Chapter Fourteen
Asher
C omfort was an interesting concept. Where one might be content in a flowing red gown, another might be appalled by the idea of formal wear.
Henry was the latter.
He and Wrath both had mixed feelings about approaching Queen Shah tonight. Neither was as confident as I was that we could secure an alliance with her, though we all knew that—as Bellamy once said—desperation could get you anywhere.
We were more than desperate. Henry had let slip that Eoforhild was sustaining attacks, Bellamy leading his forces into flooded cities and razed villages. Males, females, and younglings were all dying left and right, the Golden Guard decimating everything in their wake.
Finding alliances was more important than ever. The fae had far more soldiers than the demons did. Our—their—ranking system automatically enlisted fae within certain rankings. The sweet spot were those who did not have deep enough wells of power to be in diplomatic positions, but had more power than should go to “waste” doing jobs that did not require their abilities at all.
Though it was cumbersome, invasive, and borderline dictatorial, it did make for a rather pristine realm. The demons were different in that sense. They did not force enlistment—nor did they choose what one would spend their life doing. In that, there was peace but also danger.
By now, I knew that there was a better way to rule, but that nagging voice in my head said that those simple things could damn an entire realm.
While Henry continued to fuss with his lapels, I walked over to Wrath, my dress dragging on the floor behind me.
Pino had made drastic changes to it since that moment all those months ago that I had tried it on in his clothing stall. Gone were the short, sheer sleeves. They were replaced instead with tight-fitting, wrist-length sleeves. The front still plunged, but now there was a thin piece of sheer fabric the exact color of my skin connecting the split material, tiny jewels that looked suspiciously close to diamonds dotting it.
Wrath watched me approach, his mind still a hollow space despite the obvious gleam in his eye that suggested he was plotting. Just as we all were.
“Hello, Strange One.”
Would his voice ever sound less foreboding?
“Hello, Wrathy.” I laughed as the dalistori seemed to cringe, obviously not a fan of the nickname. With a soft nudge, I scooted into the spot next to him on the sofa. He let out a soft purr when I began scratching behind his ears, the feel of his fur in this form so much like silk that I found myself jealous.
“That is a ridiculous thing to call me. Do not do it again,” he threatened just before cuddling further into me. I scoffed as I noticed the little gray pieces of hair already sticking to my dress.
“Why are you here, Wrath?” A question that had been heavy on my mind since the high wore off from his agreement to join us.
He seemed to think that over, his small head tilting to one side. The movement confirmed what I already assumed: Wrath had not simply wanted entertainment or the taste of royal blood.
“Do you not feel it?” He sat up, his gray fur standing on edge and yellow eyes wide. My own skin grew cold, a chill clawing up my spine. I heard Henry stop his pacing, the tell-tale sign that he was listening.
“Feel what?” I asked, feigning ignorance.
“It is like my soul calls to yours. I belong here, with you, in this moment. I know it. I was made to follow you, of that I am certain. I am yours to command. Just as you belong to us all now.”
I had no idea what to say to that. There was no doubt that I too felt the pull, but for him to say he was mine to command? That seemed excessive. I was one being, no more worthy of his allegiance than Henry or Bellamy or any of the others ready to sacrifice their lives for a future without violence and mass murder.
“You are special, Strange One.” His breathy murmur was barely audible, but I heard it, practically felt it in my soul. How often had Mia told me that I was special? Not in the way a mother says to their youngling, but in the same knowing way Wrath just had.
“Wrath, what am I?” I inquired, careful with the way I worded something so delicate when Henry was clearly listening.
The dalistori peered up at me for a moment before licking a paw. I waited, watching as his small pink tongue repeatedly cleaned the same patch of gray fur. After a minute, I huffed out an annoyed breath, causing Wrath to roll his eyes in return.
“Are you not fae, Asher?” he asked, his tone bored.
“I do not know. In my worst nightmares, I am a curse sent from the Underworld to destroy us all. A Tomorrow once prophesied that I would be the end, that the world would burn. Sometimes, I wonder if I was named Ash because even my parents knew that I would leave the world covered in it.”
“No, Strange One, you will not see the world end. You will see it remade,” Wrath said, his tone far gentler than I had yet heard it.
Henry’s mental walls of light fell then, his thoughts bursting free of their confines as my power—magic—whatever it was—called to him.
Without thought, I tugged on a memory that seemed to come to the front of his mind. It was of Bellamy frantically painting a canvas that nearly covered the entire wall. The red and black coloring of the room led me to assume that they had been in Haven, likely the art studio Bellamy had mentioned in his castle-like manor.
