Chapter 13
BANESTONE
Seryn
“Good riddance to bad rubbish,” Breena blurted.
We were back in the Hespira’s den, huddled in a meeting space. Marked-up maps on dingy parchment were strewn across the walls and a wide, flat boulder in the center.
The pixie rested safely in a chiseled hollow in the far wall. Its wings quivered as it snored delicately.
“Ascension is needed to maintain the balance,” I mumbled, the words spilling out in a daze. I barely registered saying them aloud.
The Ancient of Nightmares had Gavrel. Plans whirled through my mind.
We’d all escape this nightmare.
We had to.
I unclenched my fists.
Breena rolled her eyes, pushing her hair aside and revealing her raven feather tattoo behind her ear. Letting me know, she obviously knew Ascension was Ancients-damned needed as a fecking Korax rebel.
Or, at least, that’s what I assumed she was saying.
I stuck my tongue out at her, and she laughed. “A girl can dream. You know how much I love shoving pointy things into people who deserve it. And that twatsicle deserves it.”
Thesa and Therrok glanced at one another, some sort of silent, sibling communication passing between them despite their unamused expressions.
The corners of Mama’s mouth twitched. “Now that the Elders can no longer siphon from Morpheus, their stolen turns are catching up with them, especially outside of Midst Fall. Their ember will dwindle faster in the Oneiric realms, too.” Her forehead scrunched.
Even though I hadn’t seen it for many turns, I knew that line between her delicate eyebrows meant she was worried. She tapped her mouth with her fingertips. “And, yes, we need Ascension to occur, but it requires both the Elders’ and the Scions’ cooperation.”
“Even if we can steal Melina back, she won’t ascend willingly,” I noted.
“No, she won’t,” Mama agreed. She cupped her cheek before her eyes brightened, and she snapped her fingers. “The amulet.”
The Grim Twins—as I’d dubbed Thesa and Therrok—paused abruptly.
“No one’s seen it in decades,” Thesa grumbled.
Therrok itched a spot between the braids at his crown. “Not entirely accurate, Thes.”
I was certain he was the only one who could get away with calling her anything but her full name.
His sister’s eyes narrowed.
He shrugged. “I don’t tell ya all the things.”
She scowled in response. His mouth pinched as he looked at my mother, interest flickering in her gaze.
“Gryvak still has it?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Yeah. No one’s stupid enough to steal it from Leystaes.” Breena and my eyes darted between Mama, Therrok, and the rest of the Hespira crew gathered around us.
“Steal what? And who the void named their spawn Gravy Stacy?” Breena chuffed.
Thesa crossed her arms, still scowling at her brother. “Gry-vack Lay-stace,” she ground out as if she were teaching an unruly child how to pronounce the name. “The head of the Scourge.”
Breena ignored her and rubbed her palms together. “So Gravy Stacy’s gang has some pendant that will what? Solve our Melina problem?” She wiggled her eyebrows at me. “Adventure time?”
I smirked, shaking my head. Mama leaned into me and whispered, “I quite like her.”
I smiled. “I do, too.”
Straightening, my mother tucked her hair behind her ears, a flame-colored curl popped back out defiantly.
How I’d missed her.
I fiddled with the end of my braid.
“You’ve got moxie, Breena.” My friend beamed at Mama in response. “But Gryvak isn’t one to underestimate. He’s in the business of smuggling. Trafficking. Relics, creatures, astrals—you name it. And he’s brutal. Just ask Melina.”
Breena rubbed her lips together, sealing in her usual quips. Apparently, my mother was the only one Breena would keep quiet for.
“What do you mean?” I asked. “Is Gryvak … Is he Melina’s fated?”
Mama’s mouth twisted into a frown, and she nodded.
I folded my arms against the pinch of sympathy for the Elder. Even though I understood how suffering could transform a person, I couldn’t overlook all the atrocities Melina had committed in the past hundred turns. All the damage she had inflicted upon countless others.
Breena bumped her shoulder against mine. “She likely didn’t deserve what he did to her then, but she does now. Let’s not bloody forget that,” she said, as if reading my thoughts.
“Can we get back to the Shadowvault Amulet?” Thesa groused.
Irritably, Therrok scraped one meaty palm over the rough stubble marring his thick jaw.
“Deep breaths, Rocky.” Breena patted his massive shoulder, and it tensed.
Thesa took a step toward us, and I offered the female a placating smile, giving Breena a pointed look.
