Chapter 45 #2
He drew a breath as he tightened his grip on her hand, steadying himself.
“You went into a trance when the mirror showed you the moment of your birth.” Turning over her hand, the scar on her fingertip turned white against her flushed skin.
“Salvia had to prick your finger with the spindle for you to breathe life.”
She stared down at it. “Zinnia told me that part…but there’s more, isn’t there?”
“Your mother made a bargain with the source of the dark itself,” Rune confirmed, voice low.
“Your birth drew magic from the Netherworld. I should have felt it. A rip through the veil.” He shifted around, looking up at the slabs of stone, baffled that he had not sensed it at all.
It had been concealed from him. “Or I would have known an aberration was born …”
He hated that word the moment it left his mouth.
Alora’s fingers curled into the fabric of her dress, knuckles white, as though bracing herself against a blow neither of them ever thought she’d have to face. “Are you telling me I was never meant to exist?”
The question lodged deep in his chest, too close to truths he had buried. He had believed that about himself once.
A disappointment.
A mistake.
But never about her.
The bond throbbed in Rune’s chest, steady as a second heartbeat. It hummed with her presence, undeniable as breath. Such a connection was purer than bargains or birth. Whatever she was, she was his.
“Your birth may have been forged in magic,” he said, voice low, “but magic cannot forge a soul. Such a pure thing is sacred in the Heavens, carrying the force of a star. Souls are shaped in the River of Souls and travel through the Seven Gates before they enter the mortal world.” He held her gaze, unflinching.
“Whatever destiny the Fates planned for you, it wove you into mine.”
Alora’s mouth parted with a stunned breath, as if she wasn’t sure whether to argue or fall apart, hope and fear warring in her eyes. “Then what did you mean by aberration?”
Rune rubbed his face, expelling a heavy sigh.
“The gods never mix their magic, Alora. They are jealous creatures. Each one wants to be the sole creator.” He turned to her, his hands clenching.
“Only once in the history of the world has the divine magic of two mixed by desperate hands. And what came of it was...” He trailed off, thinking of the mutant warg that came to be with the magic of shadow and death. “A being of abominable power.”
Alora’s eyes widened and she backed away from him. “And that… happened to me?”
He stepped toward her slowly. Carefully. Afraid she might shatter if he moved too fast.
“Your mother’s bloodline belongs to the first fae—those created by the God of Mortals.
Creator of the seasons. Divinity of Spring.
” His eyes held hers, catching the red glow of the spider lilies.
“Perhaps if she had been with another of my brothers, you would have been born a demigoddess like her and your godmother. But to make you, she sought a power of unfathomable origin, older than divinity and greater than the fabric of the realms.”
He saw the realization enter Alora’s eyes before he said it.
The world went quiet, the wind falling still. Rune’s mouth went dry to even say the words. Something in his chest shook and air left his lungs as his vision spun. He immediately jerked forward, taking Alora’s elbow as she fought to breathe.
“Which one, Rune?” she asked desperately, her voice becoming shrill. “Tell me who.”
He closed his eyes.
The name was like claws down his spine.
“Vorak, the Devourer of Worlds,” he confessed faintly. “Sovereign of the Seven Hells.”
Alora’s knees buckled.
He caught her before she fell, one hand gripping her arm as the other steadied her waist. Her breath came fast, shallow. The weight of truth pressed against her chest and against his. She stared at the ruins like they might say the words he couldn’t.
“When he wakes, even the gods will kneel,” she murmured, staring blankly at the stones. “That is what Segrith told me.”
Rune’s jaw clenched, shadows twitching at his heels like restless wolves. The Primordials were beyond their power. It would take all of his brothers to fight one and he doubted it would be enough.
“The Dominions…” Her throat worked around the words. “They are waiting for the first king to return.”
He growled, the vibration deep in his chest. “Impossible. Vorak is imprisoned. He cannot reach into the Mortal Realm.”
“Can’t he?” Alora snapped, a tremor of fear and fury in her voice. “I am standing right in front of you. I exist because he made me!”
It was more than that.
The ruins whispered around them. Wind slithered through the broken stone, Blood Blooms pulsing in time with Rune’s mounting dread. And beneath it all, something stirred.
The simple fact that they were growing here meant Vorak’s dark magic had taken hold of this realm…
“Absorbing life,” Alora said, catching his thought. “He is the source of the Sleeping Curse, isn’t he? Vorak is absorbing the lifeforce of my people.”
Rune was stunned silent. He was regaining the strength to escape.
“What else did you see in the mirror?” she demanded next.
The vision of him dissolving to ash flashed in his mind.
Rune turned away, dragging a hand through his hair. He couldn’t let her feel his fear.
But it echoed inside of him. The same magic that once split the Netherworld open like a wound. The same force that had wrapped around his throat.
The hour of the end is nigh.
A shiver took hold of his spine and he clenched his teeth, shadows lashing with fury at his own cowardice.
Vorak was bound, forgotten, and buried by time and silence.
Or so Rune had believed.
Until now.
Until her.
Rune had heard threats from gods, kings, and monsters alike.
But Vorak’s message had not been a threat.
It was a prophecy.
“The future…” he whispered.
His eyes found Alora’s again. She was looking at him differently now. Not with fear. But with realization. Like she’d peeled back the edge of the curtain and seen the bones behind the throne.
And if Alora was born of such dark power…
Then she wasn’t merely part of the Netherworld.
She was the key.
And the lock.
And the end of them all.
The air shifted and Rune immediately caught the movement in the trees. Armored fae emerged, swords drawn, bearing the crest of Calveron.
Alora froze and the air rippled as Nexus grew to full size with a snarl.
“They found me,” she said shakily.
