8. Chapter 8
8
F ractured smile bloomed across Torosh’s thin, wizened lips, making his silvery beard flutter at the slightest movement.
“After all this time,” he said, directing that smile toward Rebecca and only her. “Such a blessing. Your decision to invoke this Council could not have come at a more opportune moment. You have our gratitude, Laen-Cáir . Know that.”
“Gratitude I assume this Council offers in the hopes of an exchange…” There was no venom in Rebecca’s voice when she said it. With Torosh, there never was.
The old man sighed through his nose and dipped his head in as low of a bow as his seat at the table and unimaginably advanced age would allow. “Still as astutely observant as ever. Now that the Blackmoon Scion has successfully made contact, it is time—”
“Time to stop playing your own silly little games,” Maleine interrupted, her voice ringing out across the assembly as if she’d been the only one speaking to Rebecca this whole time. “You’ve had more than ample time to run through them a hundred times over, at least. But the time for games is past. You are required elsewhere.”
Torosh cleared his throat again, graciously choosing to ignore the Council Head’s overbearing entitlement. Now, though, even through the mirror, the elder’s face paled considerably before he spoke again.
Rebecca had never seen him look so sickly, so frail.
“Your people are in need,” he said gently, the genuine pain behind his twinkling silver-gray eyes impossible to ignore. “Enemies of the Court bring life and substance to their agendas with more speed and fortitude than ever. Without the Heir…”
“We will not speak of it aloud!” Randor snapped. To ensure he was taken seriously, he followed up the outburst with a stern scowl of warning disapproval aimed toward Torosh at the far end of the table. “If the time for games is at an end, so too is the time for such leniency and indulgence.”
The man sitting at the Council Head’s right hand returned his gaze to Rebecca, as if the single stare with which he fixed her now could compel her into anything he desired. “It is imperative that you abandon your foolish pursuits in that world and return home with the Scion. Preferably now.”
Rebecca gritted her teeth, bristling again with a renewed resentment. Now that the others had finally addressed her intentionally, she unfocused her gaze on their faces once more and wiped all expression off her face to keep from adding any further fuel to either fire—the Council’s, or hers.
Here it was. The ask.
The demand, of course, as every request, proposal, or even suggestion from the Council had always been once the formalities and stifling requirements of custom were stripped away.
As far as she knew, Rebecca was still the only person who had ever tried to strip them away, and they just couldn’t stand that.
Clearly, the Bloodshadow Council had learned nothing after being forced to acknowledge and deal with the consequences of their precious Bloodshadow Heir having disappeared for so long.
And they clearly still assumed Rebecca hadn’t learned anything herself, either. That she hadn’t changed at all.
They expected her to obey blindly and without question. Still .
They could expect and demand all they wanted, but they couldn’t force her to do a thing. They certainly couldn’t force her to respond, so she didn’t.
Siyren’s scowl darkened further before he continued. “As we speak, the prophecy unfolds. It has already begun. Your destiny in Agn’a Tha’ros and your duty to its people are of critical importance, now more than ever. As it was foreseen, so it must come to pass, and it will not come to pass until the Scion has ensured your safe return to the capitol.”
She almost rolled her eyes.
The fucking prophecy again.
They really hadn’t learned anything after she’d fled that very same capitol. Now, the same disbelief and indignation that had driven her away from Agn’a Tha’ros centuries ago rushed right back in to fill her veins as if it had never left.
It was all she could do not to scream at them for being so blind. Of course the people were in need, when a governing Council made of individuals like these groaned and complained and gnashed their teeth over others’ disobedience while having done nothing to improve themselves or the way they governed at any point along the way.
Several hundred years was a long fucking time.
Rebecca had given them plenty of it, and they’d wasted the opportunity.
“And with your safe return to the capitol,” Randor added, “comes the—”
“So you have recovered the prophecy in physical form, then,” Rebecca interrupted, widening her eyes in mock surprise and looking quickly from one Council member’s face to the next. “After all this time, it’s finally been found and returned to the Capitol for its meaning to undergo further study? With the scholars and the elders who may yet have some memory of the time when it was foretold and first penned down?”
