Chapter 33
Rune
The candlelight bent around the spider lily as it turned between Rune’s fingers, petals glimmering faintly. He studied it carefully. The other flowers had burned easily enough, but this one he kept.
A bloom born where a drop of her blood had spilled in the combat arena.
Her pain had called to him. And now the proof of it pulsated in his hand like a heartbeat.
Rune sat at his table, surrounded by the plumes of darkness gathering at the edges of the room. The golden filaments and scarlet petals shimmered faintly. Even his darkness would not touch it.
A reminder that something between them was shifting. That he was losing control and time was slipping by. The Blood Moon would arrive in three months, yet he was nowhere close to breaking the curse.
Rune set down the flower on the table beside the crimson spindle. Both were connected to her somehow. He was certain when the dining hall sprouted with blooms like a sea of glittering blood.
Alora had summoned dark magic…while wielding the light.
What are you becoming, songbird?
The mountain quaked.
It vibrated through the floor beneath him, rattling his wine goblet. Through the bond came a surge of Alora’s anguish tangled with fury, crashing into him like waves breaking against bone. His shadows recoiled in agitation, rising to the ceiling in rippling waves.
Rune barely had time to stash the lily and spindle within a small chest on the table before the doors of his antechamber exploded, shards of stone scattering across the floor. Alora stormed in like a vengeful dawn, eyes bright with unshed tears. The faint glow of light clung to her like armor.
“You made a bargain with Theia?” Alora screamed, voice breaking through the smoke of his chamber.
For a heartbeat, the world stilled. Even the shadows held their breath.
Rune pushed down the flicker of unease stirring low in his gut and rested his chin on his fist. “Have you forgotten who I am, songbird? I am the Hollow in the Mountain, and I answer all who call to me.”
The words came easily. They always had. A mantle he wore without effort.
But his voice drew taut.
“This is why you didn’t want me to see her,” Alora hissed, fists clenching. “You stole her soul.”
Sighing, Rune rose to his feet. “I cannot steal souls, Alora. I can seduce, I can lure, I can lie. But I can only take what was given. And Theia sold hers.” He moved closer. “By the time you had come to me, she had already sung my song.”
Alora shut her eyes, tears spilling down her cheeks.
And something twisted inside him.
He had damned thousands without pause. Corrupted kings, shepherds, youths who prayed too loudly to the wrong god. He had done it to spite Elyōn. To prove his father’s precious mortals were no better than him. He had watched innocence burn and felt nothing but vindication.
Yet now, at the sight of her tears, a rare feeling crept beneath his ribs.
Shame.
He had not hesitated when Theia called. Had not considered what Alora would think. Had not weighed mercy against fury. His anger toward his father had come first. It always did.
And now he saw the consequences of that instinct.
“What did her soul buy?” Alora whispered.
“Her mother’s life.”
Alora’s eyes snapped open, her mouth parting.
“I placed her mother’s body under a preservation dome to maintain her until the curse can be broken.”
Her fists shook, the markings on her arms flashing. “What will happen to Theia’s soul?”
He hesitated. “It is damned. Upon her death, Theia’s soul will fall to the Netherworld...”
Alora’s expression broke. “No, not her. Undo it. Break your bargain!”
He hated to see the hurt in her eyes, but his hands were tied.
“I cannot. Nothing throughout the universe can break a contract with the dark, Alora. Nothing but my death.”
And he was immortal.
Alora covered her face and silently sobbed. He reached for her arm, but she hissed, lurching away.
“Stay away from me!”
The scream rang through his head, echoing the past.
Rune dropped his hand, looking away.
He’d corrupted thousands of souls in his reign. Most begged for it, their greed sweet as rot. But this one… this girl’s soul had been pure. Theia’s bargain hadn’t tasted of sin but desperation. And for the first time in an age, he regretted damning a soul.
Alora backed away. “Every time I think I’m wrong about you…”
She turned to go but Rune caught her wrist. He endured the pain of her light, unable to let her go while her anguish flooded the bond.
“I am the God of the Netherworld,” he murmured. “Do not expect light from one who rules the dark.”
Her breath shook with her anger, and the candlelight flickered. Her thoughts slipped through his, sharp, unguarded, full of ache. So volatile. He’d destroy everything merely to prove he can.
He almost smiled.
It was what the world demanded of him, what the darkness expected.
