Chapter 62 #2
Delphi was no longer the queen of veils and elegance, but a fae stripped bare.
Her once-glamored skin shimmered dully, the deep cerulean now mottled and dry like weathered stone, its violet undertones faded as though the human air had leached them dry.
Her midnight hair hung heavy and tangled, the sheen of indigo dulled to ash.
And half of her face marred by old burns, in the shape of small handprints.
Alora stilled at the sight of her doing.
Delphi’s glamor had never been only vanity or a ploy to mimic her subjects. It was to hide how much the mortal lands drained her, withering her by inches. Now her power was too weak to hide it. Only her violet eyes remained defiant, sharp as amethysts.
Alora canted her head. “So, Delphiniums do wither. The Midlands call you home, it seems.”
A silent glower pinched Delphi’s lip. “Your earth is foul, starved of all magic that once made it fertile. You know nothing of how much I suffered living in this place.”
“Was it worth stealing my mother’s crown?”
A shadow of Delphi’s old hauteur surfaced as she raised her chin. “Your mother was soft. She clung to mortals as though they were kin, and it made her weak.”
Fury rose hot and sharp in Alora’s chest and magic sparked at her fingertips. “And yet for all your strength, you wither the same. The irony, since it was clear you wished to be her.”
“I never wanted to be like Salvia!”
A fevered declaration, yet Delphi’s voice had cracked like ice.
Alora moved past her, seating herself by the cold hearth, letting the fireless stones warm her spine. “Then why did I find all of her portraits in the attic cut to shreds? Was it a fit of jealousy… or guilt?”
Delphi’s jaw tightened, her violet eyes sliding away.
Her gloved hands flexed in her lap, leather creaking faintly.
“She had beauty and the gift of song. I… poisoned all I touched. Whenever Salvia wept, flowers bloomed at her feet.” Her words were edged with spite, but beneath it trembled something raw, almost broken. “Always so poignant.”
Alora smirked, leaning into the venom. “Ah, you gave me the gift of tears as reprisal. What was it again? Oh yes. ‘May she always flourish in beauty, even when she weeps.’ How poetic.”
Delphi’s mouth twisted, the gloves on her hands creaking as she clenched them. “You were already gifted grace by Zinnia, and your mother’s song besides. What more did you need but to cry pretty? You were a fitful child, always wailing. I paid for that gift in full.”
Alora’s smirk sharpened into something colder, though her heart soured at the venom laced through Delphi’s words.
A gift born of spite.
It explained so much.
“And you could not bear it when your sisters surpassed you. One became Thornbearer and the other Queen. And what was Delphi to be? Perhaps as poisonous as her own ambition.”
The air tightened.
The vase of flowers on the table shriveled and the ceramic vase cracked as Delphi’s magic surged like a miasma of toxic smog.
“Salvia should never have borne you,” Delphi hissed, surging to her feet. Her violet eyes burned like coals in the half-light. “She made a deal with the darkness, and it cost her life!”
Alora froze where she sat, her breath caught in her chest. Looking at those dark, cold eyes filled with disgust and remorse, she knew the truth.
“You killed her…”
Delphi’s started at her wide eyed, her chest heaving. “She… she left me no choice.”
The confirmation made Alora’s heart stop a moment.
A brief relief sank into her bones to know she wasn’t the one who harmed her mother, but then hot rage replaced it. Threads of white fire lashed out, splintering the table in half. Fruit burst and red juice splattered the ground like blood.
“She was your sister.”
Delphi’s mouth trembled. “Yes… and I begged her not to go to the Ruins, but Salvia could not escape her need for a child as she could not escape the evil she defied.” Delphi looked away.
“Vorak broke her mind when she broke her vow. Her suffering was terrible and she begged me to end her life.” Delphi’s gaze met Alora’s, eyes shining with bitter tears. “So, I did… and I resent her for it.”
Brutal. Cold.
But… a mercy.
Drawing a shuddering breath, Delphi smoothed down her disheveled hair, letting her gaze fall on the hearth. “I gave her a poison that would grant her a painless death, but she still chose to suffer for years to watch you grow.”
