Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
M ireille’s entire childhood flashed before her eyes.
Her mother’s insistence that she control her emotions. Her irrational fear of Mireille shifting. Her determination to keep Mireille away from anyone who might be able to sense what her daughter was.
“Did you know?” Otto asked.
“No.” A choked whisper.
Her wolf snarled at Otto’s gleefully smug grin.
Mireille pushed down the rage, the grief. Calmed her wolf. Smoothed everything over with that glacial detachment she’d always found it so easy to conjure. “This is why you invited me.”
“We’ve met so many interesting individuals in our travels throughout the continent. Including a rather forthcoming wolf pack in a small village in Akti a few decades ago. One wolf in particular told us the most incredible story about a female named Vivienne Valois who’d fallen in love with a human, then fled her pack in fear when she realized she was with child. They tracked her down eventually, of course. But the fierce female—and her even fiercer daughter—fought them, chased them away. Though not before both females sustained some rather nasty injuries. Including a gash to the younger she-wolf’s front right leg.” Otto gestured to her scar. “Valois sounds an awful lot like Valette.”
Mireille could barely breathe. Who else knew about this? The Empire had claimed they’d discovered her father’s identity. If so, and if they knew she was half-human, why hadn’t she been arrested? Unless they’d suspected Otto’s plans all along, had thrown her in his path on purpose. Used her, yet again, for their own gains.
“When we saw you at the ballet last week, saw that scar on your forearm, we knew. And your lies at dinner the other night, not to mention your revelatory vision in the Halfway, only confirmed our suspicions.” Otto steepled his fingers atop the desk, leering. “We have been searching for you for quite some time, Mireille Valois.”
She raised her chin, refusing to show Otto how much he’d thrown her. “Why?”
“We’ve sought Fae with human heritage for centuries. Sometimes we are wrong, but more often than not… We were correct about nearly every guest this weekend. Their visions confirmed it when they were visited by their human ancestors. Though most of their mortal blood is removed by several generations. They possess seeds of elemental power, but their magic will not be as strong as yours. We have different plans for them.”
“What plans ?”
“So many questions,” Otto chuckled and Mireille fought the urge to call upon her wolf and kill Otto right here, right now. Stop all this madness.
But her wolf was just as shell-shocked as she was, reeling from the world-altering information Otto had just shared. Why had her mother never told her? And did Otto know more about her father? His name, perhaps?
“We told you that the theme of this week was stories.” Otto cocked his head. “It seems that you have been told some very inventive stories for your entire life. How does that make you feel?”
She nearly snarled at him, but didn’t answer.
He continued, undeterred. “Though that pales in comparison to the greatest storytellers our world has ever known. Can you guess who they are?”
Again, she kept her silence.
“The Erabis family.” Otto spat the name, and beside him, Nostrata hissed. Mireille almost fell out of her seat. She’d forgotten the ancient female was present. “Centuries ago, they began weaving their tales. Tales that called for the separation of the species. Tales that questioned Adelphinae’s teachings. Tales that raised up their own false High Gods in place of the true Creator and split Ethyrios into its current hierarchies, with Beastrunners and Deathstalkers beneath Windriders, humans discarded in the colonies.”
“For what purpose?” Mireille asked, more to keep him talking than anything else.
“Power. Influence. Wealth. What other purposes are there? They must have foreseen the consequences of discouraging interspecies breeding, must have known that to do so would weaken the other elemental magics beyond their own wind. Give them a reason to hold their dominion over the rest of us.”
Mireille’s mind swirled, trying to keep up. “That makes no sense. How have they kept their wind magic as the other elemental powers have faded?”
Otto dipped his head. “Adelphinae has not yet provided us with a clear answer to that question, though we have asked repeatedly.”
“What about the sources of the High Gods’ magic throughout the continent? The ones that power the god-touched stones? How can those exist if the High Gods aren’t real?”
“ All magic on Ethyrios is a gift from the Creator, despite what you’ve been told,” Otto snarled.
“You worship the Fallen Goddess?” Mireille swept her gaze around the room, over Nostrata’s cane. “Your house seems more like a shrine to Stygios.”
“Well, one must maintain appearances throughout these days of Imperial conquest, no?” Otto smirked. “As we bide our time and prepare to make our stand.”
“Make a stand?” she scoffed. “How is restoring elemental powers to a group of less than forty Fae going to help you defeat the Empire ?”
“Who said anything about restoring their power?” Otto popped his fangs and leaned back in his chair, intertwining his fingers across his stomach. Again, Mireille reeled. Why was he confessing all this to her? “We intend to take it for ourselves. And restore yours, if you’ll join us.”
Mireille massaged her temples, trying to chase away the headache forming behind her eyeballs. “Join you how?”
“Tomorrow, you will have the opportunity to gain more power than most Fae on Ethyrios could only dream of possessing. Afterward, we’re going to raise a weapon that has been slumbering for centuries. One left in this world by Adelphinae herself.”
“What weapon ?”
Otto regarded her from beneath lowered brows. “You will see. With these gifts from the Creator, there will be no limit to what we could accomplish together. We could raise armies, abolish the Empire, remake the world as we see fit. Wouldn’t you like to know what that feels like?”
Mireille sat back in her chair. What Otto was offering—even if she believed for one second that he’d revealed the full truth of his plans—was not any kind of future she would have imagined for herself. Nor was it one she wanted. She wasn’t a leader . She could barely stand interacting with people. Not to mention, she suspected that her and Otto’s visions for what the world should be were dramatically different.
Still, she thought it best to play along right now. She inclined her head. “A very tempting offer. What will you require of me?”
“Our final performance will take place tomorrow at noon. This one will be a story to honor Faurana the Mother, High Goddess of Land and Life. Well, not to honor . Surely you can see that the past two performances have been more of an upending of the High Gods’ worship. Sacrificing the diva. Journeying to the Halfway. All intended to reveal the Empire’s lies and prove our faith to the Creator.”
Was everything that Mireille had thought she’d known of the world a lie? Or was the liar seated before her?
Magic existed . That much she was sure of. Whether it had been gifted by the High Gods or the Fallen Goddess, she had no idea. Perhaps it was gifted by neither, just a quirk of nature bloomed into existence by Ethyrios itself. Still, she couldn’t deny the reason in what Otto was saying. If the High Gods weren’t real, who was benefiting the most from those myths? The Empire.
Her head swam, and for a moment she wondered if Otto was telling her all this to confuse her. Throw her off balance and get her to blindly agree to his request. “What kind of performance?”
Otto’s eyes shined with manic glee as he placed his palms on the desk, Mireille’s gaze darting again to those half-moons of dirt crusted in his nail beds. “We are surprised you have not guessed it already. It is another reason we were so eager to have you join us this weekend.
“You will be performing the final solo from The Curse of Faurana .”