The darkness bowed to no gentle king. If she could see what he saw, the thousand evil souls clawing at the edges of his realm, the endless chorus of screams of those who deserved punishment, perhaps she would understand. Or perhaps she would revile him more.
Alora’s light stung his hand as she tore herself free, and he let her go, watching her turn away. A part of her hated that she wanted him, but it was the part he clung to like a desperate fool.
Because she was right.
He would destroy everything to keep her.
Rune did not flinch when she slammed a mental shield into place, silencing the bond between them. The act left a void in his chest. She did it without effort, controlling her power as though she had been born to it.
“If I did not confront you about this, would you have ever told me?” Alora asked.
He couldn’t bring himself to answer because it would have been a lie.
Her scoff was dry and bitter.
Then Alora went still when she looked at the table. He braced but her gaze was not on the chest. She was staring at the blood-splattered bowl beside it, containing Segrith’s white eyes.
Alora’s chest heaved and she covered her mouth.
Rune tossed a handkerchief over the bowl. “Pardon. I didn’t intend for you to see that.”
Alora gaped at him in horror. “You took her eyes. Why?”
In the corner of his mind, a name stirred.
A name not spoken in an age and one he dared not say aloud.
“For speaking treason,” Rune growled. “Segrith is fortunate her eyes are all I took. Next time she will think twice before interfering where she should not.”
Alora’s revulsion settled in his chest. “No, it was punishment and a warning not to reveal more. How many secrets are you keeping from me?”
One question he truly couldn’t answer.
Rune kept seeing her die in his memories, kept seeing the time they had together, all of it gone because of a lie.
Those beautiful eyes that shone like warm amber watched him, waiting for an answer. Eyes that used to look at him with adoration in another time, in another life. Now Alora looked at him with contempt. Like a stranger she was forced to entertain.
Remember me…
If she could, then perhaps he wouldn’t dread making another mistake or work so hard to hide his mountain of secrets. There was nothing keeping him from telling her the truth but his own cowardice.
Rune sighed, stepping back. “Alora—”
The small chest thrummed, the edges of the lid glowing softly. Alora flipped it open, revealing the spider lily and spindle. Her fury flared anew.
“Why did you burn them?” she demanded. “I went to the Gate chamber. I know it was you.”
He said nothing. The quiet between them was thick enough to drown in.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. “The Blood Blooms hold magic not of this world, Alora. They are from the Netherworld.”
Her eyes widened. “Then how did they get here?”
“That is the question, isn’t it? Not only how but why.”
The Nether stirs.
Sal’vathar’s words echoed like poison in his ears. He publicly questioned his rule, and insulted his wife, then dared to gift him effigies of the Primordials.
Rune should have killed him.
“What does it have to do with the Gate?” Alora asked next.
Rune had questioned this too. Why there?
“Perhaps because my Gate is the doorway into my Realm. It is a land of wickedness and darkness, where demons are born and shadows form. It’s where I belong.”
Alora stared at him with dread. It was the same look mortals wore when they first beheld him. Where once it fed his pride, instead it hollowed him to see it from her.
Her slender neck bobbed with a swallow. “Then… how did you come into our world?”
“We arrived here over a millennia ago,” Rune continued, looking out at the horizon. “I and my brothers entered your Realm through our own Gates to shape all that you see. Once our tasks were complete, the Gates opened and each god left … one by one. Until I remained.”
His chest compressed a moment with an odd feeling. He didn’t care that he was the last. What did it matter when no one was left to contest him?
That had been his goal before.
World conquest and bloodshed.
A means to gain the power he needed to revive his bride.
But here Alora was, a gem in the moonlight, looking so pure it made him want to corrupt her. By whatever strange miracle, she was alive now and he wished to take her with him to the Netherworld. But Rune couldn’t bring himself to admit the answer to opening his Gate rested in her hands.
And if she died before that…
The Netherworld Gate would remain closed forever.
If any of the lesser demons who preferred the Mortal Realm suspected that, they would turn their blades on Alora before the next sunrise.
Sal’vathar had meant his words as a warning. Or perhaps an invitation. Replace her and find another. Rune’s jaw tightened. As if there could ever be another.
Alora looked at him now with so many questions he could see spinning behind those eyes.
He couldn’t let her know.
Not yet. Not while she still feared him.
Not while her feelings hovered on the cusp of something fragile. They could easily break as she had…the moment she saw him for what he truly was.