He was screaming, the paint flying across the walls and floors and staining the surfaces. The assortment of shades brought the bleak colors into stunning light, a rainbow of more emotions than I thought one being could feel. Henry ran to him, ripping at his shoulders and trying to get the prince to snap out of what appeared to be a panic attack.
It was then that Bellamy turned with tears rushing down his face.
I had not fully entered the memory, choosing to reside on the surface instead. I could not feel what Henry had, barely able to hear what Bellamy uttered next.
“She left, Henry. She left, and I ruined everything. I just sentenced us all to death.”
Henry seemed to be murmuring something placating, trying to calm down the broken demon in front of him. Bellamy would not listen though, his body jerking away from Henry’s grasp.
He turned away once more, his back hunched forward. His next words were even harder to make out, a mere whisper. The tone, soft and filled with pain, threatened to stop my heart.
“We need her. I need her. How can I live without her? How can I die without her?”
I gasped, my consciousness leaving Henry’s mind with a violent jolt. He looked just as off-balance as I felt, his eyes wide and hands braced on the back of one of the rickety wooden chairs.
“Henry,” I said between aching breaths, my chest heaving like it might explode from the force of air coming in and out of it. When the Sun’s green eyes looked away from me, his mouth pressed into a line, I stood. “What was that?”
“You really should contemplate not being so horribly inconsiderate of one’s privacy.” The words were nonchalant, but the break in his voice and slight shake to his hands suggested anything but indifference.
Wrath remained seated, his head cocked to the side as he watched us battle over something he had not seen.
Lucky him.
“Well, demon, are you going to answer her?” he asked, his tail swishing back and forth in what appeared to be delight— those golden eyes alight with his namesake. Of course, he would be considering this an opportunity to harm Henry.
“Mind your business, cat!” Henry yelled, pointing at the dalistori with barely tempered panic and rage. Wrath’s body began to grow, a low growl climbing up his throat and rattling the flimsy walls.
“For Eternity’s sake, just tell me! We do not have time for this. Nor can I afford to be in a panic about Bell when we meet Shah.” My words seemed to slice through the tension in the air, both creatures backing down.
As usual, Wrath was relatively quick to calm, his body shrinking back down before he curled up in a ball and closed his eyes. If only everyone were that easy to order around.
Henry, on the other hand, began pacing again—his mental shields back up though flimsy. I forced myself not to peek, to allow him the opportunity to collect his thoughts before explaining the memory. He had been right about one thing: I had a horrible tendency to cross those boundaries.
After another minute or so, Henry took a deep breath, a hand flying up to his orange hair and ruffling it. Nervousness was such a rare emotion for him, but twice in two days I had seen him shaken this way. It was disconcerting. Before I could remind him that we were on a schedule, he stopped moving and faced me.
“Bellamy has not explained anything to me in detail, but on more than one occasion, he has suggested that—” He paused, taking in another deep breath and shutting his eyes tightly before continuing, “that without you, our world will end.”
I gasped, unable to speak. My gaze flew to Wrath, who now had his eyes open with those eerie yellow irises trained on me. The look on his feline face was knowing, as if he had been aware before of this ridiculous theory.
“No matter the choice you make, your reign will be the end.”
That was what Pino had said. Never had he insinuated that I was any sort of savior though I had fought these last few months to be. But how could they say that it was me or nothing? That if I did not save the world, no one would?
It was all too much, too confusing, too heavy.
For two hundred years, I have suffered from others leading my life and forcing me to follow, never giving me answers beyond the bare minimum that I needed to complete their dirty work. To accomplish their goals. Even then, it was not always the truth offered.
Now, here I stood, still not knowing anything but being told I was somehow supposed to save the world or else it would fall.
That was not troubling and terrifying at all.
“We do not have time for this. You want me to save this damn world? Then fix your fucking lapels and portal us to Jore.” Henry flinched at my words, but Wrath merely chuckled as he stretched, his tiny back arching and front claws digging into the old cushion to create small holes.
Such a cute and horrifying thing you are.
Such a strange creature you are, oh great savior of the world.
I rolled my eyes at the dalistori’s sarcasm, secretly thankful for the small respite after that heavy conversation. I would ask Bellamy tomorrow, after I could also promise allies. Perhaps that would be enough to convince him I deserved answers.
Henry was flattening his lapels, his face flushed in what I assumed was either fear or embarrassment. When he looked up, his emerald gaze meeting my stormy one, I realized with a sigh that it was neither. The stupid demon was angry.
“Apologies for raising my voice, pumpkin. It will probably happen again before the world inevitably ends,” I joked, watching the corner of his mouth briefly twitch upwards.
