18
After a multitude of delays, Kiira finally sent word to Xannirin that she’d be free that evening and would meet us in his study at dusk. So there we waited for our cousin and co-conspirator.
Xannirin worked, while I wrestled on the ground with Grem and Zeec. The hounds were normally my stress relief, yet I couldn’t stop thinking about those damn drawings. They’d haunted my dreams ever since I’d seen them, and sometimes, I swore I saw those eyes among the crowds as I traversed the alleys of the war camp. I was going to get some fucking answers from Kiira when she arrived.
Dusk faded into night, and still, Kiira did not appear.
After successfully securing the rope away from the wild beasts, I sat up and found Xannirin gazing out toward the mountains, their peaks surrounded by a thousand winking stars. “Do you ever wonder how far away those other worlds are?”
Xannirin mused.
“Too busy thinking about other things,”
I grunted.
Xannirin snorted and faced me. I rose to my feet and planted my hands on his desk. “When was the last time you talked to the spirits?”
He traced a finger around a red crystal bowl in front of him. “Perhaps a year, maybe longer. Though now might be appropriate to take another trip.”
“Aye,”
I muttered, mind going back to all the unrest in the Demon Realm. “Where the fuck is Kiira?”
He glanced over my shoulder and then returned his attention beyond. “I am more intrigued than ever with what is keeping her. She’s never been this busy before.”
As if we’d summoned her, the door slammed open, and she breezed into the study, not even bothering to knock. Grem and Zeec barked and bounded to her. She greeted both of them with pats on the head, but did not pay either of them any more attention, her wild, unfocused gaze on everything else.
“Kiira, what’s wrong?”
Xannirin raced to her side.
Our cousin half-collapsed against him, and he directed her to an empty chair. I whistled at my dogs and they placed themselves obediently on either side of the entry.
“I–I–had, having a vision,”
Kiira stammered, and both our attention was immediately secured to her.
“Still having? How did you make it here?”
I pressed, bracing myself against the arm of a perpendicular chair while Xannirin knelt at her feet.
“It–it started while I was walking. I saw…”
she paused, a shudder wracking her thin frame. It was then I noticed how much weight she’d lost since I last saw her, her high cheekbones cut deeper by the gauntness of her face. The veil she always wore was askew too, and with great care, I lifted it from her brow and set it aside.
She blinked rapidly, head tilting back.
Xannirin and I shared a look. Could Kiira’s absence have been due to new visions from the Giver? They tended to exhaust her for days afterward, and only after she’d had time to recover could she convey what she had seen.
“What did you see?”
Xannirin asked gently, squeezing her knees in an attempt to bring her back.
Her head snapped forward, her burgundy eyes paling until they were nearly white. Her whole body jerked, sharp and unnatural, her empty gaze darting as though she saw something none of us could. When her mouth opened in a silent scream, the air in the room charged like the clouds before a violent lightning storm. Unease curled deep in my gut, coiling tighter with every twitch of her body.
“A female, with eyes of devious burgundy. She–she–we need her. She is essential,”
Kiira gasped out.
“What?”
I inched closer. “Essential to what, Kiira?”
Another shudder wracked her frame, and then she collapsed forward, Xannirin’s reflexes barely quick enough to catch her. I helped him maneuver her to a long lounger where she could lie flat.
While I sat in bewilderment, mind tumbling over what had occurred, Xannirin strode to the door and cracked it, speaking to the sentries stationed outside. “Water, with citrus, and a chip of ice wrapped in a cloth. Hurry.”
Smoothing back Kiira’s long, dark hair, I watched the shallow rise and fall of her chest. Her brow finally relaxed, and she released a long, heavy sigh, lips parting ever so slightly.
A moment later, Xannirin returned carrying what he had asked for. Snaking my arms beneath her, I lifted her so that he could tip some citrus water into her mouth. Then, he dabbed her sweaty brow with the wrapped ice chips.
“This is most unusual,”
he whispered, never taking his eyes off of her.
“Agreed,”
I murmured back. Kiira needed to rest, at least for a few moments, to regain her strength. Perhaps we’d have to meet about the new push to appease the more far flung parts of the Demon Realm another day.
“This female with burgundy eyes…what could she be essential to? The war?”
Xannirin questioned, drawing my focus away from our cousin.
“That has been our sole focus for so long, I can’t think of anything beyond it,”
I admitted. “But if that’s the case, will she serve or threaten the cause?”
I only knew of a handful of females boasting the color, and none of them had ‘devious eyes.’
