Chapter Thirty-Three
Asher
“ L eave me alone, Padon,” I warned, my voice dangerously close to the deep and demanding tone of The Manipulator. His chuckle sounded behind me, an infuriating noise that left me picturing what his body would look like without a head. A wicked smile lifted my lips, the thought momentarily raising my mood along with it as I stormed through this absurd castle. My inattention nearly caused me to trip over the quilt still wrapped around my body. “Why would you make your castle gray? It looks like a storm cloud in here. Are you that determined to be utterly dull?”
Despite my cruel tone and refusal to look at him, Padon responded with an uncomfortably joyous tone. “I changed it when I first saw the color of your eyes. I dreamt of you before we met that first night on the cliff, but it was then that I got to work on the changes. You were so vulnerable to my magic, yet so remarkably strong. I couldn’t help but dedicate my home to you. It was only recently finished, actually.”
“Only recently? It took months to paint?” The creature had magic and probably thousands of servants. According to him, he was an emperor. How could he possibly allow it to take so long?
Not that I cared.
“Months?” he asked, the word sounding as if it were asked from between smiling lips. I hated him. No, I loathed him.
“Could you be any more cliché?” My sardonic reply was more rhetorical than genuine, and I hoped he heard it for the insult it was. Instead of leaving me alone like I asked, he continued to follow just behind me, the sound of my stomping feet drowning out his quick steps as I tugged the quilt off the ground. I found a set of stairs and quickly began descending them, trying and failing to find an exit at the bottom.
“Yes, I think I could. Would you like me to be?” I could think of many things I wanted him to be. Like dead.
“I would like you to send me home,” I responded instead, voice not nearly as level as it needed to be.
“This could be your home. What’s mine is yours.”
I could ignore him. His arrogance was not a rock, but a feather. It could not disturb my pond.
“How do I get out of this damn castle?” Stay calm. Stay collected. Do not say words like “damn.” Do not let him win.
“Through a door I imagine.”
That was it.
On instinct, I reached beneath the quilt for my dagger, which had apparently not been confiscated while I slept, as it still rested in my sheath. I grabbed it, spinning around and embedding it into his chest. Blue blood splattered my face, his scream echoing across the hall. The glass chandelier above twinkled and clinked as it shook from the force of his fury.
His knees hit the floor, and I was momentarily forced to fight back a smile as I realized that I had taken him down twice already. Then more appropriate thoughts filled my mind, like how I was going to save the wretched emperor’s life when I had likely just stabbed his shriveled black heart.
I wrapped my fingers more tightly around the quilt as I bent down, trying to assess the damage, but Padon shoved my free hand away. I growled, smacking him in the head. “Let me look so I can help you, idiot!”
“You just stabbed me in the heart, but I’m the idiot?” He chuckled, clearly in shock. Could one die laughing? If so, he just might. Explaining that to his guards would be so fun.
Please, do not hang me. I promise, he liked it. He literally died laughing.
Oh yes, that sounded like a great plan. Then maybe I would fly away into the sunset. The two things were just as likely at this point.
“You were being annoying.” His laugh grew louder at my defensive tone, his head moving so we were eye to eye. Up close, I could see that his irises were the color of an aubergine, dark enough to appear black.
“Well, sadly for you,” he said with a smile, “I’ll live.”
Then he ripped my dagger out of his chest, that blue blood pouring down his front. The once-red top was now a deep shade of purple, quickly taking on the same hue as his hair. I started to contradict him, to explain that death was not evaded by simply willing it away, but he grabbed my hand and tugged me the opposite direction. He did not stumble, did not wince, as if he were not hurt at all.
While we walked, Padon inspected my dagger. Laughing, he looked at me over his shoulder, waving the blade. “Do you know what this says?”
“No, how would I?” I asked, ripping my hand free and crossing my arms over my chest to prevent the quilt from falling, my gaze on the wall as we walked. This male was insufferable.
“I didn’t think so. It’s an old language, one spoken by beings with extraordinary magic. They can alter time and encourage bravery and even feed on sin.”
“You can read it?” I could not hide my surprise, looking up at him as I rushed to his side. His smile widened, mischief pouring into the air. So that was how he wanted to play? Lower his stupid unbreakable mental shields so he could tease me with his thoughts? Insufferable was too kind a term for him.
“Of course I can. Do you want to know what it says?”
I wanted to say no, because why give him the satisfaction of admitting that he had something I wanted? Knowledge was power, and Padon had far too much of it. Shaking my head, I faced forward once more, my arms still crossed.
After about five seconds of remaining strong, my curiosity won out.