There he was.
I thought of Bellamy then, of the broken way he had spoken in Henry’s mind. I wondered if I could be enough to save our world—to save him. Without any reason to do so other than visions of a future not guaranteed, Bellamy had placed an immeasurable amount of faith in me. He had convinced himself that I was everything.
Sometimes, I thought he could be right, that maybe I could be enough if I only tried harder. Other times, I feared how badly it would hurt him when I undoubtedly failed. He loved me too much, too hard.
Horrifying—that was what being loved was. Because I had never amounted to what those around me thought I would. Every step along the way, I stumbled and fell, always clawing up a pedestal I would never reach the top of. Perhaps he knew that, too, and that was why he never spoke those things aloud to me. Why he still held so many secrets.
“Okay, time to go,” Henry said, his voice back to that steady and sure tone he usually maintained.
I nodded, leaning down to briefly place a kiss on Wrath’s head—which he promptly wiped away with a paw, his annoyed huff making me laugh. The dalistori looked up at me, those yellow eyes sharing all the growing affection and dedication that he would not speak again.
Briefly, I wondered if, when all was said and done, Wrath would be willing to follow me to Betovere.
Then, Henry’s hand was on mine, our fingers threading together as the light of the sun embraced us—the warmth ripping apart our bodies and stitching us back together.
We appeared in what I assumed was Jore, a castle made of worn gray stone kissing the clouds above. I gasped out at the way the trees had overtaken the area, grass and leaves and foliage nearly suffocating the structure.
Looking at the way the moss seemed to consume the stone, how thorns protruded from bushes of long-dead roses, I wanted to cry. This was not the same cohesive beauty that the vines in The Royal City had with the Ayad palace. No, this was tragic. A display of long-forgotten hope and painful loss. Only the large, wooden doors remained clear, as if someone had hacked away at the growth to make an arched hole.
The air felt thick with starvation and desperation, a blend of hopelessness that tainted the atmosphere. I slowly began to open that golden gate in my mind, chopping away at every barrier I had put up to block out the minds around me. As I did, a cacophony of voices found me, so many feelings and thoughts and memories flooding my mind. The orchestra of it took over my senses, the overarching tone of the melody one that permeated my heart with despair.
Despite the horror of how quickly beauty can fade to brokenness, I found myself comforted by the fact that I had been right about Shah. Something inside of me reached out, seeking solace from the soul within that had been left behind to rebuild a kingdom that had previously given her no love.
For all the good it seemed she had done, Shah was still plagued with self-hatred and pain. Her mind was easy to find, the commanding presence it held clear. I listened intently to her thoughts as she spoke.
Of course, he thinks himself right. Of course, he doubts my judgment. Two years have passed with solely me atop the throne, nearly eight hundred days of slowly growing peace and stability, and yet he continues to suggest me weak.
Even though I had absolutely no insight into the situation, I still found myself bristling. I fought back the urge to shatter the mind of the stupid male—man—beside Queen Shah, knowing it would be of little help.
Instead, I caressed Shah’s mind, humming a soothing tone to her. Her mind stilled, body relaxing.
“Are you ready?” I asked Henry, squeezing his hand. Our sweat mingled together, the nerves neither of us were willing to admit tacky on our skin.
Henry nodded, squaring his shoulders. I breathed out and tried to expel the anxiety from my body. This would be a delicate moment. I needed Shah to fear me, but I also needed her to understand me. There was a fine line to be walked, and I could not so much as stumble.
“Here we go.” My words seemed to echo in the air, a chilling declaration.
I closed my eyes and let my power grab onto Shah, her mind seeming to flinch away from me. Her thoughts raced, terror causing her to bend over at the waist. I maintained my hold, not squeezing any tighter or loosening my hold—just remaining still.
Hello, Shah, Queen of Behman.
Shah let out a fierce scream. I felt the pain that came from her clawing at her head, and I wondered if I were being just a bit too theatrical.
Remain calm, Your Majesty.
She stilled, her heartbeat slowing. A part of me, one that seemed to constantly be seeking a foothold at the forefront of my mind, questioned why we could not simply force the mortals to join our cause.
I had to take another long, deep inhale of air and remind myself that allies forcibly found were allies easily lost. That making someone possibly march to their death was wrong.
I mean you no harm. I simply wish for an audience with you. Please, do let me in.
I did not force her, did not push. I, instead, loosened my hold. My power slunk away from her, the feel of it fully returning to me like reuniting with a lover.
Henry and I waited, my chest rising and falling in quick, rapid movements. Hopefully, I was not too threatening. At least if I was too kind, I could always be firmer—that would be an easy task.
