Chapter 32
Alora
Alora fled the dining hall, the echo of panic still rippling behind her. The air grew colder the farther she ran, until the torches thinned and shadows swallowed the corridor. Her heels struck the stone as she rounded a corner—and the hall vanished.
She stepped into a vast chamber.
The air was thick, thrumming faintly, as if fire burned beneath the ground itself. The ceiling above opened to a deep scarlet sky as though painted in flame. Ash fell like slow rain, landing on her cheek.
She knew this place.
The chamber of the forgotten king.
The throne towered before her, massive and empty, carved from black stone that drank the light.
It was a monolith in the dark chamber that drew in the shadows.
Segrith waited at the base of its steps, cloak drifting like smoke.
Sand and ember shimmered around her feet as she turned to face her.
From her open palms, white-red eyes glowed like dying stars.
Alora lifted the folded page. “Where did you get this?”
“It holds knowledge I once gave, and knowledge I since retrieved.”
“So you stole it.”
“I am Segrith of the Sloth,” she said idly. An hourglass appeared above her open palms, red sand tumbling down. “I do not steal but collect knowledge like the grains of sand in an hourglass. A shifting tide, counting down to the inevitable.”
Alora’s shallow breaths carried in the heavy silence. “What does that mean?”
Segrith’s dark painted lips curved, her eerie eyes looking up at the sky. “A tempest is on the horizon.” The hourglass shifted into the scale. “Soon, the moon’s eye will turn, child. And the blood blooms will sing. He is coming.”
Alora’s heart raced, goosebumps prickling over her arms. Those were the same words written in her mother’s journal. “Who is coming?”
“The storm.”
“I don’t understand. What storm?”
Segrith drifted toward her with that eerie gaze, and her voice echoed through the chamber. “Vorak.”
The scale dipped under an invisible weight with a heavy clang, then disappeared.
A horrid chill sank through Alora’s being, and the humid air turned dreadfully cold.
“Who…is that?” she whispered.
“He who stirs where light can never reach. The great Devourer sealed away for all eternity, yet even eternity wavers.” The Lady of Sloth gave her a slow smile, bearing a sharp row of jagged teeth like black glass.
Her palms turned and Alora followed their stare up to the massive throne.
“When he wakes, even the gods will kneel.”
Her heart pounded loudly in her ears. Pure, inexplicable terror shook her heart.
Slinking up to her, Segrith drew in a deep breath, inhaled her fear, and cackled. “Delicious.”
Light burst beneath Alora’s skin, and Segrith hissed, recoiling. Alora seized her cloak, dragging her close until the demon’s ashen flesh blistered. “Spare me your riddles, demon. What do you know of my mother?”
Segrith shrieked, shutting her fists. “The light burns! I beg your mercy!”
Alora released her. The demon crumpled on the steps, patting her smoking cheek with trembling fingers. “Tetchy queen.”
Rage flared bright as the trapped light beneath her skin.
“Answer!” Alora’s voice thundered through the chamber, sending a ripple through the atmosphere. She inhaled a soft breath.
The power in her voice startled her.
It was more than compulsion but a force that ruled. The power trembled in her throat, and she shuddered at its echo.
“Your mother sought knowledge beyond the realms,” the Lady of Sloth replied, bowing back. “That page was the beginning. It holds a clue to a secret you will soon uncover, but it is not as dire as the secrets your master keeps.”
Alora stilled. “What secrets?”
“What came of your spindle?”
She blinked, recalling the strange crystal needle. “How is that connected?”
“To Everything.” Segrith lifted her palms, those eerie eyes boring into her again. She walked backwards into the shadows of the throne. “Return it to the pedestal and you will find the truth, child. Of whom you are… and the origin of the Sleeping Curse.”
Alora gasped. She rushed forward but Segrith was gone.
The ash vanished. The heat died. When Alora looked up, the ceiling was whole again, cold as a tomb.
A portal of shadows ripped open and Hadeon stepped through with a snarl, searching the vicinity. Seeing she was alone, his gaze fell on her disapprovingly. He gently took her arm without a word and led her back through the portal.
They entered her chambers.
Calla and Deimos were there, hovering around Rune seated at her table. When they stepped back, her mouth parted to find half his face and left arm covered in burns. His red eyes smoldered bright and furious.
Hadeon placed her hand in Rune’s like a ceremonial offering.
Or a toy being passed back to its master.
“Leave us.” His tone was soft, which made it worse.
The Harbingers bowed and departed in a plume of smoke.
