Chapter 25
Rune
The Hollow Mountain pounded with a faint, restless heartbeat, echoing his own. Rune kept his pace slow as they walked, though every instinct urged him to look at her again. He’d spent weeks away, convincing himself distance would quiet whatever was clawing through his chest.
It didn’t.
Other than the sun’s penance, staying preoccupied distract him.
Scarcely. He spent most of his time searching his archives.
For answers to the Fates prophecy and the origin of the spindle.
For a reason to keep from burning this cursed realm to ash.
Deimos’s reports had grown thin, the trace of the relic eluded even his Shades.
But they did discover one thing.
The spindle was made of crystalized blood.
Whose remained the question. Finding that answer had taken precedence over everything else. Well, that was the excuse Rune gave himself.
The truth was simpler, uglier. He’d stayed away because the sight of Alora had begun to unravel him.
Mortals had no right to look at him the way she did: curious, defiant, unafraid. When she moved, the air shifted. When she spoke, the mountain itself seemed to listen. He had ruled kingdoms, broken empires, devoured beasts and yet a single girl with magic in her voice made him feel weak.
Intolerable.
It hadn’t been this way before. Perhaps because Alora had been an innocent girl in their past, a lonely princess enamored with the mask he’d worn. In this timeline, she despised him and allured him in confusing ways.
It was her scent that perplexed him. It hadn’t been so prominent before. It was as though the moment Alora had spilled her blood in the cavern, she had awakened something in her essence.
Something that made him hunger for her.
Rune had thought separation would starve the feeling. Instead, it had festered.
And then he felt her fear.
It had struck him like a banding iron through the ribs. He’d been in the depths of the fortress, buried in dark; the next, her terror had torn through him, sharp and cold, flooding his senses until the world skewed.
Then Karag D?r shook, speaking one declaration Rune had yet to let himself process yet.
Every shadow in the mountain had risen at once, screaming for blood. When he found her alone with Sal’vathar, he’d nearly lost control.
If he hadn’t reined in his power, if he’d let the fury loose, she would have been caught in its wake. The thought of her body breaking under the force of his wrath made his bones ache.
Rune cast a glance at Alora now. She walked a pace behind him, still pale and shaken. She looked so small now. So delicate in the torchlight. Her fear clung to his senses, sweet and maddening. The bracelet he’d crafted to mask her scent glimmered faintly on her wrist. It helped. But not enough.
Either its magic was failing, or the bracelet simply didn’t work on him because Seven Hells; whenever he caught a hint of her scent his mouth watered.
Rune clenched his fist, the sting of his claws digging into his flesh helping to reign it in. The bracelet would keep most of his court at bay.
But what about him?
They reached a stairwell that led to the training yard.
“Rune…” Alora’s soft voice called, and he closed his eyes at the sound of his name on her tongue. “Should I be worried about Nexus?”
He paused at the unexpected question and glanced back at her again. The kitten purred faintly in her arms, the sight of him unnerving and strange. The creature’s dark fur shimmered faintly in the torchlight like it was dusted with stardust.
“I think he’s a Manticore,” Alora murmured thoughtfully, scratching behind its ears. “I’ve read about them before. They have wings, horns, and—”
Rune’s brow arched. “That is not a Manticore.”
“How do you know?”
He looked at her sidelong, and the corner of his mouth twitched. “Because I created them. Manticores are demons with an insatiable appetite for human flesh. Monstrous entities of pure evil and nothing like that little beast.”
Her wide eyes dropped to Nexus, who yawned lazily in her arms, unbothered. “Then what is he?”
Rune was silent for a moment. His gaze lingered on the creature’s wings, on the faint of galaxies that shimmered in its yellow glowing eyes. “Something I thought long extinct,” he said. “It’s a Vareth—a Primordial familiar. A creature older than the Seven. Older than the realms themselves.”
Alora blinked, her mouth parting as she stared at Nexus. “A what?”
“They were once Guardians of the Gates,” he said. “Creatures born from the same fabric of the universe. They served the Primordials, the first gods who shaped the worlds. They cannot be summoned. They cannot be tamed.” His eyes flicked to her. “They choose their master.”
She visibly shivered. “And it chose me?”
“So it would seem,” Rune said quietly.
The Vareth had all vanished millions of years ago. They were thought extinct, absorbed into the stars when the Primordials fell.