She puffed out a mocking sigh through loose lips and almost cracked a smile. “That is something. The Council’s pride must be overwhelming …”
Probably not, but their next shocked silence sure was.
While every other Council member gaped at her in stunned disbelief quickly morphing into another round of explosive anger, Torosh leaned back in his chair, gently closed his eyes, and sighed.
Bullseye.
That was still their problem, wasn’t it? They expected Rebecca to hop to attention at their command like everyone else, because everyone else did. They’d never stopped to consider the fact that a lifetime at the center of this very same prophecy had taught her exactly what kind of game they were playing.
And exactly how to play it against them.
They hadn’t found the prophecy. No one had. But apparently, Rebecca was the only one to have called them out on that little oversight as well, and they fucking hated it.
They might even hate her because of it, but she couldn’t have cared less.
“No matter—” Siyren stopped at the breaking squawk in his own voice. Beneath the strain of trying to save face, he stopped, straightened in his chair, and tried again. “No matter the form, the prophecy is abundantly clear. This is the moment of Agn’a Tha’ros’s greatest need. The tipping point between surviving this era and falling endlessly into oblivion.”
“Because the enemies of the Court are finally taking action and moving in,” Rebecca quipped. “Is that it?”
“Because all of it is now in motion!” he barked, surging forward over the table as if intending to leap out of his chair and threaten her with a physical reprimand. Then he instantly seemed to remember there was no getting to Rebecca that way. Not physically. Not now, through the mirrors.
So he eased back into his chair again, once more restraining his furious irritation with visible effort. “Not only on the plains but across Xahar’áhsh itself. The Dalu’Rázj has been overcome in this world. The Gateway stands open once more, protected on Earth by the current Guardian. The Gardens of Lashir’i tremble beneath the shifting balance of power in the wake of these unprecedented circumstances, extricated from the Mystic’s vision, and the time of prophecy is now .
“The Bloodshadow Court needs its Heir and all its allies. Including the Scion. Agn’a Tha’ros requires both to survive the darkness moving swiftly along time’s horizon. Only the power created by the union foretold may stand against its deadly tides.”
“Your return is imminent, Laen-Cáir ,” Torosh added hastily, his voice not only trembling with age but now with an added shake of what sounded like fear. Whether for her, for the Council, or for all of Agn’a Tha’ros, though, remained unclear. “You know this. Now you must accept it.”
“Return to Agn’a Tha’ros at once!” Maleine snapped, her dangling jewelry clinking violently against themselves and the edge of the table beneath the force of her outburst. “We must prepare. Judging by how long you’ve been away, I can only imagine the grueling length of those preparations and how much precious time they will cost us…”
“Give us your word,” Randor commanded, rolling his shoulders back and lifting his chin as if he were and always had been the one in charge. The one who commanded Rebecca, in particular. “It is your bond, as it is ours. As it has always been. Say the words, Laen-Cáir , and this Council will utilize every resource at its disposal to facilitate your journey.”
The man’s deep gray eyes shifted briefly in Rowan’s direction. “For both of you.”
And here they were, all the cards out on the table now that the Council had finally revealed its hand.
There was no room for Rebecca to reveal hers, because all seven elven officials sitting at that table had apparently forgotten she even had cards of her own to reveal, or that she’d ever been dealt a hand.
Then again, with these individuals, wishful thinking and willful ignorance were apparently interchangeable.
But now they’d delivered their orders, thinking themselves superior and expecting Rebecca to comply. Oblivious to the fact that they no longer spoke to the Bloodshadow Heir they had once thought they’d known.
The moment she’d set foot beyond the capitol’s gleaming silver walls, alone, with none of them the wiser, that Rebecca Bloodshadow had ceased to exist.
Regardless, the entire Council now waited with bated breath to hear her agree to fulfill the duty of the Bloodshadow Heir in this age. To hear her say yes .
Even Rowan seemed ready to hear her say it, turning slowly toward her once again and staring at her expectantly, with no readable expression.
Even he wanted her to say yes.
Once she said it, with the Council’s blessing Randor had just promised, the way back would be made so much easier.
