Chapter Forty
Asher
T wo weeks. That was how long King Samell and Queen Prie had requested we wait to meet with them. It was a fortnight of what felt like wasted time looking for a creature we would not find and coming up with a plan for a kingdom that was notorious for their neutrality. But I could not bring myself to do anything other than press on.
Bellamy had promised to find a way to save the innocent fae in The Capital, and together, we did. The plan was not foolproof, but it was something. I would go and order everyone to leave, seeping my magic across the land and into their minds. If I could guide them slowly to a line of demons, we could portal them to safety. Not all demons had strong enough magic to do so, which meant it was a risk, but one that we would take.
It left me practicing often. For the first time in my life, I consciously existed daily with my mental gates open. At first, it was overwhelming, having my magic pull in so many thoughts and feelings and conversations. There were times when Wrath would speak to me and I would not even hear him, or others when I thought Bellamy said something, but it was really just the thoughts of someone nearby.
While I practiced, Bellamy read, diving into any and all texts we could find in Razc, the capital of Xalie. Every once in a while, he would mumble under his breath about the smell of books and the way his eyes hurt after too long, the quiet rants always bringing a smile to my face.
On the night before we were supposed to meet with Samell and Prie, Bellamy and I were sitting atop the bed, looking through historical records that dated back the last three hundred years or so, slowly fizzling out after that. Like the fae, the mortal history was lost beyond that. But even without the text, Bellamy knew of Xalie. Every king and queen passed on one important trait to their heir: rule with a neutral heart and a quick mind.
It left us with little to do other than offer everything we had. In terms of trade, Xalie was an ideal ally for Eoforhild. The former was rich in fish, with rivers running all through the kingdom. The latter could afford to trade for said fish, which would highly benefit Xalie—who had very little in terms of wealth. It was a pretty poor excuse for an alliance, which would not do much to benefit us when they had abolished their military centuries ago.
Henry had hated the mere idea of it, which was why we had not prioritized Xalie. Bellamy, on the other hand, understood my reasoning. He saw Xalie for what it was: a means to an end. If we had them, then four of the six kingdoms would have chosen to side with Eoforhild. Any chance to convince King Lazarev and Queen Nyla—the rulers of Yrassa—would be contingent on having that majority on our side. Yrassa was the top producer of salt and wine in all of Alemthian, and they also had a decent size military. The issue stemmed from their friendship with Maliha.
The two neighboring kingdoms had long been close allies. King Lawrence and Queen Paula had sent no word in the last two weeks, their silence both unsettling and relieving. In my heart, I knew that I would have a hard time taking back my word when marrying Sterling could save the world from war. Bellamy, though, would sooner see the world burn than watch me marry someone else.
Perhaps if Sterling had made me happy, then Bellamy would let me go, but now that he knew it was him I wanted…well, I was relatively sure he would never stand aside and let anyone have me.
It was that possessive love that had him watching me in my sleep, terrified that I might be taken away from him. On more than one occasion, I awoke to his eyes on me, staring as if a single blink could be the difference between me being there and then gone.
And he was right.
As my eyes grew heavy, my head lulling against Bellamy’s shoulder, I thought of Padon. Was he looking for me? Or had he given up? How could I end the problem of him if he could not die? I thought of the dragons, of the glass castle, of the books. When my eyes shut fully, my hand still firmly within Bellamy’s, I felt the tug. A great pull that had my mind seemingly splitting in two.
“Asher!” Padon’s shout was muffled, distant even. I tried to look around, but there was nothing other than the blackness that seemed to writhe around me. “Asher, I can feel it! Something is coming—please, Asher! Wake up! Get the prince and the dalistori and get out of there!”
I shot up, heaving for air. Bellamy was at my side, finally sleeping. Wrath was nowhere to be seen, likely bothering some poor mortal for food. The sun had fully set since I fell asleep, casting our room in darkness. And though I often felt the need to do the opposite of what Padon said, there was something about his warning that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand straight. Or perhaps it was the way the darkness before me also appeared to move and sway.
Turning towards Bellamy, I pulled down the neck of his shirt, checking on the inky magic that painted his skin. It was relatively low, stopping at his shoulder blades. Nothing that would make me think it was his magic flowing into the room. My mind raced, trying to make sense of what Padon’s warning meant.
With a sigh, I looked forward, coming face-to-face with a shadow-like image of myself. I screamed as it smiled—as I smiled. My arm was suddenly too heavy to lift, my dagger simply too far to reach. It laughed, head falling back. Everything slowly became too difficult to move, like my body was a weight that I could no longer hold. Shaking from the fear, all I could do was watch as the creature crawled towards me on the bed, a slow and jerky movement.