When he had seized the Netherworld, no familiar had risen to greet him. His Gate had remained silent, its guardian dead or dormant, as though even the old powers had turned away from him. The question was, why now?
Why her?
Those strange yellow eyes met his own, unblinking. Intelligent. Something unspoken moved behind those starlit orbs with a knowing too far to name.
A ripple of unease passed through Rune. Its very existence was … impossible.
Alora frowned, her brow pinched as she glanced down at the purring creature she called Nexus. The little beast licked her thumb, purring. “Is he dangerous?”
“Not to you.” Rune turned away as they continued.
The Vareth would never hurt its master. Trying to separate them would be…unwise. The creature would turn on him before allowing that bond to break. Rune could feel the possessiveness in its aura, mirroring his own.
A dangerous symmetry.
The shadows stirred, restless, answering his mood. He had not forgotten that Alora had found his Gate again on her own, even with his consciousness woven into the roots of the mountain. He had not sensed her there until she needed him.
And for a split second, the Gate had stirred and she read the inscription in perfect articulation.
Another paradox.
Because it should once Alora accepted him, and at the moment, he was terribly failing at that.
The gods were always bound by so many laws.
But perhaps the same rules didn’t apply to him…
If the old magic stirred again, then fate had already begun to turn its wheel. And Rune was no longer certain which side of it he stood upon.
They descended through the lower halls, and the hot air grew cooler as the darkness thinned into smoke. On the next turn, dim light entered the tunnel as they neared the training grounds.
“Alora,” Rune called, his voice carrying with their steps in the quiet tunnel. “What kind of fae was Salvia? Seelie or Unseelie?”
Because her mortal father had no magic in his veins, yet Alora did. Something she must have inherited from her mother.
Alora frowned at the probing question, her mouth pursing. He was inquiring if her mother was dark or light fae. “She was Seelie kind, a flower Nymph. Why do you ask?”
Rune’s brow furrowed. Nymphs were forest creatures who survived on sunlight and morning dew. Their magic tended to be gentle like the breeze over meadows or the current of a creek. But he suspected Alora held magic far more powerful than that.
Powerful enough to bond with a Vareth.
“I was curious,” Rune said offhandedly. “My Harbingers tell me you have already received weapon training in the Midlands. They hardly had much to teach you.”
A small smile touched her lips. “Lady Zinnia assured my lessons reached beyond poise and dance. I was trained in strategy, both on the field and at the table. A proper lady, she said, must know how to pour tea and how to slit a vein with equal grace.”
Rune chuckled. “Then I shall be heedful of you at teatime.”
The tunnel brought them at last into a closed courtyard located at the mountain’s heart. A vast, circular shaft open to a patch of sky. Above, the sun was no more than a smear of pale gold filtered through the high mist.
The ring on Rune’s finger pulsed faintly as he passed the stone awning, his boots shifting over black sand to the round platform chiseled from stone.
The light filtered harmlessly through the shaft, falling over him without pain.
He flexed his fingers absently, the hum of magic steady against his skin.
When he turned back, Alora had halted at the threshold, staring at him wide-eyed. “I thought…you couldn’t step out into the sun.”
“Indirect sunlight is bearable, so long as I wear Bloodstone.” Rune lifted his hand for her to see his signet ring.
At the center, was embedded a red gem shimmering like a dew of blood.
“What is Bloodstone?” she asked warily.
“A gift from another time. Mage forged ore that provides a fortunate shield against the rays.”
After a pause, Alora followed, surveying the training yard. The braziers were unlit, the second-floor gallery that circled the entire width of the shaft empty. No one else was there but them. “What is this place?”
“The combat arena.”
“I had sparred with the others in the training hall, indoors. Why do you want to train me yourself today?”
He had no need to train her. That, too, was an excuse.
It was due in part to assure himself that she was still whole, that she hadn’t been torn away like everything else he’d ever touched. He needed her anger, her defiance, anything that wasn’t the terrified look she’d given him in the Gate chamber.
And he had another reason.
“Before I allow you to wander the mountain freely, prove to me that you can defend yourself first.” Rune nodded toward another door. “Go change. I will wait for you.”
The last words came out heavier than he intended, and Alora paused, meeting his gaze for a breath before slipping into the adjoining chamber.
She left the Vareth behind.
It sat on its haunches at Rune’s feet, looking up at him with cool, slitted eyes.