Alora threaded her fingers together, guilt sinking in her stomach. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“I don’t care about that,” Rune snarled. “Do you have any idea what could have happened to you, Alora? You were alone with a Dominion!”
She exhaled a sharp breath and turned away towards her desk, removing her crown. “I’m fine, as you can see.” Lifting her leg onto a chair, she unbuckled the sheath and set it beside the folded journal page. “Don’t lecture me, Rune. Not tonight. Not when you’ve been lying to me.”
She set the knife down and faced him, crossing her arms. He had fully healed now, leaving his scorched clothing in tatters.
“Who is Vorak?”
Rune stilled under her glare and his chest halted with a stalled breath. “Where did you hear that name?” his voice was so faint, she hardly heard it.
Alora searched his eyes. “He’s a Primordial, isn’t he?”
He didn’t answer, so deadly still she swallowed.
“Segrith, she called him the—”
Rune placed a finger lightly on her lips. “There are far more evil things in this world than I, Alora, and we don’t speak of them.”
She swallowed. Even with his cool composure, she could feel it. His fear. And it doubled hers.
“Then tell me about the spindle,” Alora whispered.
Something wavered across Rune’s face and he turned away, staring blankly at the wall as if something had occurred to him.
“Rune?” She came around to face him.
He clenched his jaw.
Alora scowled. “She was right. You are keeping secrets.”
“I don’t want to speak of this right now.”
Alora shuddered with ire at the confirmation that he was keeping things from her. “At least tell me about the spider lilies, Rune. Why did they grow within the hall?”
His red eyes slid to hers. “An unexpected event that’s for sure. A phenomenon of Samhain … perhaps.”
He winced, no doubt because his vow deterred him.
“Oh, you liar.” Alora seethed. “You prince of lies!”
“I didn’t lie. I omitted. A far more elegant art.”
She smirked bitterly, “Yes, I have come to find demons speak half-truths when it suits them. Then I should treat every action and every word you speak to me as a half-lie.”
He studied her, reading the flush on her skin even in the low light. Alora looked away. It wasn’t his mockery that bothered her, but that it had returned after showing her a sliver of tenderness tonight. It had been nice … to see him acting so … genuine.
A part of her sensed he had not always been this way.
Would she ever see the real him?
He prowled toward her, towering form cornering her against the wall.
“You don’t want the real me, Alora,” Rune said tightly. “You want something you can understand. Something human. But my truth…” he traced a clawed finger down her throat to her racing pulse. “It would terrify this fragile heart of yours enough to make it forget how to beat.”
The warning sent her heart into a tumble. And she saw herself for a split second, fleeing from a shadow in the forest.
“Perhaps you’re right,” Alora whispered. “Or is that your own heart stopped beating a long time ago, rotting to a husk within your chest? Perhaps you feel nothing at all.”
The temperature in the room became stifling. Every candle flame guttered until his glowing scarlet eyes were the only source of light.
Alora’s heartbeat danced wildly as she backed away from him, aware of the thin fabric of her gown. Rune’s molten gaze burned as they held hers, burning with fury and another fiery emotion that flushed her skin. Her hip bumped into the desk, and Alora blindly reached behind her.
“Don’t.” Rune growled, caging her against it, his breath searing her neck. “Reach for that knife and I will be tempted to have you on this desk, songbird. And I can’t promise to be gentle.”
“Why are you so furious?” she whispered.
“I am always furious.” Grabbing her waist, Rune planted her on the desk and braced his hands on the surface, his claws digging into the wood.
“My heart may have withered long ago,” he rasped, his voice rough with something rawer than anger, “but then you came along—and now it feels everything. All the time.” His breath brushed her cheek.
“It is infuriating.” She swallowed hard.
He leaned closer, his next words a threat and a plea all at once.
“But nothing angers me more than you putting yourself in danger. Never do that again.”
Alora scoffed. “If I do? Will you punish me?”
The shadows stirred at once, sliding over her like smoke. Her breath caught as they coiled around her wrists and ankles, not rough but unyielding.
He stepped closer, the air thick with the heat of him.
The look in his eyes was the same the first time they met. She had mistaken it for desire but now saw it for what it truly was.
Obsession.
“Perhaps I should,” Rune said, the words low and dangerous. His claws slowly glided up her bare thighs, making her shiver. “I am tempted to toss you into that bed and make you scream. To give you the same torment I feel every time you look at me like that.”
Like what?
The thought fluttered between them.