“If you insist on showing off, then go ahead—tell me what it says.” There was a bite to my words, but even I could not deny that I was very clearly interested. That I was eager to consume any information he could give me. I hated myself for it, almost as much as I hated him for throwing his stupid head back and laughing.
“It says, ‘I am vengeance.’”
I am vengeance . Interesting.
“Is there a reason the runes glow when I kill with it?” If I was already playing, I might as well win. Padon’s eyebrows rose, his hand softly meeting my lower back to guide me around a corner. I flinched away from him, and he let out a long-suffering sigh. As if he were the one who should be exasperated right now.
“Don’t you feel the magic imbued within it?” His question was accusatory, as if I were somehow at fault for not knowing such a thing. I snatched the dagger by the hilt, slicing his palm as I did. Served him right.
How would I know anything about the runes or the dagger when I still had no idea what my own magic was? I was going to ask that, but we arrived at wherever it was Padon had been leading me. The large archway was the same gray as everything else, bordering on silver. Through it was a bunch of seats, each covered in gray velvet. Beyond, a stage loomed, gray curtains closed to block off the stunning marble floors and whatever lay beyond.
A theater?
Padon gestured to the path between the seats, which ended at the stage. I quirked a brow. If he was hoping I would sing for him, then I would gladly laugh as his stupid ears bled blue. That delicious thought propelled me forward, my feet long since frozen from the icy floors and causing my steps to be jerky. I pulled the quilt around me tighter, wishing I had anything else to wear.
We made it to the silvery stage, where Padon promptly lifted me by my hips and placed me atop it. I whipped around, ready to yell at him, and instead caught sight of him deftly jumping onto the platform as if it were mere inches instead of feet.
Show-off.
“Now, I think you could use something to wear for this.” His gaze raked over me, likely imagining what hideous and provocative piece of clothing he could put on me. The worst part was that he knew I was desperate enough to wear whatever he offered. “I think I have just the thing.”
With a snap of his fingers, my clothing began to wither and tear before suddenly becoming something new. The gray quilt became silver satin, forming a long and billowing dress, the purple beads turning into thin straps that sat on top of my shoulders and then layered down to my mid-bicep. There had to be at least ten of them on either arm. Warmth stole my thoughts, wrapping around my feet and dragging a sigh from my throat. I looked down, seeing that he had given me soft violet slippers.
Surprisingly, the dress covered everything that might be considered private, not even showing my cleavage. His final touch renewed my annoyance though, the way his fingers lingered on my neck as he placed his black cloak around me turning my vision red. My sheath still remained, and I quickly stored my dagger before he got any ideas about confiscating it.
“Perfect, as always. Now, I’m willing to offer you a deal.” He gestured to the heavy velvet curtain, parting the gray fabric to reveal a charcoal-colored pianoforte with a matching bench beneath. The keys were black and silver instead of white, the exposed strings the same color. Even the pedals sparkled silver. “Play for me. Then I’ll send you both back.”
Narrowing my eyes, I leveled a look of suspicion at him. A few seconds passed, and then I fully registered what he said. “Wrath, is he here too? What did you do with him? Where is he? Give him back!”
Every shouted word reverberated off the vaulted ceiling above, creating a cacophony of panic. He said both, but why was Wrath not here then? Was he holding him captive? I could not let another creature be hurt because of me. Every fucking day since Haven was a calculated compilation of moves crafted to prevent more of those I loved dying because of me.
Padon raised both hands, surrendering before the fight even began. Still, I prepared for a battle, ready to kill anyone who stood in my way of finding Wrath. He was going to insult me for at least three days once he found out I forgot about him.
“Your pet is fine. I’m surprised you didn’t automatically assume he was running this place. He quite literally started ordering around my servants and insulting anyone who told him no. He’s very creative.” His hands remained raised as he spoke, a warm—and fine, dashing—smile lifting his lips.
I shook my head, my hair—which was far less straight and silky than it had been at the Temple of the Gods—swishing back and forth. Taking his word for it was not an option. I would need to see how badly depleted my magic was. Had they healed me fully?
I felt fine. Better than fine, really. For the first time since waking up, I acknowledged just how good I truly felt. My head was clearer than ever before, my magic a steady hum inside my chest. My limbs did not ache or crack, and my ears heard perfectly. I was more than simply healthy. This was something other, something done to me.
“I love seeing your mind work. I wonder, does whatever escape you’re plotting in there take into account that I won’t be leaving your side?” Padon questioned, a mocking edge to his tone. He walked forward, quickly closing the space between us. I backed up, desperate to maintain my distance. When my back hit the pianoforte, I knew I was doomed. “Play for me, Asher. That’s all I ask. Let me hear you just this once.”
