Parran piped in, their question laced with concern.
“Because we Fae manipulate such transactions to ensure we get the most out of them, and considering many of our kind indulge in trickery, there is a large chance she may have taken something of yours without you even realizing it.”
Without pause, Caspian spoke, “My blood.”
“What the fuck?!” Rohen, Syoran, and I all shouted at the same time.
“It wasn’t the first time!” The Bloodmarked’s captain rubbed generous circles on each temple. “She drank it often, as it was frequently a bargaining chip for information. In every instance I arrived, her desire for my essence seemed to come as a need, as—”
“A bonded,” Lorelie muttered.
“A what?” Kael demanded as he turned to her.
“It is old tradition,” the dragon Shifter said.
“An ancient one where one’s devoted protector and prosecutor consumes the life force of the one who is deemed to command them.
It started as a test to push the boundaries of the connection, but then developed into a way to establish not only physical protection, but psychological.
” Lorelie’s honeydew irises held Caspian’s for a handful of breaths before she continued, “Given Morwenna’s decision to do such, as well as her ties to texts that far outdate millennia, she may be one of the first Ancestors. ”
“First Ancestors? Which means what exactly?” Leilani asked, posing the question for me.
“When the Others first came to be, they were lesser-born creatures, ones the gods rendered nearly helpless. But as time passed, and they discovered a way to draw up power, the first wave of executions came, aimed at those of us who share divine connections with those you refer to as the Damned now. Call us Shifters, call us Fae; as far as I’m concerned, we share a lineage, but that’s beside the point.
“In their original attempt at eradicating mystical entities to climb the rungs of power, they were successful until the First Ancestors descended to join the Damned in battle—the original creatures bonded with each respective god, not following in the footsteps of their bloodline. However, not all of them survived. For example, I am a first-generation Shifter with a devout service to Ellira. My mother fell in the First War and, as a promise to her bonded goddess, I filled the gap.”
“Same,” Ignis and Parran responded in tandem before Ignis added, “second-generation here.”
“First. Like Lorelie,” Parran clarified with a respectful dip of their chin.
“So…” Kael drummed his fingers against the table. “The First Ancestors included your parents or grandparents, and now only a fraction of them remain?”
Nodding, Lorelie glanced between each of us.
“There were five to begin with, but with the divide of gods, it's difficult to say if there are more. What I can say for certain is that if Morwenna is the one responsible for creating that grimoire, she may be one of the First Ancestors. An ancient being that is a well full of knowledge and bountiful possibilities.”
Silence fell amongst us, a moment of stillness offered to entities long lost to the greed and gluttony of the Others.
There was far too much that malevolence had rid our realms of.
From Shifters to Fae, to Divari and innocent lives, their plague had swept through the lands and devoured.
But the one that awaited us? It was insatiable, a force of reckoning against a magic-stripped and history-thieved rebellion, for the roles had switched.
Where the Others were once powerless, those of us who shared a bond with a dictated Damned remained unable to tap into our full potential.
An impenetrable lock and sigil imprisoned our abilities, courtesy of all that Sorva and her beasts had swallowed, and we were running on borrowed time.
It was a clock that continued ticking regardless of our fusing, and the spool of fate was nearing an end that would undeniably fall into the dark goddess’s hands.
With my mind reeling and the anguish clear in Jaskor’s voice when we last spoke, I returned my attention to those who surrounded me—those who had persevered, fought, and survived the cruelty of our existence.
Enemies turned allies, lovers, and friends who all walked different paths in life but faced the same tragedies.
Men and women who desired nothing more than to overturn the scales and fight for all our parents protected, all they stood by.
Not wasting a breath, my words came with conviction. “Well, now that we know that, how about you inform us of all it will take to win this fucking war, Kael?”