The culmination of all the resources at the Bloodshadow Court’s disposal were nothing to scoff at; they would protect her by whatever means necessary until she sat on the Shadowed Seat at the heart of Agn’a Tha’ros. They would protect her, even against further attacks by the Azyyt Ra’al in this world—and Rebecca had no doubt the Council already knew of their greatest enemy’s presence here on Earth as well.
Rowan had figured it out weeks ago. He would have already sent word, probably the very next day.
Once Rebecca said yes, she would be, for all intents and purposes, chaperoned all the way back across two worlds to retake her place. Safe from pursuit, from attack, from injury. Everything done for the Bloodshadow Heir.
But only for the Bloodshadow Heir.
This certainty sank into her awareness like a net of bricks dropping to the bottom of the Heatstone River. And tied to that net were all the dreams she might once have held for a kind of homecoming. The kind the Council offered her now, today, in a way they had never offered her anything before.
She would be protected—worshipped, even—by her assigned escort all the way back to Agn’a Tha’ros. A complete shift from any other treatment she’d ever received before she’d known any other home beyond the Bloodshadow Court.
But the Court didn’t give a shit about Earth.
Agn’a Tha’ros didn’t care. The whole of Xahar’áhsh couldn’t be bothered by the consequences in this world should Rebecca pack up and leave it all behind for the future she never wanted and still didn’t.
All for duty, right?
None of them cared, and they certainly wouldn’t worry themselves over the mobs of greedily destructive magicals on Earth trying to rip the magical underworld apart at the seams.
They didn’t care who or what they left behind in Rebecca’s wake, as long as she returned to them.
They didn’t care about Shade …
In all reality, they didn’t even care about what happened to her in the end, as long as she returned to her role and fulfilled her prophetic duty. She knew without a doubt that no one on this Council would lift a finger to stop anything once it was set in motion by Rebecca’s return. Because, in their eyes, she herself—as a person, as an individual, as a child of Agn’a Tha’ros—did not exist.
She never had.
There was no muddling her options now. No room for confusion. No unclear obstacles along either path. Whichever she chose, they were crystal clear. Clearer than anything had ever been before she’d fled her home.
Duty and destiny, at the whims of an ancient prophecy and nearly insurmountable horrors and chaos and violence back home, which offered no proof whatsoever of the prophecy’s true meaning…
Or the life Rebecca had created here for herself and everyone in it.
One or the other. No compromises. No bartering. No sweet spot in between. That was the choice.
“One word,” Randor murmured, sounding nearly breathless now as he leaned forward and widened his eyes. Only now, at the final moment, did it even occur to him that a gentler approach in his speech might garner a different result. “That is all it takes.”
One word…
All the consequences of either path before her flooded through Rebecca’s mind in an overwhelming rush.
She knew what she wanted. She had always known. At the same time, she’d already come this far. She had already taken the steps to satiate the Council’s hunger for obedience. She had already shown her face through this ritual, already given away her existence in this world and alleviated any doubt or possible rumors back home of where else the Bloodshadow Heir might have still been hiding.
She couldn’t turn back now.
Rebecca lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, and drew up as much authority, self-respect, and commanding presence she could muster. Reaching into the deepest well of herself she hadn’t touched since she had still been the Bloodshadow Heir in its truest sense. At her core.
Since she had still let herself believe she was everything the Court had always told her she was and ever would be.
She drew it all up from that well and into herself, letting the role and the power and the right to command into her veins, her lungs, stretching out to her extremities, making her larger than life in a single moment despite no physical change at all.
Rebecca took all of it—more than she had ever used before—to be what she was born to be.
All while feeling Maxwell standing in place behind her, with no idea what the fuck was happening, but lending her his own strength to make the decision she had to make.
A decision he could never possibly understand, though he had seen and heard enough to know she needed whatever he could give her in order to make it.
Just one word, and everything would change…
She gazed brazenly back at the Council. Eyeing every member of Agn’a Tha’ros’s greatest governing body in turn. Sitting there in the rank remains of a decaying temp building in the woods.
And still every bit the Bloodshadow Heir in her bearing and in the finality of her response.
“No.”