Chapter Twenty-Nine
Asher
T he temple was extraordinary. Something that looked like it should be cherished with only the eyes, as if entering would taint it. Still, we walked forward, approaching with steady confidence.
Farai’s hand was in mine, both of us marveling at the place of worship ahead. It was a towering structure, the majority of it a stunning violet color, making the small carvings in gold and black stand out. The four levels consisted of layered tiers that were shaped like pointed arches, uneven and chaotic, but beautiful all the same.
Farai, Henry, Wrath, and I had been traveling with King Trint for eleven days. Which was, to my eternal discomfort, enough time for Farai to have a complete breakdown over what had occurred at the dinner. Of course, Henry had the brilliant idea to graphically detail the many murders and instances of dismembering I had accomplished since I previously saw Farai.
My best friend who had known me for nearly two hundred years proceeded to have a panic attack. He asked what they did to me, questioned my sanity, and reminded me over and over again that I had once locked myself away for days after having to complete a public sentencing.
How could I explain to him that fighting my nature would not get us anywhere? That pretending I was not designed to dole out death was pointless? Eventually, after he teared up and told me he wanted better for me, Farai accepted that I was different. Surprisingly, I did not shed a tear during the entire conversation, instead opting to nod and apologize and promise to be better.
It was a promise I knew I would break.
Now, as we walked together and approached the Temple of the Gods, I could feel the tension radiating from him. We had all played cards and chatted idly throughout the trip, but Farai’s stress remained. He regularly asked for updates on Jasper, which forced me to admit that Bellamy was still working on a plan. Henry was confident that Farai would simply be presumed dead, but my friend did not settle. No one could blame him. Jasper was his soulmate, the love of his life, his husband. Finding him was imperative. Yet, all we could do was press on, which meant entering the looming structure and winning allies.
Up close, the carvings on the outer walls were easier to decipher. The top floor had an image of a sky full of stars. The moon was depicted on one side, the sun on the other. The third floor was the beginning of a tree, the golden leaves lush and bright. But the second floor showed the tree beginning to decay, fading to black and illustrating broken and withered roots. The final floor showed skeletal figures crawling and digging their way to the surface.
It was both stunning and horrifying.
“Ah, I forgot how deeply the mortals of this world worship my god,” Wrath said, his head grazing my hip. I looked down at him, my brows furrowed as I silently encouraged him to continue. “While the demons worship the Goddess of the Sun and Moon, the mortals worship the God of Death and Creation, as do I. This here is art crafted to symbolize him—to revere him.”
Squinting my eyes, I inspected one of the crawling skeletons. “So that god manipulates life and death for the fun of bringing back those who passed on rather than allowing them to find peace in Eternity?”
Wrath scoffed, lifting both his chin and his tail to the sky as he pranced ahead of us. I took that as a yes.
I had nothing against any of the gods, but I could not find it in me to respect them when they let chaos run rampant here on Alemthian. What kind of holy beings were they if they cared not for that which they resided over?
Trint nearly jumped out of his own skin when Wrath walked up to him, the wicked little creature smiling as his tail wrapped around the king’s leg. Even Henry laughed when Trint screamed in response. The king glared at us, swiping his hand across the shoulder of his tunic as if he could clean our humor from himself.
Today we all wore borrowed clothes, each of us sporting the teal and black of Gandry. While Henry and Farai matched Trint in their flowing teal trousers and tops with black sandals, I wore a robe-like teal dress. It covered every inch of my skin from my collar bones down, the sleeves so large they passed my fingertips. I had my dagger strapped to my bare thigh, the only weapon I could hide.
My hair was wild, the curls unruly now that it had grown so long, but I had no idea what to do with it anymore. I noted the way Trint looked at me, his eyes roaming over the locks with the type of scrutinization that made me grit my teeth in restraint. I could not fault him. I was the one who had said I needed to look the part after all.
We finally made it to the doors, the carvings full of runes that reminded me of those on my dagger. They did not glow in the same way, but the lines built upon one another, stacking and crossing to form symbols that looked so similar.
“You must behave,” the king warned as his hands reached for the gold knobs of the doors. Before he opened them, he turned his head, eyes immediately landing on me. “No smiting people who annoy you or stabbing someone because they say something about your ears.”