Rune smiled as the last of the sunlight descended past the trees.
Good.
He was itching to unleash the wrath burning in his veins. “They are the least of your worries.”
As they advanced, Rune strode to meet them.
Shadows erupted from the earth like black roots, splitting the ground, snarling through the air. They coiled around the soldier’s legs, arms and throats, lifting them off their feet like puppets.
Rune stepped forward, darkness and blood coating the air as they screamed.
One by one, the soldiers were slammed into the ground. Bone cracked. Necks twisted. Swords clattered, useless.
Fast.
Flawless.
Viciously clean.
Alora watched beside Nexus, stiff as stone, the color flushing her cheeks.
“What is it, little bird?” Rune grinned at her over his shoulder. “You look nervous.”
But when he held out a hand to her, she slowly walked to him and took it. Her gaze flitted to the dragon scales dusting the back of his knuckles and on his cheekbones. Surprisingly, she didn’t flinch. He gauged her reaction to him, and he distantly scented her arousal.
His power curled around her like silk as he pulled her close. “Did that display impress you?”
Alora shivered but didn’t move away. “I am mildly intrigued. You killed them without sparing a second.”
“There is no amount of blood I wouldn’t spill for you.”
She shivered but didn’t appear frightened by that but worry knotted between her brows. “They found me here, Rune. I think … Eldrik has my godmother.”
Yes, Rune had that feeling as well. “It’s time I deal with this prince.”
“I need to go back,” Alora said, rushing to gather her satchel. She spotted the spindle in the grass and picked it up, her expression saddening before she tucked it away. “Let’s go.”
They had come here to discover more about the curse.
But the mirror didn’t show them how break it—
Rune stilled as he gazed at her now standing within the red glow of the spider lilies in the twilight. And something in the air pulled at him, hauntingly familiar.
A memory of her, standing beneath a crimson moon.
Alora had smelled of these flowers the day she died. And for a moment, he could see it—her terrified eyes when she looked at him. Her running away through the forest as he chased her. Then finding her lying still in the dark forest where her heart stopped.
Her lips pale. Eyes closed. Dead…
—or cursed.
His pulse kicked, breath stalling.
“What is it?” Alora asked.
Before Rune could answer, the air shifted. A sharp ripple of magic. Then a blast of white light split open behind her and hit him square in the back, knocking him across the clearing. He rolled mid-air, landing on his feet.
A Calveron cavalry appeared on the hill. With them came wagons lined with polished bronze plates. He had seen those before, on the battlements of Stormwatch Keep.
Alora’s beacons.
She gasped, her panic rattling his chest. “Rune, flee!”
“No,” he growled.
A commander made a call. Their hands lit with bright, burning magic. Summer Court light. Rune shielded his eyes against the searing heat, shadows rising automatically to cover them both. His skin blistered and smoked.
Gritting his teeth, Rune summoned Saeroth and the shadow horse emerged beside Alora. “Go, now.”
“But I can fight.”
“I will not risk you,” Rune snarled, keeping his eyes on the soldiers. “Ride to the forest. Make another portal.” At her silence, he glanced over his shoulder at her wide eyes. She was frightened … for him. His anger softened. “I will find you.”
Alora nodded shakily and quickly mounted the saddle. “Help him,” she commanded Nexus then snapped the reins and galloped for the trees.
Screeches echoed in the night as Hydras slithered down the hill for them.
Their bodies were knotted with scales and too many heads.
Nexus surged forward in a blur of black fur and smoke, slamming into the first serpent and ripping its throat out with a snarl.
A noble gesture, but Rune had no need for aid.
Shadow coiled across his limbs as his body reshaped and grew. Scales burst along his arms and spine. Wings unfurled, blotting out what little sun the cursed Calveron magic granted.
The soldiers and beasts recoiled as the dragon rose to full height, domineering heat rippling the air. Nexus drew back, giving him room.
Rune roared. The trees shuddered from its might. The soldiers drew on their magic, making the beacons flare bright. The light seared and burned, but he hardly felt it.
No pain compared to his ire.
Rune exhaled and flame poured from his jaws.
Men and beast filled the field with screams, fire consuming all. Their bodies blackened. Screams cut short, turning silent as bodies crumbled to ash. Even the beacons melted on the hill in heaps of molten bronze. When the fire dimmed, blackened husks remained, steam curling over scorched earth.
He waited for the next cavalry, for the next attack of magic or strategy but he sensed no other.
Was this the extent of Eldrik’s forces?
The prince had to know he was challenging a god. To send so little, was merely to send his men to their deaths.
Rune… Alora called to him through the bond.
He turned, and for a moment his pulse slowed.
Alora stood framed in that golden light of an Elder Tree portal, hair rippling in the forest breeze, divine light dancing around her. She looked otherworldly. Ethereal. A goddess carved from sunlight and night in equal measure.
And she was smiling.
At him.
He could not remember the last time he had seen her smile without fear clinging behind it, and the sight struck something soft beneath all his armor.
She had waited for him.
He shifted, bones reshaping, scales vanishing from his skin until he stood as a man again. Wind tangled his hair. A wild, treacherous hope took root in his chest, as dangerous as any ray of sunlight. Perhaps she was choosing him.
Perhaps she already had.
A dark form lunged from the trees.
Prince Eldrik.
Alora saw him too late. Rune launched forward on his shadows with the speed of the wind.
She reached for her dagger, finding only an empty sheath.
Eldrik swiftly twisted her arm until she screamed and dropped it.
The prince hauled her backward, dragging her into the portal’s light.
Her wide, frightened eyes found Rune’s, her flailing hand stretching toward him.
His fingers nearly brushed hers.
But the portal spiraled shut.
And she was gone.