Chapter 50 #2
Two months. The one night when the veil between the Realms thins and magic surges.
A cold chill washed over her body.
The first king of the Netherworld was coming, and it would turn the sway of the demon court.
“I care not for their fealty, Alora,” Rune muttered. “When Elyōn sealed the Primordials in the Abyss, they became the pillars that hold up the Realms. Should Vorak break free, it will destabilize the balance. Can you imagine what will happen to the world when he frees the others?”
The world will fall.
Alora shuddered.
“We will face him together,” she said, standing. “Even if half of the Dominions pay Vorak fealty, Harbingers follow you and so do others. Argyle and the Midlands will fight. We will stop him before that happens.” She went to him. “We should return to Karag D?r and prepare the Legion.”
Rune moved a step back. “You will not do anything,” he said. “You will stay right here.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
He heaved a sharp breath. “I don’t want you involved.”
“I’m already involved. You tell me Vorak is coming to destroy the world, yet you want me to hide away?”
Rune scowled. “You will have nothing to do with this. You will stay here where it is safe, far from Karag D?r.”
“He is my father.”
“And you are my wife!”
She froze, her chest heaving at his shout.
Rune’s throat bobbed and the anger melted away as his eyes softened.
“Vorak made you with the intention to devour you, for your magic would ascend his. He is a consumer.” He reached out and wiped the tear from her cheek.
“All demons are. We crave power, especially divine power. And now I understand why I am so possessed by you, Alora.” Rune leaned toward her, his eyes darker and gleaming with something that made her heart race.
“The essence of what you are is like nectar from the forbidden tree, addicting and utterly irresistible. For that reason, you must stay here, for I no longer trust myself around you, ra’ayati. ”
Her pulse slowed at the soft word, so rarely spoken and only when he was being earnest with her.
Rune’s mouth trailed over her jaw and down her throat. She stilled, closing her eyes as his fangs grazed her. His hands trembled at her waist.
His voice carried faintly in the sliver of space between them. “I fear that if I stay, I will attempt to devour you, too… and I may not stop when you beg me to.”
Then he vanished into the shadows.
Alora stared at the empty space, heart thudding. Smoke clung to the air where he had stood.
His absence left a cold ache in her chest, confusion, sadness, and something she couldn’t name. She swore the room still trembled from the weight of his admission.
A creak sounded above.
“Here I was, terribly worried my best friend was miserable with the Shadow God who spirited her away,” said an amused voice from the landing above.
Alora gasped, looking up.
Theia leaned lazily on the railing, her amber eyes gleaming with familiar mischief. “But from what I overheard… he’s quite feral for you.”
Alora laughed through a breathless sob. “How much did you hear?”
“Enough to be mortally scandalized,” Theia replied with a grin. “Though I can’t decide what’s more shocking: Delphi’s delusions, or your husband’s declarations.”
Alora rushed for the stairs. Theia met her halfway and they collided in a tight embrace, the kind that squeezed every fracture closed.
They sank onto the velvet couch together, hands still tangled.
“Thank you for sending Lord Zuma,” Theia said, voice softening. “He was very kind.”
Alora arched a brow, spotting the faint blush coloring her friend’s cheeks. “Where is he now?”
Theia cleared her throat. “Outside. Chopping firewood for my hearth.”
Alora couldn’t help but smirk. “Ah. How thoughtful of him.”
“Thornbearer is allowing outsiders in for once,” Theia said. “Or perhaps she made an exception…”
But Alora’s smile faded, the dread seeping back into her bones. “I suppose it’s the least she could do … now that so much has come to light.”
Theia’s expression faltered, voice laden with concern. “I truly cannot imagine how you must feel. Are you all right...?”
Alora reached out, patting her cheek gently. “Never mind me. How is your mother?”
“She’s upstairs, resting in a room of her own. Preserved by a spell Rune cast. She sleeps like the dead, but... peaceful.”
Alora’s stomach tightened. “And you? You gave him your soul, Theia. Why?”
Her friend turned toward the window, watching Zuma in the distance.
Her voice trembled. “My father’s gone. My mother was slipping.
I had nothing left… so I sang the Hollow King’s song.
Desperation makes fools of us all when you’re willing to do anything to save the ones you love… even giving up your soul.”
Alora squeezed her hand. “Then I can’t fault you. I gave up mine, too. For Argyle.”
“Then I suppose we will be damned together,” her friend said shakily.
A deep sadness settled in Alora’s chest. Theia didn’t deserve that, but there was nothing she could do to undo the bargain that was made.
“Have you found a way to break the curse?” Theia asked quietly, changing the subject.
Alora sat taller. “Yes.”
And so, she told her best friend everything.
Theia listened, enraptured, pausing occasionally to ask questions. Calla returned in a quiet wisp of smoke, stationing herself nearby with casual menace, occasionally offering or clarifying a detail. Zuma moved in and out, silently stoking hearths, his large hands piling wood with ritual precision.
By the time Alora finished, twilight had bled into evening, and they gathered around the new table.
A meal of roasted venison, herbed barley, and hot cider had been cooked by Zuma, who apparently did far more than chop wood. He merely shrugged when complimented and offered Theia the largest cut.
As they ate, Theia traced the edge of the crimson crystal spindle, wonder in her eyes. “Your tale belongs in a book, Alora. A fairytale of dragons, curses, and sleeping queens.” She looked up. “Do I have permission to write it?”
Alora smirked. “I’d expect nothing less.”
They both laughed, but the warmth was fleeting.
Theia’s eyes drifted to Zuma beside her, voice hushed. “Do we truly stand a chance against him?”
Zuma inclined his head toward Alora. “My herd will answer your call. Whether to fight or flee, we stand with you.”
Alora exhaled shakily, fingers brushing her temple. “I want to believe we can stop him. But I don’t know if I can. If Rune can.”
“You don’t need to worry about him,” Calla said, arms crossed. “He’s doing what kings must do when unrest stirs. Hadeon and Deimos are rallying the courts. They’ll fall in line.”
Alora scoffed, gesturing to the window. “Meanwhile, I’m left here like some tragic fairytale princess. Hidden in a cottage while danger creeps closer. My people are afraid. The throne is empty. The curse spreads faster each day. Do you expect me to sit idle?”
Calla’s eyes gleamed, her claws laced together, Bloodstones glittering on her vambraces. “The Queen of the Netherworld does not idle,” she said. “She does not run from danger. And she does not waste the weapons she’s been given.”
Her gaze dropped to Alora’s hands, where red light flickered beneath the skin.
“It’s time you learned how to use them.”