Her touch dropped from Therrok as she showed her palms to his sister. “New here, yeah? We don’t know about your pretty baubles, eh?”
Therrok rolled his eyes. His voice sounded like bone shards crunching. “The amulet is legendary. Phobetor himself created it—a gift for Morpheus’ wife before he offed her. But the lass wouldn’t leave the Ancient of Dreams.”
“If he couldn’t have her, no one could,” Thesa muttered so quietly I wasn’t sure I’d heard her correctly.
“Didn’t think the Ancient of Nightmares could love,” I mused.
Mama sighed, her eyes wandering over the glossy cavern wall, jagged fractures glinting in the candlelight. “It wasn’t love. It was envy and desire. The desire to hurt his brother—lash out—in any way he could.”
Loathing radiated from her, but underneath … underneath, longing simmered. Her need to finally—finally—join her fated must have tormented her all these turns. I leaned against her, and she brought her focus back to me, offering me a sad smile.
If Phobetor knew Mama was Morpheus’ khorda …
If he knew I was his niece …
Stop.
I wouldn’t let fear ensnare me.
We’d do what we needed to regardless.
Therrok coughed, his boots creaking as he shifted uncomfortably. “The amulet … it’s made of banestone.”
Eyebrows rose around me. Others shook their heads. Breena put her hands on her hips, impatient.
He continued, “No one other than a descendant of Nyx can forge or wield the stone. Few have tried. All have been driven mad. The moment it turns from obsidian to amber, Nyxvein bumping around inside … there goes your mind. That mist feeds off your essence. Your greatest fears. It’s what fuels the Nether Void.
” He stomped one heel into the obsidian—correction: banestone—beneath our soles.
“It’s what the Dormancy pods are made of,” Mama added. “The stone is harmless when dormant, like the pods. But there are active pockets of it, the closer you get to the capital. Stay as far away from them as you can.”
“The Cradle of Nyx,” Thesa mumbled, voice terse.
I recalled my lessons long ago, remembered being fascinated by the Nether Void’s creation story. Magister Barden had described the event and Nekrionn in such vivid detail that day.
The Magister pulled out a hand-drawn map, pointing enthusiastically.
Kaden yawned, his chin propped on his knuckles. I rolled my eyes and shoved one of his elbows so his head bobbed. Magister Barden squinted at him, his finger stilling on the diagram.
“Apologies, Magister Barden,” Kaden grumbled and then lightly kicked my ankle under the table.
I covered my mouth to hold in a combination of a yelp and a giggle.
The Magister tilted his head from side to side and continued our lesson.
“The Cradle of Nyx is where the Primeval of Night landed after Khaos birthed her. Nyx fell through the aether until the dark took her. Nekrionn, the capital, formed around the impact, and it’s where the Nether Void began.
Every nightmare creature crawled out of that wound—”
“Nyxvein runs through it.” Mama’s voice brought me back to the present. “Feeds the land, feeds the beasts. It’s their lifeblood.”
“And where they watch others lose their blinkin’ minds for sport,” Therrok added.
Thesa crossed her arms, the top joint of one wing lifting. “That’s the best-case scenario.”
Nyxvein.
The word prickled under my skin. I rubbed at my arms, but the memory clung to me.
Inky mist sinking into my soul.
Filling me.
The thought of another Dormancy pod, of that darkness seeping inside once more, made bile burn the back of my throat. Then it struck me: this was my legacy. I could never scrub it out.
My fingers went cold, and I drew in a shaky breath. There was quite literally night in my veins. Nyx’s veins. My grandmother.
And Hemeros, the Primeval of Day, was my grandfather. His light had once tangled with her dark when night and day brushed past one another. In that twilit moment, and with careless abandon, they’d conceived the Oneiroi.
Breena threw her hands up, breaking my musings. “You want us to find this … this soul-sucking nightmare necklace? And what? Go bloody senile?”
Mama gently wrapped her fingers around mine. Surely, she could feel my pulse throbbing.
Therrok huffed. “No.”
Breena smirked.
His chin jutted toward me. “That one has to.”
Breena’s wide mouth pulled into a frown.
My mother brushed her other hand over Breena’s shoulder. And in a rare moment of softness, Breena relaxed into her touch, her features going lax.
Mama looked at me, her hand squeezing mine. “It has to be you, my love. As a demi-Ancient and direct descendant of Nyx, you’re the only one who can wield it and trap Melina’s ember within.”