What does that even mean?
Xannirin sat back, rubbing his hand across his chin and scratching his scruff. A few strands of his long hair fell away from the band of leather holding it back as he returned his stare to Kiira.
“It’s the drawings,”
I blurted out, kicking myself for not immediately going there. They’d disturbed me long enough that should have been where my mind went.
Xannirin’s gaze slid to mine. “We need her to wake up.”
That was the understatement of the millenia.
What felt like hours passed before Kiira finally stirred. Blinking rapidly, she bolted upright, clutching for something. “Oh, Fates,”
she gasped, when she realized where she was. “How did I get here?”
“You arrived mid-vision,”
Xannirin told her.
Sinking back, she nodded. I handed her the nearly full glass of citrus water, and she accepted it readily. Tipping it to her lips, she drank down every last drop. Beneath her closed eyes, sunken dark spots caught my attention, a true testament to her exhaustion.
She handed the glass to me when she finished, and I set it aside. “Are you alright?”
The vehemence with which she shook her head tightened my shoulders. “No, but I need to get this out now before another one overtakes me.”
“Have they come frequently as of late?”
Xannirin asked her, his tone soft and brimming with concern.
Kiira pushed herself further upright, her thin arms trembling as she did so. Some color had returned to her cheeks at least. “That is why I have delayed this, between the visions and the new arrivals, I have been too exhausted to have a proper conversation with you both. I promise, nothing is wrong, and our alliance remains as strong as the Weaver’s thread.”
“We could have come to you,”
I said, readjusting my position to face her.
A long, pained sigh escaped her. “No, you couldn’t. The halls are overflowing with females wanting to enter the faithful. Most come as refugees from the north, with more arriving by the day. My acolytes get the sense that most were sent by their parents for safekeeping.”
“Fuck,”
I cursed, fingers curling into my palms. No wonder the nobles, merchants, and soldiers were whispering with such fervency. This was exactly what I was afraid of happening with the Angel’s advance. Uzhhorod was at its maximum capacity as it was with the army convening outside its gates, let alone a fresh wave retreating from threat of death.
“Actually, that might work in our favor,”
Xannirin mused, drawing out his words. He drummed his fingers on his thigh while he continued to think. “We conscripted so many from the south, where all the hard labor of growing food is done. Send them there to assist.”
Xannirin was right. “If you send them, accompanied by some trusted females, they can spread the word of the Kral’s generosity in helping with their day to day lives since so many volunteered for the war effort.”
“There are more than a few priestesses assigned to settlements in the south that will readily pick up on the phrasing and sell it to their communities. Priestess Anara for one, from House Olmuth’s vidék,”
Kiira added, twisting a strand of her long hair around her finger as she pondered the plan. Finally, she nodded. “I will have my acolytes coordinate their departure as quickly as possible, so the people are not stewing on their situation for long. The Fates always offer a solution to every problem. It is simply a matter of connecting the threads.”
“Aye,”
Xannirin agreed, slinging his arm over the back of the lounger and propping his head on his fist. “Like this burgundy-eyed female. What else can you tell us from that vision?”
Kiira paused her twisting, hair still poised around her finger, then let it drop. “What burgundy-eyed female?”
Xannirin and I’s gazes collided over Kiira’s head. If she didn’t remember what she had said, and she didn’t remember sending Xannirin the drawings…
“Kiira,”
I said, keeping my voice measured, “how long has this been happening? Not remembering your visions?”
A flush crept across her cheeks, and she ducked her head. “I don’t know.”
Fuck, this isn’t good.
My nails bit into my palms as I tried to quell my rising frustration. What if Kiira’s visions had become unreliable? Or what if the Weaver had opened too many possible paths and the Giver couldn’t convey them accurately any longer to Kiira?
“The last vision you had was nearly two years ago, right? Now they are coming daily. Perhaps the frequency is making you forget?”
Xannirin offered gently.
“Perhaps,”
she sighed, lifting her head, showing us eyes brimming with tears. “I don’t want to let either of you down. I know my visions have helped us so far…”
“Never, Kiira.”
Xannirin gave her hand a squeeze. “The sheer amount of work you’ve taken on, overseeing the spiritual life in the Demon Realm, has helped more than one singular vision.”
As much as I wanted to press Kiira to remember, she was clearly in no state to do so. Xannirin and I would have to puzzle out the rest on our own. “Nothing will ever change how we feel about you,”
I promised her.
“Thank you,”
she whispered, letting the tears carve paths down her cheeks before swiping them away.