I gasped, my hand flying to my chest in mock outrage.
“One guard accidentally fell out of the carriage, and I stand by that statement.” Trint looked at me with knowing eyes, his lids half closed and lips pursed. After about five seconds, I broke. “He said the tops looked like shriveled grapes!”
At that, Henry burst into laughter. Farai, to his credit, did not get angry or judge me. In fact, he had seemed ready to shove the man, too, after Henry translated between chuckles.
Trint was acting as if there were not skeletons crawling up the walls. They worshiped the God of Death and Creation for fucks sake. When Trint did not look away, staring at me like he was prepared to wait here for as long as it took, I rolled my eyes and nodded. The king flashed a brilliant smile and proceeded to pull open the doors.
The guards behind us spread out, only a handful following. It did not surprise me that they were both confident I could take on any danger and terrified I was the danger. From the corner of my eye, I saw the guard that I had ordered to jump from the carriage cringe away from me, his face still bruised.
He deserved it.
We walked through the doors, stepping into a large entryway that opened to reveal the ceiling above. From below, we could see the light of midday shining through the painted glass windows. Colors rained down from the images depicted upon the skylights, stories of what I assumed were the gods’ lives stretching throughout the ceiling.
Just like the outside, the inside of the temple was a vibrant violet, bits of gold and black creating swirls and runes across the walls. I dropped Farai’s hand, letting my eyes wander greedily. It was strange going from never leaving The Capital to traveling the world. I had dreamt of this, getting to be free. Yet it did not feel like freedom. No, this felt like the final act of a book without a happy ending. Every day was another grain of sand falling in the hourglass of my life. I could feel it, that odd sense of impending doom.
“Keep up. We are running behind, and you need to get ready.” Whipping my head around, I faced the pompous king, who had already begun walking down a long hallway.
With a loud groan, I sped up, reaching his side. He had gone from flirtatious to terrified to an odd animosity, but none of those things had outshone his curious nature. Entering his mind, I found that very wonder running rampant on his thoughts. Before anything else, Trint had a desire to learn.
Tell me, King Trint, does my appearance not satisfy you?
He flinched, just as he always did, glaring at me after a moment of heavy breathing. My answering smile was wide, showing enough teeth to be more of a threat than a reassurance.
Asher from months ago would have been horrified to know that I no longer cared about scaring people—that I reveled in it instead. Odd that the death of who I was did not hurt me now, like it had at first. Maybe I had unknowingly buried her, laying to rest that na?ve and hopeful soul that was beaten and belittled into submission. The one who would have cowered at the thought of killing when not ordered to do so and recoiled at the use of her power.
Once, I would have been appalled by myself, and I inwardly wondered when I had decided not to be anymore.
“I wish you would stop that. I can hear perfectly fine.” My laugh was not in response to his words, but to his thoughts, which strayed to me and what I could do if I sat on a throne beside him. Just as so many before him had done.
Everyone loves to imagine using me like a caged animal for their own benefit, but you all seem to forget that beasts bite when cornered. Instead of picturing what good I could do for you with your ring on my finger, you should fear how insignificant you would be if your crown was on my head.
His interest simmered into anger, the threat landing perfectly in that spot of his mind where insecurity and paranoia resided. Not only did I shut down his plotting, but I reminded him of the scheme he had already vowed to follow through with.
Bellamy had been surprised he agreed at all. The first note he sent me after Trint simply said, “That is the last time I doubt you, beautiful creature.” Beyond that, Bellamy mostly used the notes to openly flirt with me. Once, he had sent a note that had suggested fairly provocative activities, but when it returned to me, Farai snatched it from the air.
“Whipped cream? Really? Does he have no shame?” the Shifter had asked, scoffing as he tossed me the paper and pencil.
To be honest, he was not wrong. Bellamy had very little shame. He would go from sending me explicit messages about licking chocolate off my breasts to discussing strategy with Henry on the same page. Like it did not matter who saw what he said—what he promised.
Trint’s harsh words jerked me out of my thoughts as he said, “You look like you have not seen a comb in years, and you have circles below your eyes that are so dark it almost appears you were in a fight. You have ripped your lips to shreds, leaving them chapped and bleeding. Even worse, I have watched you wipe your hands on your robes—which were expensive—leaving sweat spots on them. At the moment, lovely princess, you are leagues away from the divine creature you are hoping to portray.”