“Do you think she will allow us entrance?” Henry asked, his voice a whisper on the wind.
Nothing would make me happier than to say yes, to reassure him that we would succeed tonight. Yet I could not bring myself to do so. Not when I was so unsure of what lay ahead. Instead, I turned my head, smiling up at him.
“If not, we could always fight our way in. As you said, I need the practice.” He laughed, his face tilting up to the cloud-filled sky, the orange and pink shades of the setting sun lighting up his freckled face. “Plus, their blood will blend with the dress.”
A hand went to my arm, pushing me to the side. I laughed too and shoved him in return with far more force than he had used on me. He stumbled backwards, nearly falling down into the overgrown bushes just off the barely there path. I burst into a fit of cackles, the sound sharp and everything that I had been trained to be the opposite of. It was freeing, becoming exactly what Mia had never wanted me to be.
I briefly pondered if a day would ever come that I did not think of her.
Before those thoughts could find purchase, the wooden arch began to fall, slowly making its way to the ground. Henry and I froze for a moment, the stunned look on his face likely mirroring my own. Then we were up, both of us rushing back to make room for what I now knew was a gate. When it was fully lowered, hitting the ground with an earth-shaking thud, a small man stepped into the open archway.
He was a stout man, looking as if he might barely reach my chin. His hair was white, the top of his head bare, exposing his brown scalp. The long-sleeved tunic and trousers he wore were purple with red stitching, a red raven taking flight on the left side of his chest.
Could mortals see as well as fae and demons? The question hit me so suddenly, so fiercely, that I realized I had very little knowledge of mortals. I had never had the chance to ask Sterling, not only because he was exhausting to be around, but because he never seemed to want to talk about those aspects of his life. The only time I could think of was when he rambled nonsense while asking me to travel the world with him. Even around Farai, Jasper, and Kafele, he seemed set on reinventing himself, as if the moment he stepped onto The Capital’s soil he had been made new.
“Identify yourselves,” the man commanded, his voice a rich tenor. He had the same accent as other mortals of Behman, his rendition of the common tongue rolling and quick.
Henry took a step forward, his right shoulder crossing in front of me infinitesimally as his left hand went to the hilt of his sword. I recalled the way he and the others had spilled blood in Bellamy’s open wound months ago, their vows to protect me ringing through The Forest of Tragedies. Perhaps that disgusting practice held more weight than I had previously suspected.
What none of them seemed to understand was that I did not need protection. I was far stronger than any of them, far more powerful.
The only ones who needed protection were those who crossed my path. I would see to that.
I shoved past Henry, taking several steps forward to ensure the mortal could see me. It was time I finally let the world know who I really was.
“I am Asher Daniox, The Manipulator. The rightful ruler of Betovere”—debatable—“and I come to seek an audience with your queen.”
With that, I bowed low at the waist, my eyes trained on the overgrown grass below my feet.
For a few moments, I was met with only the sounds of the insects that invaded these lands, the man’s silence both terrifying and enraging. My breaths halted, holding in that fury.
Something deep inside of my chest seemed to stir, encouraging me to simply end him and storm my way through the castle. I desperately wanted to. Failure was not an option—at least, not for me.
“Queen Shah will see you. Follow me.” The moment I heard his steps begin to retreat, I straightened, blowing out that breath I had been holding.
“Took him long enough,” I grumbled, much to Henry’s delight.
The Sun beside me shoved both hands into the pockets of his trousers, the scrunching of his shoulders causing the lapels on his jacket to go askew once more. A groan left my lips as he flashed me a smile and started walking forward, a skip to his step that was far too nonchalant for how dire the situation was.
Begrudgingly, I followed behind him rather than stepping up to his side. Tiny gray hairs still littered my red dress, woven in so deeply that I had to pick them out as we walked. With my attention focused downwards, I did not realize how drastically the scenery changed until Henry’s shocked gasp cut through the silence.
My head flew up, the haunting imagery stopping me in my tracks. The archway opened up to a desolate courtyard, the gray stones—cracked and stained with what appeared to be blood—towered above us on the left and right. It seemed to be a long, rectangular-shaped entrance to the castle ahead. Less foliage had taken up residence here, but there were more than enough burned flags and broken weapons to clutter the space.
It looks like a graveyard.
Henry’s mental voice was loud, a startled shout. His outer demeanor was much the same. His wide eyes and faintly parted lips told anyone watching everything they needed to know about him.
I forced my expression to be the opposite, to hold in every fear and horrible thought. To not let the images of bodies crumpling onto wooden stages and younglings covered in blood in front of white cottages affect me. Every rusted sword and burnt piece of cloth threatened to drag me into the sea of despair that I had been fighting against for two hundred years.
