Chapter 18 Birth of Burden
Birth of Burden
Iblinked, staring into the empty space where Endymion had vanished, the deep, familiar scent of him lingering.
Feeling it, I closed my eyes and let the remnants of his magic wash over me.
He was gone; and damn him and my powers to the underworlds if I didn’t have to rub my chest where an ache nestled in.
Opening my eyes, I raised my chin and stared down the tunnel to his residence as if it were him.
“I will not anchor to you.”
Suddenly, the gifted bandolier sat heavy, and I looked down at it with incredulity.
“I don’t want to hear it.”
Shaking my head, I turned on my heel and made for the courtyard.
As always, Caius greeted me with a broad smile, and I couldn’t help but mirror it.
Mischief danced in his eyes as he took me in. “I have to admit—your fashion choice is… different, but you seem to make it work.”
Looking down, I chuckled. I hadn’t even considered the implications of wearing a bandolier over my beautifully delicate top.
Not like the flowing pink skirt helped. Ignoring the reason I hadn’t changed, I shrugged.
“You can always blame my poor fashion sense on being raised human. I wouldn’t want to tarnish the Summer Court’s sterling reputation. Now, would I?” I winked.
A deep laugh rumbled from his chest. “No, we wouldn’t want that. I suppose we can blame a great many things on that. I wonder, though,” he tapped a finger on his chin in mock thought, “when do you think it will expire?”
“I’m not sure, but hopefully we have eternity to find out.”
“Ah yes, eternity.” His smile slowly faded. “I was wondering, Nyleeria, if it’s not too personal, what does it feel like to become immortal?” Genuine curiosity lit his sharp, darkly tanned features.
I snorted. “I’ll let you know when I figure that out.”
He stared at me expectantly, and I ran my fingers down the stitching of the soft leather as I considered his question.
“I don’t know, to be honest. As human, my life was measured in years, my expectancy mere decades. I default to thinking in hours and weeks. I’ve lived twenty-one years, while you’ve lived over five hundred—it’s hard to fathom. Actually, I have a similar question for you. About time.”
“Go on,” he gestured, still alight with interest.
“I’ve been thinking. Do you believe time is an actual construct or a relative one? Because, if one is immortal, then time doesn’t dictate their life. I mean, yes, pragmatically there are reasons for it—such as meeting someone—but in the grander scheme, does time ultimately matter?”
Caius cocked his head and seemed to look at me differently. “Are you sure you’re only twenty-one, Nyleeria?”
I chuckled. “Gods know I don’t feel it.”
Laughter rolled into his words as he said, “I get your meaning, and it’s an astute observation.
In my humble opinion, the answer is yes.
We may be immortal, Nyleeria, but that doesn’t mean we can’t die, meaning time will catch us all in the end.
The only difference between mortal and immortal is that Lady Time cannot work in tandem with Father Death to claim us.
But make no mistake, her scepter is just as powerful as his scythe; regardless of how we meet our makers. ”
“Umm,” I mused, taking in his viewpoint. “I’m not sure I would’ve ever thought immortals were touched by time, but I guess all of our sundials tick down.”
“They do. Although, you’re already ahead of the game. Many immortals still haven’t grasped that concept, believing life truly infinite.”
“Do you think it makes a difference if they realize it or not?”
“I do.”
“Why?”
“For me, I no longer take a single day for granted. I appreciate every day Lady Time gifts me.”
“No longer?” I said, head tilting a fraction. “Was there a time when that wasn’t true?”
His eyes darkened as he held my gaze. “Yes. There was.”
“What changed?”
“Why don’t we have a seat, Nyleeria?” There was a gravitas to his words that I’d never heard before; a sadness, almost.
Sitting on the sun-heated stone steps, Caius hesitated a moment before speaking, and I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to hear what came next.
“Given how you’ve been treated in the past, I think it’s important for me to be honest with you—even if it makes you see me differently.”
I nodded slowly, eyes narrowing a fraction as I wondered just where this was going.
“Believe it or not,” he started, “my past involves you in a way. I was going to wait until you were a little more settled, but there’s irony in you bringing up the concept of time, and I don’t believe in coincidence.
In fact, I believe that word is made for those who don’t fully understand the universe’s powers. But, I digress.”
He shook his head as if forcing himself to focus on what he wanted to share with me before continuing. “A little over two decades ago, the delicate balance of Lumnara began seeing… disturbances—both in the human lands and the fae realm.”