My mind was reeling with retorts as I decided if his words held merit—they did. Before I could break free of my stunned daze, Trint’s hand grabbed my forearm and pulled me down a hallway to the left. There was another set of double doors at the end, looking as if it held importance in a way that only something tucked away like that could.
Instead of whisking me away to whatever lay beyond those, he quickly opened an unimpressive door to the side, practically shoving me inside of the tiny room. It was mostly empty, holding only a set of purple couches with a wooden table in the center of them. A fire roared to life on the far right wall, setting the lush golden rug stretched around the seating area aglow. The color had become easier and easier to look at the more I came across it, this particular instance not affecting me much at all. Only a short, quick tightening of my chest. So different than the panic that overtook me at the mere thought of a golden dress upon my skin.
A woman was waiting behind the smaller sofa, her face stoic as she took me in. I returned the gaze, noting her beautiful midnight skin, the brown of her eyes reminding me of liquid chocolate. She wore a thick purple dress with a white apron secured around her waist and had her graying hair in dozens of small braids. When the door finally clicked behind us, Farai, Henry, and Wrath filing in, she bent down, disappearing behind the sofa. A rustling noise sounded, followed by loud clinking that made me nervous for whatever she was planning.
It was not until she started setting products down on the wooden table that I realized what they were trying to do. “I do not need some weird makeover. Can we not simply let my magic speak for itself?”
Trint scoffed, pointing to the small couch with raised brows. Hesitating, I watched the mortal woman for a moment longer, noting the various cosmetics and lotions. What would it hurt to placate them in this?
With a heavy sigh of defeat, I made my way to her, sitting down and preparing myself. She eyed me, scrutinizing every inch of me from my head to my toes, looking horribly displeased by the end of her assessment. Trint moved to the larger sofa, plopping down ungracefully. Contrary to his title, Trint seemed to enjoy the comfort of unimportance. Producing a small flask, the king leaned his head back and closed his eyes before taking a large gulp.
“Now, you three need to leave. Find something more exciting to do, like cleaning chamber pots or licking your paw.” It was a casual dismissal, the animosity not nearly as tangible in his tone or posture as it was in his words.
All three of them looked poised to argue, Wrath going so far as to grow and hiss, but I quickly cleared my throat to get their attention. “It is fine. I can handle myself. Go ask around for information on any other creatures that may be nearby.”
After a moment, Henry groaned, offering Trint one final glare before he walked out. Farai’s concerned frown warmed my heart, giving me the confidence to smile his way and wave my hand at him to tell him to go. He nodded, ushering Wrath out too. Then it was only Trint, the woman, and I, the king relaxing into the sofa like he had been through a great ordeal.
“I hate socks,” he muttered. I almost laughed at the ridiculousness of the statement. As if he could sense my amusement, he leveled me with a glare.
The servant woman paid him no mind, dipping brushes into cosmetics and slathering my skin, going so far as to pluck some of my eyebrow hairs. I swatted her hand with a hiss, annoyed with her ministrations. More than that, I loathed the idea of being altered to fit whatever idea of beauty these people had. It reminded me of the way my eating had been restricted to please Sterling. Losing more of myself for anyone was not an option.
I was no one’s but my own.
Unperturbed, she shrugged and turned to gather something else. A brush. Joy.
After what felt like years of hearing her tsk in disapproval as she ripped through my knotted curls, she finished. I thought she would braid my hair back, something to mask the now unnaturally large fluff of frizz, but she instead bent down to retrieve something from her satchel. When she stood once more, now holding a comb made of metal, suspicion crept in.
She walked away, approaching the fire. Was she going to brand me?
“Are you going to brand me?” My shouted and bewildered question startled Trint, who had begun softly snoring with the open flask held tightly against his chest. The wine spilled across the violet couch, deepening the cloth to a nearly black color.
“No, stupid girl, I am going to fix your hideous hair,” she said in that throaty accent of Gandry. Surprised to hear the common tongue, it took me a moment to properly absorb what she said.
Girl? Hideous hair? Despite myself, I thought I rather liked this woman, if only for her brazenness. With that realization fresh in my mind, I settled back and begged the stupid God of Death and Creation to not take me today.
