Chapter Twelve
Asher
C ould a fae die from annoyance?
“Will the two of you please shut up before I rip off the rest of my ears?” I shouted, cutting off Henry and Wrath as they bickered.
Do not murder them. Do not murder them. Do not murder them.
Henry had put up his strongest mental shields, but I was not above shattering them if need be. Something—anything—to get them to stop.
“Perhaps if we simply got rid of the spare, our journey would be far easier,” Wrath said, his voice calm despite the haunting fury within his words.
Henry bristled, his Sun magic lighting up his hands—the color of it blinding in its intensity. A deep growl crawled its way up Wrath’s throat, the dalistori challenging the demon.
Absolutely ridiculous, the both of them. Briefly, I wondered how far I could get on my own, but that thought was quickly squashed by the glaring fact that I was in no way capable of doing any of this alone.
“Do not think I will hesitate to cook you, kitty.” Henry stood, his fists clenched so tightly they shook with the force. Oh, what I would give for the peace and quiet I had in The Capital. Why I had once loathed such a thing was beyond me.
“Do not think I will hesitate to eat you raw, mortal.”
I watched on as Wrath’s form grew, a warning to Henry of the danger he was in. Pumpkin’s anger was so prominent that veins began to bulge in his head, his freckled face burning scarlet. If they were not so irritating, I might have laughed.
“I am no mortal, you overgrown rat!” Now he was screaming. Why must he scream?
Rolling over on the bed, I brought the quilt over my head and pressed out my power. Everyone was listening, quite literally the entirety of the inn. These walls were far too thin and my temper far too short for this.
“When you stand next to a deathless being such as myself, then you are a mortal in comparison, fool.”
That was it.
I took my foot and promptly kicked Wrath, sending him flying into Henry. They collided with a loud smack, the two of them falling to the floor in a tangled heap. With a rage that turned my vision red, I tossed the quilt to the side and flung myself off the bed.
“How dare you!” Wrath hissed.
Not in the mood to hear either of their voices, I latched onto their minds. I had quickly learned that Wrath’s consciousness was there in that hollow space, even if it did not feel as though it was. Like the afriktor, I could not manipulate him in quite the same way I could a fae or a demon.
Unfortunately for him, I was a quick study. I threw my power into them both, letting it shove its way to what nearly felt like their souls. Bodies seizing, the two looked at me with horror.
“I said, shut up!”
They both stared up at me as I towered over them, a looming presence that promised only pain and death. The things I had to do to be heard were utterly absurd.
“A day. That is how long you have been bickering. A full day of me listening to your pointless fights when we should have been deciding where to go next.”
Pressing further, my power hummed, enthusiastic about this new experience. I had never gone so deeply into a creature’s mind, burrowed myself into the very core of something in such a way. The darker side of myself, The Manipulator I kept hidden away, urged me to kill them for their insolence and end my suffering. Despite my love for Henry and my quickly growing affection for Wrath, I had to fight back against those urges.
“Now, I would never dare tell you that you are not allowed to disagree. Honestly, you can rip each other apart if you would like, but do it when we have successfully formed alliances with these mortal kingdoms and—ideally—found a horrifying and deadly creature or two.”
With that, I released them, listening as they gasped for air. Had I been halting their breathing? If so, it was not intentional. I considered saying that, but their gazes left me and moved to each other, the silent jabs vexing enough to stop me from apologizing.
How had I surrounded myself with imbeciles again ?
Ignoring the demon and the dalistori the best I could, I reached over and snatched the rolled map off the bed, making my way to the table.
Our room at this inn was far nicer than the others we had chosen. It had a bed large enough for both Wrath and I to sleep in, though the scratchy, dingy yellow quilt and the stained pillows were not the best. The lighting was dull, only a single small window and one nearly spent candle offering sanctuary from the darkness.
Unless you were a Sun, then you would probably juggle balls of light for the fun of annoying a sleeping dalistori.
A sofa that barely held three-quarters of Henry’s body sat in the far-right corner, sporting violently red cushions with what looked to be burn marks atop worn wood. Henry had been particularly floored when Wrath claimed the bed alongside me, which meant that he now had to resort to curling up on the sofa. I offered him the bed with the dalistori, but that led to him nearly ripping my head off too.
Opposite of it was the table, wood also worn but more of a yellow hue rather than the cherry color of the sofa. The ground below our feet creaked, chunks missing from the planks. I had tripped twice already, nearly shattering my ankle the second time.
A long, long night and day it had been. Sighing, I contemplated our next move.