Bellamy did not stir, his breaths even and his body so still that it was like he could not hear or feel this at all. She approached me with that horrifying mockery of my smile, the gesture too wide and toothy.
“Asher, such a lovely name. Did you know we search for you? That he seeks you out?” Her voice was like shards of ice, splitting through my ears and into my mind. A shocking, gravelly voice that almost reminded me of Wrath’s. I tried to speak, to fight, but nothing happened. I remained still, pathetic, useless.
I watched as she leaned forward, her arm nearly grazing mine when she reached over me to grab on to my dagger. A moment later, my blade kissed my arms, slowly gliding down the long scars that reminded me every day of what I was fighting for. The ones that were a visual representation of how broken I could become.
“Did death call to you? Or did you call to him?” she inquired, letting her icy finger run down the jagged flesh next. Why was she asking me if she so clearly knew I could not speak? I wanted to shout, to kick, to run, anything other than to sit here and feel her hands on me. “Sometimes, we must bleed to feel. Let me show you.”
Horror and pain mingled within me as she swiped the blade horizontally across my arm, the slice crossing over the ones I had given myself. Red quickly began to coat the deep orange sheets, the cotton soaking up my blood. I felt the tear roll down my eye, but soon even my shaking stopped. When she leaned down and licked my arm, I thought I might vomit at the feel of her rough tongue on me. A hum that almost resembled a hiss emanated from her as she looked up at me, the lips she had stolen from me dripping my blood.
“Ah, I taste it in you. Would you like to taste mine?” My eyes widened as I watched her take the blade still covered in my blood and slice open her palm, thick black liquid spilling from her. It hit the bed with a loud sizzle, as if it were burning through the sheets and mattress. “Such a beautiful poison. Even a drop could kill, you know. But I am not here to kill you, sweet princess.”
The dagger went flying towards the wall, the force of her throw so strong it only stopped when it reached the hilt. More tears spilled down my face as she drew closer. In the blacks of her eyes, I briefly caught sight of a small light, brighter than the sun, like the stars had found a way into her. With a blink, they were gone, and her face was mere inches from mine. Ever so softly, she placed a kiss to my lips, chuckling as my sobs could finally be heard.
“He waits for her promised doom, her Gift. And with my kiss, he shall find you. Until we meet again, tasty little princess.”
Eyes rolling to the back of my head, I fell back in a heap, screaming as I landed in an all-encompassing blackness. A sea of emptiness, the darkness alive. I kicked and shouted for help, but nothing was there—no one would save me. Alone—I was alone.
Alone, alone, alone, alone.
“Ash! Asher, what is wrong? Asher, wake up!” Bellamy’s voice brought me to the surface, my lungs burning as they filled with air. My eyes flew open, the light of early morning stinging as I tried to look around for the creature.
Bellamy was beside me, his face pinched and body tense, as if he did not know whether to be terrified or furious. It was Wrath, though, that caught my attention. He sat at the end of the bed, staring at me with those yellow eyes—so much understanding in them that all I could do was sit up on unsteady arms and ask.
“What was it?” Bellamy ripped his gaze from me, looking to Wrath. The dalistori appeared torn, as if the answer to my question was going to upset us somehow. Eventually, though, he answered in that haunting voice of his.
“A fetch. I can smell it on you, feel it on the bed. They are called dream walkers, and they serve…Death and Creation. Just as I do. We were all made by him, dark creatures that should not exist but do. Perhaps that is why I feel drawn to you. Maybe he has made it so.” Contemplation surrounded Wrath like a cloud, raining down thoughts of Padon and me and fate. Pushing away the now-clean orange sheets, I brought my knees to my chest, my skin slick from the thin layer of sweat.
Bellamy did not move. Instead, he watched as I traced the scar on my left arm, which now bore no sign of an actual cut. If Wrath had not confirmed that I was indeed visited by the fetch, then I would have thought myself mad. Especially when the god that supposedly gave the orders had also warned me vehemently.
“Why would he warn me if he sent her?” My curious thoughts were spoken aloud with little care for the males beside me, a streak of aubergine hair flashing through my memories.
“He came to you last night before the creature?” Bellamy was moving, his hands coming to stroke my face, my shoulders, my arms, my hair, like he needed to feel every part of me to be sure I was not fading into the ethers.
“Not exactly. I heard his voice, like a faraway call. He was shouting at me, telling me to run away because he could feel it coming. I think he meant the fetch, but I do not see why he would act that way if it was him who sent it.” My jaw ached with the strain of talking through the onslaught of disorder within my mind.