Odd, to think living was better than dying. Maybe one day I would want that for myself rather than the good of the world.
“You made me spill my wine!” Trint cut in.
“By the sound of your voice, it seems you have quite a bit of whine left in you.” My mocking earned me a quiet giggle from the otherwise-stony woman as she began to drag the hot comb through my hair. The first victory of the day, excellent. Happily, I closed my eyes, relaxing into the warmth of the odd device.
“I need to get rid of you before you make my hair turn gray.” Trint’s grumbling was followed by sounds of panicked scrubbing and rather filthy curses. My smile grew as the comeback he had so easily offered reached the tip of my tongue.
“What does not kill you, disappoints me.” A gasp sounded behind me, forcing me to open one eye and look at the king, who I imagined was as horrified as the woman. Instead of furious or appalled, King Trint looked as if he were fighting back laughter.
“You know, I do not recall us becoming friends, so please, save the flattering comments for someone else.”
With that, he took another hearty sip of his wine and proceeded to stretch out on the dry portion of the sofa, once more snoring after only a minute or so. What a talent, to sleep peacefully. To not fear what might come when you close your eyes. Comfort like that was a luxury, and I doubted he realized that.
The woman spent the next hour diligently combing my hair, returning to the fireplace when it lost heat. Smelling the burning hair made my stomach churn, images of so many dead flashing before my eyes. The sorrow of lives lost and debts owed threatened to pull me down into depths I would surely drown within—how could one breathe when the air was made of despair and regret? Though I wished she would stop, I knew better than to admit that weakness. So I dutifully sat still, eyes closed and mind slowly sinking from the memories of being taught to remain silent within my pain—of the screams that accompanied burning flesh.
Turn the sorrow into anger.
I repeated that over and over again, hoping that it would be enough to prevent whatever meltdown was threatening to burst free of me.
Finally, she finished, coming around to assess me once more, ignorant of the storm raging inside my chest. Apparently, she was rather proud of her accomplishments, because she offered a smile and said something to the king in her native tongue. When he did not respond, still snoring, she groaned and stomped over to the thin door on the right wall.
This allowed me a moment to properly take in the rest of the odd space, a welcome distraction from all that I could not ignore within my mind. The window behind me was not overly large, providing just enough light for her to work. On our right was what I now knew was a closet, which the woman was pulling a purple garment from.
Beads of sweat dripped down my neck from the heat of my hair, so thick it was stifling. What had she done to it?
When the woman was once more in front of me, she held up a pool of violet, the delicate and unique structure of it reminding me of Pino. Perfect timing, I was in desperate need of more grief right about now.
I stood, reaching for the dress, but the woman smacked one of my hands. I gasped, glaring at her as I rubbed my stinging skin. She hit hard for a mortal, especially one who seemed to be at least halfway through life. Muttering something that definitely sounded like insults under her breath, she began ripping open my robe. For a second, I attempted to fight her, but then she raised her hand again. With a mumbled curse, I took the note from Bellamy out of the robe pocket, being sure to only touch it with the cloth as I shoved it into my dagger sheath.
Whether I thought it would bring me luck or comfort, I was not sure. Both, probably. But either way, I knew I needed to have that piece of him with me as I did this. Then I nodded, submitting to her ministrations.
She stripped me until I was left in only my undergarments, my necklace, and my plain black sheath. Then the lunatic tried to rip off the band securing my breasts. This time, I swatted her, and I watched as her eyes went wide. The outrage was clear, but she also radiated respect, her mind practically singing praise to me. Still, she pointed her finger to the band, then to the ground, her frown so deep it looked as if it might go full circle and become a smile.
Sighing, I pulled the cloth over my head, earning a few more tsks of disapproval when my hair got wrapped inside of it. But, soon, I was nearly fully nude, and she was forcing me to step into the purple gown. When she pulled it up past my hips and stomach, I slid my arms through the sleeves and let her adjust the neckline.
Satisfaction and pride doused the air, warming it and me further. She stepped back, clapping her hands in front of her mouth. When a single tear fell from her left eye, I shifted on my feet in discomfort. Seconds passed, and then she was composing herself once more, taking a few deep breaths before ushering me to the long, oval-shaped mirror tucked away in the far corner of the room. We made our way there, my bare feet cold on the black quartz floor.