My brows furrowed. “What do you mean by disturbances?”
“Well, for one, the seasons became sporadic.” He gestured around us as he said, “these very grounds were dusted in snow, while glaciers thawed enough in the Winter Court to form lakes at their feet.”
I stared at him in disbelief for a moment before scanning our surroundings, my mind having a difficult time imagining the epitome of summer covered in white—even if just a dusting.
“When?” I found myself asking aloud as I took in the sights and sounds around us, the summer sun deliciously warm against my skin as we sat next to each other.
“On the eleventh day of the fourth month—twenty-one years ago.”
I froze.
Heart in my throat, I slowly swiveled my head back to him, searching his features for any indication he was kidding. I found none. “That’s…” I swallowed. “That’s—”
“Your birthday,” he finished for me.
Unbidden, Rackna’s words came back to me. “You Spark. You save all.”
Then, my conversation with Endymion. How others seem to revere me—the spark.
I stood and paced, the memory of Thaddeus explaining the spark’s origin running on repeat.
“Nyleeria?”
I put a hand up to Caius, needing to process this information. To collect my thoughts. To pull at the threads that—until then—were seemingly separate.
Still pacing, I got to the end of my track and turned around, still putting the pieces together.
“Thaddeus told me that Lumnara was created by the gods of old. Do the fae believe the same thing?” I asked, turning again.
“We do, in fact—”
I raised my hand again to silence him.
Another turn.
“And the Celestial Court was the first of the courts?”
“Yes.”
Another turn.
Thaddeus had explained that the other courts were formed over time.
That the ancients split off to connect with the Mother, which was how the seasonal courts were formed.
But even if the new factions of fae had lost their celestial powers because the founding court withheld magic from them as accused, why did they pull the power of their court in the hopes that it might reincarnate in the future?
It wasn’t to preserve themselves. No, the ancient celestials sacrificed themselves and their court to preserve the spark.
Another turn.
But why?
Why not just give the other courts what they wanted? Why save it at all costs? And why in Lumnara would—
My feet stopped as a terrifying thought rushed through me.
“Caius,” I said slowly. “What would’ve happened to Lumnara had the spark not been preserved?”
He stood, his long strides eating up the distance between us.
Stopping a pace before me, his golden hair caught the sun in a way that made it look more like a halo as his large form blotted it out.
The High Lord’s expression was taut as we stood there frozen in time, and somehow, I knew this would be another one of those moments I couldn’t return from.
“Caius?” I whispered, both needing and dreading his response.
For once, the deep violet in his eyes was still, as if the storm within was holding its breath too. “Nyleeria, if the spark had not been preserved, then Lumnara as we know it would fail to exist.”
I blinked up at him, the enormity of his statement threatening to crush me from its weight.
“Allow me to explain,” he said, as if it would somehow lighten the burden. “We need the sun to survive, correct?”
Hesitantly, I nodded.
“Now, what would happen if the sun were as close to us as one of our moons?”
Narrowing my eyes at him, I said, “Nothing would survive.”
“Exactly. So, without the sun, we’d die. And without distance from the sun, we’d die.”
“Caius,” I said, patience waning, “speak plainly.”
“I am, Nyleeria,” he said without wavering.
I crossed my arms as he continued. “In this parity, consider the spark the sun, the Celestial Court the distance that protects us, and what would happen to Lumnara should the spark not be contained.”
“But,” I said, “gods only know how long it’s been since the Celestial Court fell and the spark was sent to reincarnate, so in your example, how did Lumnara survive without its sun, as you called it?”
“By the skin of her teeth.” Flexing his hands as if something was wrong, he said, “I can feel her power wane—all of us can. The veil between the human and fae realms is thinner than ever before, and large chunks of land have been dying for generations. In fact, it’s commonly believed that the human realm used to be part of the fae lands, but it lost its magic, and that’s how humans were created.
You see, Nyleeria, it’s less that the spark didn’t exist for all of his time and more that she’s been suffocated, like the sun being unable to penetrate a thick layer of ash.
Though, in my opinion, I think you’re asking the wrong question. ”
I looked at him incredulously. “Okay, Caius, I’ll bite. What is the right question?”
“Now that the sun is as close as the moon,” he began, “what’s to stop us all from burning?”
My breakfast threatened to reappear as understanding hit.