Behman was the smallest of the six kingdoms, sitting at the northern tip of the continent. Each kingdom had a capital city at the very center, home of the royal family that sat atop the throne. In Behman, that city was called Jore.
Unrolling the map, I grabbed onto four small rocks, using them to hold down the corners. The mortals had an affinity for detail, that much was clear. Though they lacked the level of wealth and resources that the demons and fae had in abundance, they made up for it in innovation. Every aspect of the map in front of us showed that.
Villages and cities were surrounded by dirt roads, connecting them for better accessibility. Brothels, markets, inns, and all types of businesses littered the map, marked with what I assumed was immaculate precision. If we had the desire, we could very easily get from this small coastal village of Takort to the overly large city of Jore without magic.
Time was limited, though. Sightseeing and gallivanting about was not ideal or even realistic. We needed to convince Queen Shah that we were a worthy investment and a reasonable risk. I would be staking my claim as the rightful ruler of Betovere—preparing to end the tyranny of the Mounbetton’s.
Every word we said, every move we made, every promise we gave would need to be tirelessly calculated and flawlessly executed. There was no room for mistakes anymore. Our only hope of minimizing casualties was having enough support to force the fae royals to pause.
Yet how could we convince foreign kingdoms to stand by our side? To possibly fight in a revolution that had nothing to do with them? This would not be a simple conversation. It would be us begging them to potentially send their people to the slaughter.
We were out of our depth, dreadfully unprepared, and only seconds away from the palace gates if we portaled there.
I tried to think of all the training I had gone through, the hours upon hours spent at that table listening to the royal court argue and bicker.
Xavier’s voice resonated in my mind, telling me to remember my strengths—to assess what I did and did not know, to listen and learn.
The fae king was brilliant at that. He would ascertain a solution simply by bearing witness to the situation. Not a day had gone by without him etching the makings of a monarch into my mind—my soul. Mia, too, had prepared me for a future of sitting on a throne and ruling an entire realm. They might not have loved me, but they had made sure I would be a great leader.
No matter my failings, I had been raised to be a queen. It was my destiny.
Henry and Wrath had remained silent, taking up my flanks as I stared down at the map, my fists bunched and mind reeling. After another minute passed in silence, Wrath jumped atop the table, his head cocked to the side as he, too, took in the sight of Jore to the north of Takort.
“What do we know about Shah?” I asked, my eyes still trained on the city.
Henry’s low timbre sounded from my left, “She is twenty-nine years of age, widowed two years ago when her king consort died of a mortal disease that attacks the lungs, a dedicated philanthropist, and loved dearly by her people. Nothing that I can think of would be valuable when we go to see her.”
I nodded, remembering all of that from when we first planned out our route through the Mortal Realm.
“Oh, one interesting fact I learned yesterday: she changed her family crest when she came into power about seven years ago. What used to be a green and yellow snake wrapped around a sword is now a crowned raven in red and purple. I thought that was strange,” Henry added nonchalantly.
His words pulled me out of my trance, my head jerking towards him. A young widow, an even younger queen. She had come into power early on, likely married not long after. Following the death of the monarchs before her, she changed her family crest. Those were sacred symbols to the fae, and seemingly the demons as well.
That was the important part. If the mortals cared even half as much as we did about sigils, then what she did was likely unheard of.
What I would have given to alter the fae crest, to get rid of the gold and make something new. Something that represented my strength and resilience, that highlighted the change I would bring to the realm.
“Was the marriage arranged? How old was her king consort when he passed? Has she remarried?”
Henry looked surprised by my line of questioning, as if I was asking the wrong ones. Every part of my mind was racing with thoughts and plans and strategies, each coming together as the information came in.
Wrath stayed silent, his yellow eyes focused on me with an intensity that was impossible to miss. Over the last day, he had studied me that way, like I was a problem to be solved—one that had baffled him from the start. His gray fur was silky, body small, and long tail swishing back and forth. Calm, for now.
“Yes, seventy-one, and no,” Henry answered, drawing my attention back to him. “Why?”
A mortal queen who lived a life of rules and expectations, never making choices for herself. She wed who she was told, the man older than she and doubtfully her first choice. Two years after the death of her husband, she still had not remarried. Why would she when being unwed meant freedom?
Not so different from a fae princess who suffered in the same way.
“What is the significance of the raven?” I prodded, earning an eye roll from the Sun. One thing about Henry was that he maintained a short leash on his emotions. If he was happy, sad, angry, annoyed, he showed it.
A horrible courtier he would make.
When I refused to fall victim to his displeasure, he huffed out a breath and answered.
“Well, to the demons it means intelligence and insight. We view it as a symbol for wisdom.”