I tried and failed to work it out, to breathe through the disorientation of it all and find the answers that evaded me. Xavier had always done that, searched for clarity in himself first. For every piece of me that hated them, that rebelled against the two hundred years of teachings, another latched onto it. Like two halves of a different puzzle, my old self and my new self no longer fit, no matter how hard I tried to put them together.
“Wrath, how do we protect her dreams? What can we do to make sure none of them get their hands on her again?” Bellamy stood, pacing across the floor as he muttered to himself. Wrath watched, his tail swinging and body slowly shrinking.
“We do not. My god wants her, and he will come. All we can do is fight against him.”
No. No more war and battle. We would not make another enemy, not find another reason to kill and plot. There were enough pieces on the board, adding more would not be acceptable. So, I did what I had been taught. I pushed all the difficult feelings down, down, down, hiding them away and promising myself I would do anything other than let myself fall apart again.
“Let him try to take me. I will not be forced anywhere ever again. Padon and his minions—sorry, Wrathy, not you—are of little importance. I am learning, and I will adapt to this. We need to focus on the task at hand, which is Xalie.” With that, I threw myself off the bed, passing by a still-pacing Bellamy and grabbing the gown that I had hung on one of only two hooks.
Slipping it on, I thought of what on Alemthian we would say to the king and queen. It was not like Gandry or Behman or even Maliha. All I could offer other than trade was peace after war, death as payment for life. It was not a promising proposal.
My skin tingled where I had been cut, but as I slid my arm into the sleeve, I still noted no scar or mark. Like it had never happened. Yanking the sleeve onto my shoulder, I closed my eyes, told myself to move forward, and then walked to the mirror to inspect myself.
It was simple in comparison to what I was normally dressed in, the same deep orange as the color of the Xalie sigil. The sleeves were large and flowy down to the wrist where a ribbon cinched them tight. The square neckline ended just below my collar bones, the hem of the dress tickling my ankles.
In the mirror, I noticed my dagger, still lodged into the wall. Above it, in dripping black liquid, a message was written.
A pretty name for a pretty Gift.
Whipping my head around, I found the wall bare with not a mark to be seen. I searched the room, catching sight of the dagger where it still lay atop the bedside table. Bellamy’s pacing stopped, his gaze locking on me.
“Ash? What is it?” All I could do was answer with a shake of my head, turning back to the mirror. I breathed deeply, looking at my face, which was—thankfully—far less terrified than my inner turmoil warranted. In fact, I looked almost…pleased.
And then my reflection smiled back at me, jumping out of the mirror with a bone-chilling hiss. I screamed, rearing back, trying to escape its grasp. Wrath was there, his jaw growing as he latched onto the fetch’s neck. She screamed in agony, writhing in his clutch as he bit down.
Bellamy grabbed onto me, forcing his body in front of mine. But she looked at me as if she could see through him, her smile—my smile—once more eerily large. With a wink, she disappeared, leaving the three of us gasping for air and frantically looking around the small room. Wrath was practically vibrating with rage, his beautiful gray fur coated in the black blood.
“Wrath, she said her blood is poison!” I shouted, trying to run to him. Bellamy did not let go of me, his arms wrapping so tightly around my waist that I felt suffocated by the security of it. “Let me go! We need to clean him! It will kill him!”
“Calm down, Strange One,” Wrath ordered. “All beings crafted by our god are the same. What comes from her cannot poison me, as it is mine. Though hers seems exceptionally foul.”
Bellamy released me, his large hands moving to grip my biceps as he turned me and held my head against his chest. Pressing his lips to my hair, he attempted to soothe me with his lulling voice. “It is okay. She had to be lying. That blood looked just like the afriktor’s, and it did not hurt us in the forest.”
“Well, the creatures within the forest are diluted versions of what was. When the fallen goddess locked them away, she ensured they would not only remain within those wards, but that their magic—their very essence that tied them to her once lover —was weakened. I myself escaped her only narrowly.” Wrath was nonchalant with his words as he flicked his grime-soaked paw, a hiss following after it splashed onto his mouth.
“Wait, what do you mean that—” Bellamy had little time to speak before he was cut off by the dalistori.
“We will talk of histories forgotten another time. Go to the mortal rulers.” With that, he shrunk back down to his normal size, padding his way to the bathing room. He stopped at the door, looking over at us. “Be safe and do not let her out of your sight, princeling.”
With a curt nod, Bellamy quickly turned me around, tying the ribbons at my back before placing a hasty kiss on my shoulder and moving to get himself ready. I watched silently, trying to calm myself enough to resume the confident air I had exuded minutes ago.
It was never going to stop. There would be no end to this madness. Even if we won this ridiculous and disgusting war, Padon would still be there, waiting for his next chance. Maybe he warned me to try to trick me into believing he wanted me safe. Or maybe he had unknowingly sent the thing. Either way, I would need to solve this problem too.