“How about some scale and talk of something else?”
Xannirin offered, and Kiira made a face.
“No scale for me. Wine?”
she asked, perking up a bit. “You have the best wine in Gyor. I can’t seem to convince the wine merchants in Uzhhorod to send their best bottles to Varbad.”
“I will send someone to fetch a bottle of red I think you’ll adore, and then see to it that the wine merchants give you equal access at Varbad as we have at Gyor. I’m sorry our plans have caused you to feel less than. Just know that you never will be when you’re here with us,”
Xannirin told her, brushing his knuckles across her cheek.
“It will be worth it when you’re Kral of all of Keleti,”
she smiled back, though it wasn’t one filled with joy, but rather, sympathy and understanding for our positions.
Leaving them to have a moment to themselves, I stuck my head into the hall and asked for some wine and light food to be brought to the study.
Grem and Zeec snoozed on either side of the door, nearly mirroring one another with their heads resting on their crossed paws. I squatted and stroked their black fur as I waited for the inevitable knock that would signal the arrival of food and drink. A huff escaped Zeec as he flopped on his side, clearly dissatisfied with pets on his head. I rubbed his belly, focusing on the feel of his fur under my palm, the heat radiating off his skin, and tried to let go of all these questions about a burgundy-eyed female.
By the time the servant returned with nourishment, Kiira had straightened, and her eyes no longer shone with sadness. They did, however, light up as she sipped the rich red wine. “Yes, Xannirin, this is the good stuff,”
she commented with a smack of her lips.
Stealing her glass, I tasted it, nose scrunching as I handed it back to her. “It’s too sweet.”
The two of them laughed. “You only eat and drink things that have a kick to them,”
Kiira commented. “You might be a masochist as well as a sadist, Rokath.”
I snorted, then covered the sweet taste of the wine with the spicy scale. “With how long we live, you have to keep life interesting somehow.”
“We could play another game of kazat,”
Xannirin offered, his grin as wicked as the suggestion itself.
Kiira and I groaned simultaneously. “No way, Xannirin,”
Kiira protested. “You make the wildest bets and somehow always win. After our last game two years ago, I swore never again.”
An image of Kiira perched on the edge of a cliff, black wings tucked tight and ready to leap for a flying falcon popped into my mind. The one bird she’d managed to catch gouged a cut so deep in her arm the healers had to break out their emergency stores of pium to assist in Kiira’s own natural healing before she bled out.
The strategy game was one Xannirin and I had played, along with our fathers, since childhood, though Xannirin was by far the better player. It required cunning, manipulation, and knowing your opponent—all skills he excelled at wielding. Which was why he was Kral and no one dared challenge his position. No one dared believe anything other than he was the Fates’ gift to the Demons, his path woven specifically to bring about their rise in station over the Goddess. Just as no one dared deny that my magic was the way we’d ensure that victory came to pass.
“I agree with Kiira, it will be at least a century before I play with you again,”
I told him, and our protests only seemed to serve his ego. “Why don’t you play with some of the Nayúr or Kormánzó?”
He laughed and sipped from his wine glass. “Because they are all inept at best. Most are lucky I keep them around at all.”
I couldn’t argue with that point.
Kiira took a long drink of wine, then grabbed a slice of cheese and some bread, tucking her feet under her as she settled back onto the couch. Covering her mouth with her hand, she said around her bite, “I heard earlier that House Nuul had their fourth son.”
“Aye, and he has maroon eyes, like the rest of them,”
Xannirin added.
“How fortunate for House Nuul to have four children, let alone four males with such powers,”
I mused. Only the oldest was barely of age, and the second wouldn’t reach maturity for two decades more at least.
“Ergad and his wife must have quite the sexual appetites,”
Xannirin laughed, popping a handful of nuts into his mouth.
His crunching was overshadowed by a burst of laughter from Kiira. She reached for the bottle and refilled her wine, not looking up as she quipped, “Coupling for the pleasure of…the Kral.”
Xannirin burst out laughing, and I couldn’t help the upward twitch of my lips. After months of near-constant vigilance, it was nice to loosen the white-knuckle grip I held over every aspect of my life and simply be with two of the people I trusted most in the world.
After refilling all our glasses, we plucked from the platter and fell into stories, reminiscing on our childhoods, wild moments while we were younglings, and how far we’d come in our centuries of life. I only hoped we’d have centuries more together, with Rapp too, and that the Angels wouldn’t overrun us before the year was up.