Alora clenched her jaw, fighting the burn in her throat.
A memory, blurred and half-buried, surged up unbidden. Her mother writhing in bed, skin tinted a sickly green, stretched so thin it clung to bone. Her hair had withered like desiccated moss, her voice breaking between sobs and screams that made no sense.
Some nights, Salvia had clawed at the air, shrieking about shadows in the mirrors and eyes in the dark. Others, she lay silent, her gaze hollow, slipping further and further from the world as her lungs wheezed for breath.
Vorak had not merely cursed her.
He had tormented her, day after day, year after year.
“On her deathbed,” Delphi murmured, softer now, “Salvia bade me swear an oath: to send you to the Midlands where you would be safe.”
Fae oaths were binding, but only to the letter spoken.
Delphi had kept hers by sending Alora away, and Zinnia by sheltering her under enchanted grace. Yet Salvia, half-mad with pain, had not been lucid enough to demand they keep her there. They could not gainsay Laurent’s command when he summoned her home.
Perhaps they had even hoped her marriage to Eldrik would resolve everything. Arthal’s magic being much more potent, would have hidden her from all entities. But things changed once it was obvious what he was after.
“A fortunate turn for you regardless,” Alora murmured.
“Yes,” Delphi admitted softly, almost weary of the crown she wore. “That it was…”
The silence between them thickened, heavy as summer rain. Her aunt’s violet eyes bore the shadows of sleepless nights, and for the first time, Alora glimpsed grief carved into Delphi’s face that left her hollow.
“You loved your sister,” Alora murmured, understanding settling as she said it. “But you hated her more.”
Delphi’s jaw tightened, her gaze sliding away, as if the truth itself cut too deep to hold. “My son, is he well?” she muttered tiredly. “I had hoped you would bring him with you.”
Alora poured herself a cup of wine. “He was preoccupied.”
It was not a lie.
She had stopped by Rihan’s chambers before coming here. And her brother had been busy packing and had no time for visits. But they both knew it was an excuse.
His mother knew it too.
For a moment, the last of Delphi’s arrogance faltered. “I did what I thought was best for his future.”
Alora’s voice cut sharp. “And how did that serve you? You destroyed so many lives, stole futures. And now I must fight to ensure Argyle has one.”
Delphi fidgeted with her gloves, not disputing that. “What will become of Rihan?”
“If Argyle stands, he will one day sit in his father’s throne. If it falls, then you will have nothing left to sink your claws into. Until then, I will send him to Karag D?r with Commander Caelum and Theia, where he will be safe.”
Delphi’s head whipped around, eyes blazing. “What? No—you cannot send my son away with him!”
Alora frowned, ice settling in her tone. “What do you mean?”
“You cannot trust him.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Explain that to me plainly.”
Delphi opened her mouth but gave no reply because fae couldn’t speak anything but the truth.
Sighing, Alora stood. “Your attempts to sow discord and doubt will not work. I trust Commander Caelum with my life, and with Rihan’s. He is sworn to me.”
“Is he?” Delphi asked with sharp mockery. “You have always been a foolish, blind girl. You accept what you see without realizing we all wear masks. Many of them hide fangs.”
Alora rolled her eyes, her words tipped with venom. “Yes—and most of them poisonous.”
Delphi scowled at the barb, but Alora was already turning for the door.
“Rihan will be safe with me. You, however, will remain in your tower. Perhaps you will enjoy the view of the battle to come. And should I fall, may you savor that sight too, before the end.”
“Such flippancy,” Delphi hissed after her. “From she who would claim to be queen. Cursed seed of darkness, yet so ready for death. What good were the gifts we gave you when they rot to waste?”
Alora’s hand froze on the door, her heart twisting in her chest. “Why yes, my godmothers thought themselves so clever.” She looked at Delphi sharply over her shoulder.
“Grace and beauty. A voice sweeter than any songbird, that the world itself would hush to hear you. Yet who would care to listen? And what good are they now, when gods make war and Titans rise?”
Delphi said no more.
Alora marched out of the room, seething.
Gifts.
No, the old gifts were paltry things, shallow as vanity.
And they served nothing.