Not today.
I would not let it win.
The man ahead of us, who had not bothered to slow down or even introduce himself, continued walking on as if nothing were amiss. Perhaps it was not. None of this looked new, nor did it appear that Queen Shah had her sights set on cleaning it up any time soon.
I reached out to Henry, grabbing his hand and tugging him forward at a faster pace. Gone was the childlike charm that had him smiling moments ago, but I would not let him stumble.
Keep your eyes forward. Think of nothing. Do not let yourself be vulnerable here. Not yet. Walk.
His hand tightened within mine, the grip almost painful. I did not care though, not if it meant he had heard and would heed my warning. With every ounce of strength I possessed, I forced myself to stare straight ahead at the true entrance to the castle.
Similar to the gate behind us, the double doors ahead were a faded and splintered wood, entirely plain and bleak—a lifeless rendering of the hollowness that can come with royalty.
It was quite the opposite of the ostentatious castle that Xavier and Mia resided in at this very moment. What a tragedy, to bear witness to the beauty given to the cruel and the pain given to the kind.
If there were any gods out there, then they were no friends of mine.
The man stopped at the doors, pulling them open with a strained heave. His breath caught, the rise and fall of his shoulders speeding up. Mortals were weaker. I knew that much.
Unless they were in a violent rage and their future wife was nearby, prepared to provoke them.
No. Not the right time to think of something like that.
A faint golden glow could be seen from the entryway as we grew near. When the man finally had the doors open fully, a slight sheen of sweat adorning his face, Henry and I got our first real glimpse of what life for Shah was like.
In comparison to the exterior, the inside of the castle was far more grand. Not the same extravagance most royals would deem necessary for their residence, but also not an eerie shrine to war and loss either.
The floors were a bold green that reminded me of Winona’s hair, though the shade was not nearly as beautiful as hers had been.
The walls, on the other hand, were a dreadful yellow. Not the shade of the sun or the center of a daisy. Nothing alluring like that. This was far more vibrant; so bright that it stung my eyes to look at for too long.
Color notwithstanding, the shine and life of the inside was spectacular. Oil paintings sporting an assortment of sceneries graced the yellow walls and red roses in purple vases sat atop pristine wooden tables barely big enough to hold them. The ceiling stretched up to the top floor. A staircase hugged the wall to our right, wrapping up to the very top—landings on each level allowing for access to whatever rooms residents lived within.
What I assumed was the foyer opened up straight ahead to a long hallway. The man continued forward, glancing back at us briefly before rolling his eyes and marching on, his shoulders squared and aura insufferably haughty.
Since I had long since abandoned my morals in favor of assuaging my curiosity, I allowed myself to take a peek into the pompous fool’s head.
…cursed creature. An abomination to our world, walking among us like she belongs anywhere other than the Underworld with her wicked—
Horribly unoriginal.
We continued following the imbecile through the winding hallways, heading towards the top of a grand green staircase. The marble reflected the glow of the yellow chandeliers above us, holding candles dripping wax as they burned. Something about the room below called to me, making my heart flutter and my soul ache.
Eager to see what was so special about it, I picked up my pace, earning a huff from the mortal man as he was forced to speed up too. The stairs grew wider the lower they went, the lush yellow runner leading us down to a ballroom that spanned the entire lower portion of the castle. The walls in this room were a dark red, the glossy paint looking fresh. A purple dais sat at the far end of the room, a golden throne atop it with—who I imagined was—Queen Shah draped comfortably upon it.
But it was not Shah or Henry or even the throne room that caught my eye, leaving me frozen at the top of the staircase. I felt as if all the air had been stolen from my lungs, like there was nothing and no one but the male at the foot of the stairs.
There he stood, regal and foreboding. He sported a sky-blue set of trousers and jacket, the tunic below black and partially unbuttoned to reveal those vein-like tattoos. His charcoal waves were as messy as ever but a bit longer now. A thin dusting of hair graced his cheeks, the shadow of a beard making him look even more fearsome and stripping him of the boyish quality that had once stood in stark contrast to his handsome face.
The male watched me with a predatory gaze, those icy eyes wide and full lips parted. He looked both stunned and smug, as if he had been told he were right about something important despite not believing he would be.
I gripped onto the flowing red fabric of my dress, begging the stupid gods to at least not let me fall as I made my way down the stairs. Each step of my black heels sent a loud clicking sound echoing across the room, which had gone utterly silent at our arrival. Still, I could not bring myself to see or hear anything but him.
Bellamy.