Our chests met, and his head tilted down, a smirk masking the vulnerability that so clearly hid below. His thoughts radiated off of him like heat waves, pulsing as they met my magic. Thoughts of me playing as he and a youngling that looked nauseatingly similar to me watched on. Padon had an entire future in his mind—one he had dreamed up and was trying to force into reality.
If I did this, was I encouraging those fantasies? Was I allowing him to manipulate me?
But if I refused, would that be even more ridiculous? It would mean risking Wrath, maybe even risking myself, for what was most likely only my pride.
So, with enough rage to burn down the entire planet, I sat down. It had been some time since I played, not really having a moment to do so. But now, it seemed I had nothing but time, unless I pleased the psychotic emperor to my left. The very emperor who was now shoving me to the side to make room for him on the bench. I groaned, trying to channel my anger into the keys.
Mia had taught me that. She said that music was my chance to free everything I was not allowed to feel. Though she often scolded me for my temper, she also seemed to secretly enjoy it at times. In fact, I could recall occasions when we sat side by side on the piano bench in her chambers as I played, just like Padon and I were now. The queen would hum along to whatever ballad I crafted that day, praising me endlessly for my talent when I finished. We would sneak treats into her bed and talk about what I learned in Academy. Then, as I got older, conversations turned into talks of the council and what I thought could be changed. Sometimes, we just held each other and said nothing.
Now, all I could think was that none of it had been true. That she had never loved me at all.
The first note I played was too loud, causing Padon to flinch before he could hide it. I did not care, did not think beyond the silver and black keys in front of me. My fingers took on a life of their own, pouring out all the sorrow I would not let myself feel.
Every memory of Mia’s arms around me was another note. Xavier kissing my forehead became a press of my foot on the pedals. Winona brushing my hair was a slide of my hand. The sound of Pino’s laughter seemed to replace the quick-paced cluster, my fingers aching at the increased speed as the melody darkened.
I was music. I was sorrow. I was death.
Perhaps I was vengeance too.
My heart raced along with the music, tears I refused to let fall blurring my vision. When I pressed down one final time, the last note echoing off the walls, I closed my eyes and said goodbye to the pain.
“Beautiful,” Padon whispered, his head resting in his hand as he leaned against the piano frame.
I growled, sniffling once before standing. Padon followed me, failing to get his arms around me before I jumped off the stage. He scrambled to catch up, my legs carrying me far faster than they normally did. Reminding me that there was something off about my body, my mind, my magic.
“Where are you going?”
“First to Wrath, then home. You promised, remember?” My eyes remained forward, not bothering to check that he was still at my back. Not even his silent feet could hide the way the hair on my arms stood on end when he was near. Though he, like Bellamy, was uncannily good at making his mind disappear.
“I said I would send you home, but I didn’t say when.”
I froze, stopping just before the archway. Turning slowly, I narrowed my eyes, fists clenching at my sides to avoid swinging at him. His face was calm, not betraying any of his true emotions beneath the fa?ade.
“Liar,” I hissed, wishing I could scream instead.
“No, I’ll follow through with my promise. I always keep my word. Do remember that fact, Asher.” It was rare that he said my name, and hearing it now was unsettling. With a deep sigh, he continued. “If you still wish to go home at the week’s end, then I’ll return you there, along with your bossy feline friend.”
He said ‘if’ as though he expected I would not want to go. That alone told me just how foolish and mad he truly was.
“Take me to Wrath,” was all I said, unable to express just how furious I was. If he wanted to spend a week with me, then that was a mistake on his part, which I would gladly make him regret.
Without a word, Padon walked ahead of me, forging a path to a wide door with silver swirls etched onto it. He slid it open, the door somehow disappearing within the wall. Inside was a sight to behold.
If the library in The Royal City was large, then Padon’s was colossal. A set of winding glass stairs sat at the very center of the room, branching off to the many floors above. Books lined most of the walls, even more tomes residing on glass shelves that were placed intermittently to form small walkways. Gray curtains had been pulled back from the large window on the right wall, showing a sky so blue it almost looked green. The color reflected off of the room of glass, casting rainbows across the floor.
“What are we doing here?” I asked, trying and failing to tamper my awe at the sight. Padon’s answering chuckle told me that I was doing a poor job of concealing that excitement. Facing him, I glared, reminding him that—no matter what beauty lay within these walls—I would still loathe him by the end of the week.
“Well, well, if it is not my Strange One. You should be embarrassed by your tardiness, but I imagine you are not.”