I nodded, feeling the resolve form within me.
“The fae think similarly. We believe the creature represents prophecy and transformation—the belief in oneself and the ability to morph into something better. What a leap, to a raven from a snake. A cunning and chaotic thing, ever changing and shedding to fit a new mold. Even the colors are vastly different. Green and yellow to red and purple, a sign of power, femininity, and royalty,” I mused.
The kingdom of Behman was not only the smallest but also the poorest. Their ports were closest to Eoforhild, the waters far enough from The Mist that there was no true danger. Still, the red hue on the horizon was enough to make them nearly deserted, few ships willing to dock there.
Henry and I had portaled to Betovere, the two of us disguised so we could board a ship headed to Maliha, the kingdom that Sterling’s family ruled over. I had briefly seen Isle Healer, but in my grief and drunkenness, I had not cared to take in the sights around me. The moment we landed in Maliha, we portaled to Behman and got to work. Even in that small glimpse of Isle Healer and Maliha, it was clear how Behman struggled.
The residents were thin, their eyes sunken in, clothes stained and ripped. Every aspect of life within this kingdom seemed dull and painful, the only thing bringing some semblance of joy and health being the obscene amount of trees and greenery.
Why would a new queen—one who had watched her kingdom fall victim to poverty through no fault of her own—want to keep a sigil crafted and worshiped by ancestors who let her throne crumble? Why would a woman who spent her life being told who to marry and what to say and how to dress want to serve under the cunning snake and violent sword?
“Ash, can you please tell me what is going on in that terrifying head of yours?” Henry asked, his voice a sharp plea.
Wrath, who had questioned me extensively after we portaled to the inn yesterday, seemed to catch on before Henry did. The dalistori knew quite a bit about why we were fighting against the fae. Though I left out much of my personal suffering, I imagined he had come to his own conclusions about my life and relationship with Mia and Xavier.
“You think she will rally to your cause because she, too, has lived a choiceless life.” Wrath’s voice hung in the air, that haunting tone taking on a sense of finality as it echoed through the silence. I wondered if he, like the afriktor, knew more than a normal creature. If he had a sense of what was to come.
Henry knew then where my thoughts had gone, the plan I was concocting. Whether or not he understood after two centuries of being loved by a mother and father who adored him—albeit in strange and rather violent ways—I did not know, but the look on his face seemed to say that he would follow my lead on this. That he trusted me.
“Shah gaining the crown was a unique opportunity. She had the chance to start fresh and mold the kingdom into something new, something she viewed as better. Yet she was still wed to a man she likely had no interest in but who probably had quite a bit of interest in her and that crown. It is hard to make big changes when your consort is an old man with little desire to alter a system that stands to benefit him. Those who gain from an oppressive system care not for those who will suffer beneath it. Yet Shah seems to want change. Her people love her and talk highly of her. How many of them mentioned her when we spoke to them? At least two from what you have told me.”
Nodding, Henry brought a finger to his chin, seeming to contemplate what I said. I waited patiently for him to chime in, to confirm what I knew in my heart was true.
“Yes, they do. She hosts balls to raise coin for the needy and drastically reduced her consumption to donate as well. The first woman we spoke to said that Shah had opened up a sort of shelter for women in need, specifically those who have been victims of a man. She is a spearhead for programs that feed the hungry and clothe the poor.”
“She is a dreamer,” I whispered, thinking back to that night months ago when Bellamy had first come to me during one of my nightmares. Recalling his words and my pessimistic beliefs.
Even now—with the loss of Winona, Pino, and the residents of Haven—I thought of the world as a place too dark to hope for light, myself too wicked for dreaming, but maybe enough people with influence and control could make something better.
Maybe I had been wrong.
Looking up, I ran over to my satchel, digging through it until I found the pencil with Bellamy’s note still wrapped safely around it. He would sense me touching it, prepared to whisk it back to him the second I let it go.
I am eating with Noe, Luca, Cyprus, and Lian. They are arguing about strategy and dessert, and all I can think is that your sarcastic jibes would make this far more entertaining.
I miss you.
The words upon the page made my heart ache. I missed him too, more than I ever thought I would. But his constant questioning and refusal to simply let me be had been tiring, and this distance helped. Though he still pestered me with endless questions, I had a reprieve from the fear in his eyes. The terror I had placed in him with my own stupidity.
After we had discussed Wrath, he had tried to pry by asking how I felt, if I needed anything, what I had eaten, and so on. Each inquiry was more desperate than the last, the paper torn from how hard he had pressed and how quickly he had written.