A gasp involuntarily left my lips when I saw my reflection. She had painted my eyelids black, making the gray of my irises stand out with an eerie quality. My lips were left untouched save for healing cream, my cheeks red from the rouge. Even my under eyes, which had once been dark and sunken in, looked bright and well rested. The comb-like device had stolen the curls from my hair, leaving it straight and silky.
Even more stunning was the dress. The torso was made entirely of black and purple beads, strung together on a thick purple thread. The designer had left some areas more bare than others, exposing small sections of my tawny skin. The neckline dipped into a low V shape, offering a silent explanation for why she had refused to allow my band to stay on. Both sleeves were also beaded, the swirling patterns reaching my wrists. She tugged on a small circle of loose fabric, wrapping it over my middle finger to secure the end of the sleeve over the back of my hand.
The skirts were equally beautiful, layers upon layers of sheer purple fabric that flowed with every small movement. They split up my left thigh, stopping at a high enough point that I wondered if I would scandalize people rather than inspire them. But she did not seem concerned with the way the beads barely stayed secure on the edge of my shoulders, or the fact that the fabric threatened to show my black undergarments.
She was quick to slip a pair of black slippers on my feet, the satin glowing in the firelight. For a moment, I forgot that I was not actually a goddess, that I did not rule over the skies and bless the realms. Looking at myself now, I felt brighter than I had before. Not because I was prettier, though I wagered I was, but because something about the fierce determination and the commanding energy of my appearance made me feel so very right .
In that moment, I wondered if we were all once grander beings. Perhaps the gods were simply stars, existing in the ethers and united as one. Maybe life had always felt dull and tiresome because it was once so vivid. Could it be that the reason I had never felt at home in this place—in this body—was because I was once brighter than the sky itself? And if so, how does one exist in a world of darkness when they were once the light?
Breaking me from my profound musing, the woman clapped three times, finally stirring Trint from his dozing. He jolted once more, narrowly avoiding spilling his wine again. I laughed, but there was an odd feeling in my chest, one I could not shake as I looked at myself again.
“What is your name, might I ask?” She looked at me as if it was an absurd thing to say, her eyes wide and her brows raised.
“Well, Auntie Claire, do answer her so we can prepare.” The woman—Trint’s aunt apparently—snatched the flask as he lifted it to his mouth, the leather leaking wine. When she smacked him—her king—on the hand as he tried to take it back, I simply could not stop the surprised laugh that left me.
Somehow, the scene before me was a reminder of Xavier. There were times when I was convinced that the fae king was the funniest person alive. He always knew what to say, the right jokes to tell, the best face to give.
When my first day of Academy resulted in ten-year-old me sobbing on the floor of the castle library, Xavier was the one who cheered me up. We both sat on the floor in a dusty corner, surrounded by tomes that dated back millennia, eating cheesecake and drinking tea. It was a relief to have someone be so comfortable with me after a day full of being feared and excluded.
Academy was mostly separate, with very few interactions between the factions. I, though, was permitted to merge into them all. Mia had made that decision, telling me it was important for fae of all ages to see me for what I was, their future queen. Back then, I believed she wanted me to be seen as more than some oddity, and even now, after it all, I wondered if that were true. Yet all it had done was further outcast me. I was not allowed to befriend them, to do anything more than speak with them in classes, and they did not want me there regardless. To them, I was a horror story.
But Xavier reminded me that I was more than that. He made sure I knew that I would one day rule over all of them, not because of my strength or my power, but because of who I was to my core. We laughed as he told me stories of his mishaps with his own unfathomable Fire power. Together, we realized that the darkness did not have to win. He had ruffled my hair, and I had smacked his arm when he told me he could light the male on fire who had told me to go back to the Demon Realm where I came from.
We had been happy, had we not?
“Yes, well, it has been so wonderful to make your acquaintance, Lady Claire. Your Majesty, I think it is time for us to go, as you said.” With a small curtsy, I rushed towards the door, not caring if Trint was following or where I was going.
Taking every memory I possessed of Xavier’s glowing Fire power, I lit my veins ablaze. I let it burn through me, let it consume every feeling of sadness and joy.
When I threw open the door, I was no longer suffocating on the pain. I was breathing in the fury.