Chapter 18
WIELD ME
Seryn
By the dinner hour, we’d made it back to the Hespira’s den. While we shared a meal in the main cavern, firelight and embered cinder flickered around us, making the shadows dance jovially.
Breena and I sat on either side of my mother, cross-legged atop pillows. Hearty guffaws and chatter ricocheted off the walls, and a sweet buoyancy filled me, lifting my spirits as I studied the mortals and creatures in communion around me.
I swirled the navy spirits in my tarnished copper cup—noirshade, as Mama had called it—its viscous liquid clinging to the sides.
I took a sip. Tart dryness coated my tongue before warmth slid down my throat.
Plates of unknown game and vegetables in rich, dark hues splayed across the flat boulder we sat around.
For being trapped in the Nether Void, this band of renegades, mismatched like the pillows we sat upon, were a lively bunch.
Something about being condemned to a living nightmare for the rest of your days had a way of binding beings together like nothing else.
As Rhaegar liked to say: the more we struggled, the more resilient we became.
Most inhabitants here were creatures native to this cursed realm or astrals summoned into it, their eternal torment the price of mortal sins.
Yet, many of the Hespira were collateral damage in the Elders’ endless games, stolen from Surrelia, the Epiales Tombs, or Midst Fall. Some had earned Phobetor’s ire through imagined offenses. Others had simply intrigued him.
My gaze drifted to Thesa and Therrok, perched on a long, curved boulder next to a blue-haired siren and Argedes, the hulking centaur.
All of them were caught in a lively argument.
Pip sat on Thesa’s shoulder, and the vryka handed it a morsel of meat that the pixie gobbled up greedily.
The corners of my eyes crinkled at the sight.
Not everyone who had been born here—or who once deserved to stay—was a monster. Some clawed their way toward atonement, reaching for the aether. Trying to be better. To do better.
Therrok drank from his cup, crimson staining his upper lip before he licked it clean.
Gulping, I was reminded once more that the Grim Twins sustained themselves on blood.
But my mother had been right—they weren’t like their kin.
I frowned, thinking of Evyg, hoping I wouldn’t cross paths with that particular vryka again.
Argedes clunked one hoof against the ground to emphasize whatever point he was making, his muscular, human arms flying into the air in exasperation. Galeyn, the siren, smiled at his outburst and leaned back with crossed arms. Thesa’s wings ruffled behind her agitatedly.
“They’re likely arguing over who could take down Phobetor’s guards fastest in a raid.” Mama shook her head, lips curling in amusement.
“I’d put my coin on the siren,” Breena muttered. “One croon and you’re mucksap in their palm.”
I chuckled. “Ah, you speak from experience then, Bree?”
“Maybe,” she grumbled.
“Mucksap,” Mama murmured. “How I miss it.”
Breena chuffed a laugh. “Said no one ever.”
With a wistful look in her eyes, Mama sighed, leaning back. “I miss home. The Bogs, I mean.”
My heart pinched. I missed it, too. But also … “What of Evergryn?”
A soft smile tipped her lips. “Evergryn holds a piece of my soul as well. It sheltered us, gifted us a happy life despite everything. I have room for both in my heart.”
I swiped my fingers through my curls, holding back the trembling avalanche of emotions threatening to spill free.
Things would never be the same.
Not Evergryn. The Bogs.
Everyone I knew and had yet to meet.
Me.
We let ourselves marinate in the silence. It was in such moments that our lives, memories, and choices were the loudest. But in the end, the seconds marched on with or without you.
And the regret of not taking action would weigh more heavily on me than failure. Because at least in failing, I would know I had tried.
I placed my elbows on my knees. “Let’s go through the plan again.”
Mama clasped her hands atop the table and nodded to the vrykas. They and the siren joined us, leaving the centaur to debate with another rebel. Pip draped across Thesa’s shoulder, the pixie now on her belly, tracing circles on the vryka’s leather vest.
We’d spent the last few days scheming, crafting a plan on how to get into Phobetor’s dungeon. A strategy to rescue Gavrel—and Melina. My mouth puckered, irritation boiling at the thought of helping her. But we needed the Elder for Ascension.
Or at least her ember.
The day before, I’d asked my mother how she knew so much about Ascension.
“Morpheus spoke of it often,” she’d said. “Ascension always demands sacrifice. An Elder gives up their gifts, and the Scion offers blood and ember to the Elysium Tree. If the banyan deems the Scion worthy, it accepts the oath and sends them back … stronger than before.”
I thumbed my rune talisman, and Mama smiled. I mirrored her expression, let it fall, and my fingers drifted to the new amulet resting over my collarbone. Tingles zipped over my skin.
Therrok’s rumbling voice broke into my thoughts. “… and we leave tonight. Make it to the shores by midday, when the sky is at its darkest.” He lifted his thick jaw toward Galeyn, the siren.
Rolling her eyes, she tilted her head, azure waves and thin braids flowing over her shoulders like a current.
“Yes, a few from my khorus will be there.” Her words poured out smoothly, lyrically.
Just on the edge of intoxicating. If Galeyn freed her voice ember instead of dampening it, I suspected it would be nearly impossible to resist.
The sirens’ lore had always enraptured me. Enchanting creatures who could walk on land, their legs morphing into shimmering tails in the sea. Their voices lured unsuspecting prey to their watery graves. Not merely with song, but by unraveling emotions, bending desire into obedience.
I imagined their power was the fountain from which Haadran ember was first drawn, when the Ancients bestowed such gifts upon mortals.
Sirens were neither good nor evil. Some khoruses—clans born of blood or bound by choice—emerged from the Nether Void, their songs heavy with shadows. Others from Surrelia, brighter but no less perilous.
According to Galeyn, the most powerful among them could breach the barriers between realms, pressing through in the darkest depths of the Insomnis. She’d giggled when she’d told me, and my eyebrows had flown to my hairline.
Breaking my pondering, Breena jabbed her forefinger in the air, mimicking Therrok’s tone. “And we’ll find an opening in Phobetor’s tunnel situation. Like Firefly did with Morpheus’ dungeon, what with them being mirrors of one another.”
“And I’ll distract my uncle,” I added. Breena high-fived me and then pumped her fist in the air.
Mama’s lips pressed thin, her silence meaningful. She no longer objected to the plan we’d settled on, but her hazel eyes betrayed her. There wasn’t much that could distract Phobetor.
Except perhaps the one thing he would never resist—using me to hurt his brother.
I’d make him believe I was his blade.
The question remained: how would he try to wield me?