What I needed was not to be coddled but to be given the opportunity to make amends for my gross failures. For the lives lost because of me. Sometimes I wondered if Bellamy understood just how poisonous I was. To him, to his family, to his realm. I had apologized over and over again, but he simply repeated the same thing each time.
“It is not me you need to apologize to, Asher. I am not mad at you. None of us are. The one who deserves the apology that is constantly on the tip of your tongue, is you.”
It had taken me a while to understand what he meant by that. But now, as I began writing the note to him and preparing to meet with a woman who just might have the same self-hatred in her soul as I did, I think I finally understood.
Who loathed me more than I did? Who had been more spiteful, more cruel to me than I had to myself?
Not Mia or Xavier or Sterling. Not anyone.
And perhaps that is what happens when you are born in a castle of flame and earth, bound by the heat of fury and the suffocation of inadequacy. Love becomes a violent storm of self-sacrifice. You ponder what you could have done better, why you had not been good enough, where you would be without those that hurt you, and how you might fix what you had broken. And in the end, those that harmed you are not the true evil. You are.
Which was why, despite what he thought, Bellamy and the others did deserve an apology. One that could not be given through words, but rather actions.
If I wanted to show Shah why we deserved her support, then I would have to allow her to view the shattered pieces of my heart and soul, to give her access to parts of me that even I did not fully know or understand.
Could I do such a thing? Give a stranger the means to tear me apart? It would not take much, especially in the eyes of Betovere whose subjects already feared me. Thinking me weak would do me no favors.
Before I could doubt myself, I scribbled on the note and hastily wrapped it back around the pencil. I tossed it into the air, watching as it disappeared in a puff of black shadows.
Well, I have been watching a cat and a pumpkin fight. Needless to say, I miss you too.
Now that I have properly buttered you up, I need a favor.
“What are you planning?” Wrath asked, his yellow eyes bright in the light of Henry’s Sun magic. I looked at him, that same feeling of familiarity within me.
Henry made his way to us, plopping down on the bed beside me, his foot swinging towards Wrath and shoving him back. The dalistori growled, a low sound that shook the walls, then moved to my other side.
My body hit the bed between the two, the exhaustion weighing me down. I knew I needed to tell them where my head was at, but I felt that if I spoke aloud, it would all crumble. That the plans I desperately hoped would work, would then fall apart in the same way everything in my life always had.
And what I feared above all else was failure. If I did not succeed with this first queen, I might not have it in me to continue on. I felt like a tower of cards, only one small gust of wind away from crashing down. Fighting the urge to give up, to watch the world burn and let myself finally burn with it, was the hardest thing I had ever done.
As always, Bellamy stopped the panic from gaining a foothold within me. The pencil puffed back into existence, somehow smacking Henry in the face. Wrath snickered as he cuddled further into my side, his head resting on my stomach.
Henry did not bother to pick up the pencil, opting to lift it off of his face with a tendril of light and send it my way with a soft toss. I caught it, rolling my eyes.
Lazy demon.
Do not pretend that I am not going to give you anything you ask for. I am nothing if not consistent in my utter obsession with you, wicked creature.
My eyes crinkled as an involuntary smile overtook my face. I tried to fight it, wishing I could pretend like he did not have my whole heart in the palm of his hand. It would be less terrifying, make me less weak, prevent all of the many things Mia warned me against.
No. Following the orders and will of a female who brutally abused and used me my entire life was far more dangerous than allowing myself the small pocket of love and peace Bellamy brought.
Do you remember the red dress? The one you bought me from Pino’s stall in
My hand stilled, the thought cut off by the now-painful memory.
Quickly, I scratched out the last four words, a tear splashing the paper. When I finished, I rolled the paper around the pencil, securing it with the leather band before tossing it in the air and watching it disappear.
The Tomorrow’s laugh echoed through my head, the utter joy he had felt upon hearing me compliment his brilliance now a scalding picture in my mind.
Then, the thought of his prophecy crossed my mind for the first time in what felt like years. What had he said, again? He called my magic a force—I remembered that. And he had mentioned something about salvation, about worlds colliding and love defeating vengeance.
More than any of his other words, I recalled the horrifying way he had told me that my reign would be the end. That fire would light the realms ablaze.
This time, when the pencil reappeared, I caught it, ready for the way his words would ground me, secure me, protect me.
Henry and Wrath both watched with keen eyes as I unrolled the paper and read what Bellamy wrote. As always, he found a way to drag up the corners of my mouth, forcing me to smile through the pain.
I would sooner forget my own name than the way you looked in that dress. Be ready to catch.