My head whipped towards the horrifying sound of Wrath’s voice, a smile tugging at my lips. The dalistori popped his head out from one of the long aisles, sporting his normal size. Nothing could have stopped me from running to him then, not even the small hiss he let out when he realized my plan. I scooped his large body into my arms, burying my head in his silky fur. He slowly shrank, turning himself into the size of a domesticated cat, and then he rubbed his small head against mine.
“Do not scare me like that again, Asher. You are mine, and I am yours. We are…” He hesitated, as if the words that were about to come out of his mouth would burn. “We are family.”
“I love you too, Wrathy.” I stood like that, holding him far tighter than I should and listening to his soft purr as I pet behind his ears, until Padon cleared his throat. Groaning, I turned around to see him leaning against the doorframe, a smile on his ridiculous face.
“I’ll let you two have some time together. The kitty knows where your bedroom is whenever you’re ready to get settled. If you need me, my door is right next to yours.” With a wink and a wave, Padon left, sliding the door closed behind him.
“There is something odd about that male,” Wrath murmured, his head tilted to the side. It reminded me of Bellamy, and suddenly, my mind was at work once more. We needed to find a way out of here. Eternity knows Padon would likely not send us home any time soon, no matter what he promised.
“Wrath, as much as I love cuddling you, we need to figure out a way home.” The dalistori scoffed, swatting my face before jumping out of my arms. It would never get old riling up the creature, nor would it ever not amaze me to watch him grow triple his size midair, landing on paws far larger than they were mere seconds ago.
“If you tell the orange demon what I said, I will deny it.” Of course he would.
Chuckling, I walked towards the closest set of shelves. How long had it been since I read? I used to pick up a book every day. Now, the mere act of running my fingers across the spines felt foreign. Was it possible to both lose and find yourself at the same time?
“What are you looking for?” Wrath asked, his head nudging my hip. In front of us, a book wrapped in black leather caught my eye. The Story of Stella was written on the spine in sparkling white foil. The smell of old paper and ink filled the air as I pulled the particularly large tome off the shelf.
“Research.”
Neither of us spoke as I sat down, patting the floor to my right. Wrath curled up beside me, and then, with the hope that Stella was somewhere out there and rooting for me, I opened the book. It naturally opened up to a page that was—yuck—dog-eared. What sociopath would do such a thing?
Padon, probably. The fiend.
At the top of the page, in stunning script, read The Birth of a Blessing.
Settling further in, I began to read.
On the night when the sun was distant, hidden behind the four moons, an heir was born. Stella beheld her youngest daughter, a striking mixture of herself and the one she was soul-bonded to—the great love of her existence. Her eldest daughter, named after the sun itself, sat on her other side, their family now complete.
Behind them, standing in the corner, was a male with unfathomable magic. His veins were filled with Death and Creation, a blessing and a curse. The doler of life and loss locked eyes with Stella, and she nodded, smiling over at him. With bated breath, he made his way to the happy family, steps unsure. When he was close enough to see the baby, he gasped, watching as her body lit up, her magic brighter than any he had ever seen.
“We will name her Asta, for she is of divine strength. Asta, for she is crafted of the stars themselves. Asta, for she is love, and love shall conquer.”
I smiled at the story, which had been written quite intimately for historical text. That was when I noticed another page that had been horrifically bent, and I skipped to it. This page had no title, beginning in the middle of a section.
On the seventh day of the seventh month, Asta traveled to the new and interesting world her mother had found. Tanabata had been her father’s favorite holiday, just as it had been her sister’s. They were gone now, and Asta would never hear their laughs or feel their embrace again. It was something she could not voice, the type of pain that left her questioning the future that had been awarded her. The destiny she was told was hers.
Asta roamed the lands of the self-proclaimed demons, their magic a mere fraction of her mother’s.
A king sat inside his castle, oblivious to the magic that coursed through the beautiful creature’s veins. All he could see was her startling exquisiteness. Her hair—pale as the moon—cascaded down her back in rings, flaring out and sparkling in the light of nearby Sun magic.
I thought back to Bellamy’s painting of Asta, her hair dark rather than light. It seemed like such an odd discrepancy. With a shrug of my shoulders, I read on.
It is said that when Asta’s eyes met Zohar’s, their souls bonded, a great merging that stole their autonomy. For they were not two but one. The mortals of Eoforhild would name the seventh day of the seventh month Star Festival, for it was the day when their queen came to them—a star from the heavens.
If Zohar had known his life would be ripped from him, would he still have gone to Asta? And if Asta had known she would be meeting the love of her life only to have him stolen from her later, would she still have come to Alemthian?
On my lap, Wrath nuzzled his head into my hand, eager for pets.
“What were you doing in here anyway?” My hand absently scratched under his chin as I looked down at him, his long tail swishing back and forth.
“Waiting for you, obviously.”