Apparently, I not only carried the world but the fucking universe as well.
“Okay, we need to go, Princess.” Like a balm on a wound, Bellamy’s voice tamed my tragic thoughts, offering the smallest semblance of refuge. He could help me hold the weight of it all. I had to trust that. Together, we could do this.
And maybe, just maybe, we would both live to see the world after.
I nodded, walking into his outstretched arms. His embrace was everything it had always been, warm and sunny, a sort of homecoming. When we portaled away, it did not hurt because, in his arms, I could weather anything.
I breathed him in once more, trying to memorize the smell of cinnamon and smoke that always clung to him—like a crisp autumn day beside a fire. He stiffened, as if what I had done appalled him in some way. Leaning my head back, I assessed his face, following his gaze until I caught sight of what had left him so angry.
From atop the hill, we had the perfect view of a line of guards in front of the castle walls beyond, all clad in the beige and orange of Xalie. I freed my magic, waves of it crashing into the unmoving shore of guards. Their thoughts flittered my way, like loose shells slowly being sucked out into the sea. Though I could not understand the words they said, I could make out the images clearly enough.
“They are waiting for us. Samell and Prie received a threat from Mia and Xavier. They no longer wish to see us.” My voice was hollow, empty of all emotion. The guards did not feel me there, but they saw us, their thoughts ranging from terror to worship—some considering falling to their knees. A few felt as though their loyalty to the gods outweighed that of their obligations to their rulers, what was above coming before what was below.
Even those who prepared to kill us both, who thought me an abomination that needed to be eradicated, still felt the weight of what I could do, images of those thoughts bombarding me. Regardless, I knew I could make them let me in without lifting a finger. I could force the king and queen to pledge themselves to our cause. There was a part of me that wanted to because this defeat was too great. It meant we would likely lose any chance with Yrassa.
Still, I grabbed Bellamy’s arm as he moved forward, a deep growl emanating from within his chest. He felt all I could not, and I wanted so badly to let him move onward, to watch as he solved this problem. But I could not, and neither could he. We both knew what it was to be forced into a fight, a life , that we did not ask for. We could not do the same.
Our eyes met, his pale skin flushed from the cold of winter. Snow fell lazily from above, intricate and tiny flakes of it decorating his dark waves. As always, his hair was disheveled, and I could not stop myself from reaching up to run my fingers through it. A contented hum filled the air as he closed his eyes and leaned his head into the touch.
Dread settled deep in my chest, and I combated it with memorizing the way his eyelashes brushed his lightly freckled cheeks. The dip and rise of his top lip. The cut of his strong jaw and the billowing of his familiar cloak in the wind. The way his open shirt showed the black veins below and hugged the muscles of his arms. His hands came to my cheek and neck, the cold sting of his rings further cooling my frozen skin, and I knew I would always remember that, too.
With a nod, he pulled me into him and portaled us back to our room at the inn. Wrath looked up at us from his spot on the bed, where his damp fur soaked the thick quilt. Bellamy shook his head at the dalistori before he could speak. Then he tugged me towards the bathing room, and I watched him summon water from nothing, the liquid already steaming as it poured from the skin of his palms. From his shadows appeared a glass vile, the dark liquid casting the scent of vanilla into the air as he poured it out.
As always, he came to me, untying the gown and slipping it off my shoulders. Each move was slow and methodical, never once straying into a more sexual touch. He was gentle, loving even, with the way he slipped off my shoes and pulled off my undergarments. When I was fully bare, he offered me his hand and helped me into the tub, placing a kiss to my head as I sank in.
“If you need me, let me know. I am going to contact Henry, and we will figure this out.” Though I trusted him completely, I also knew that there was little to be done. Stiffly, I bobbed my head down before lying back and closing my eyes, letting the hot water cleanse me. If only I could bleed every wicked piece of myself out, let it stain the water and leave me void of the evil that I had been gifted like a prize. Perhaps then I would be a better ally to a peaceful kingdom. One worth risking so much for.
Bellamy lingered for a moment, made evident by the near silence around me. But then, with a heavy sigh, he walked away, the sound of his footsteps retreating followed only by the click of the door shutting. Then nothing.
A new silence, one full of panic rather than sorrow, enveloped me. And I let it. I settled within it, allowing it to pull me under the water, scorching my cheeks as I went. While I lay there, weightless and free of the pressure that constantly threatened to break me, I decided I would do the one thing I knew would finally make me irredeemable.
I would choose.
Tomorrow, the three of us would go back to Eoforhild. I would accept that there was nothing more that I could accomplish here, and I would do exactly what Bellamy begged of me.
I would choose myself.