Chapter 38
My father and I had talked for hours when a knock came from the door. I was unsure how time worked in this place, but it did not matter. Nothing would ever be enough to make up for what we lost.
“It is time.”
A beautiful woman stood in the doorway, an ethereal glow outlining her generous curves. Long, fire-red locks fell to her hips, in stark comparison to her pale white skin. She wore resplendent robes of emerald, cinched at the waist by thick golden cords. They whispered across the floor as glided inside my father’s study.
“Of course,” he murmured, dipping his chin. His smile faded ast his gaze swept along the room, stopping on me.
It had always been impossible to know what he was thinking. Throughout my childhood I had seen his emotions kept carefully guarded. I had never understood why or how he could do it.
It was not until his passing that I understood how valuable of a skill it could be.
But the problem I found was not knowing when to let people in. I had become accustomed to letting them see what I wanted them to see, which was often the mirror to their own desires.
I set the empty glass on the floor before standing. There were details I had forgotten, intentionally erased to lessen the pain of his loss. Now that I had a second chance, I refused to leave without committing them to memory.
“Rion,” my father began, rising from the chair. He said nothing and shifted on his feet nervously.
Truthfully, I was just as nervous to walk out the door. I did not know what waited for me on the other side. What if, after everything, Calia had not made it? What if my blood had not been enough to give her the chance she needed?
Without warning, my father stepped forward and pulled me into his embrace. “You will be okay,” he whispered, holding me tighter than before. “And take comfort knowing Calia will be, too.” He pulled back and cupped my cheeks, pressing a kiss to my temple as he had when I was a boy. “I am so proud of the man you have become, son. You have surpassed every expectation or dream I ever had for you.”
“I do not want to forget this,” I replied, voice cracking.
He shook his head. “Nor do I, but I pray that even if you do, some place in your heart will remember the truth of what I have told you this evening.” He placed his hand over my heart. “You are worthy of love, Rion, but you must be the one to accept it. Otherwise, you will ruin your happiness before you can embrace it.”
My father stepped back, wiping a tear from his cheek. He slipped his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Take good care of my son,” he told the woman.
In return, she offered him a dazzling smile that seemed to erase even my fears. Whoever she was, I knew I would be safe with her on my journey back to Calia. “As though he were my own,” she swore, extending her hand to me.
I took it, letting her lead me to the doorway. Stepping over the threshold, I turned and stared at the man I had revered my entire life. “This was a gift,” I said, hardly noticing how the woman squeezed my hand. “One I will be forever grateful for.”
My father dipped his chin. “Until we meet again, son.”
The woman tugged on my hand, and I followed her down a long, white marble corridor lined with ornately fashioned doors. Each was different; a collage of various materials, colors, and designs. Some towered over me, tall enough to fit a being five times my size, while others would scarcely fit a child.
“This is amazing,” I said, marveling at the unique differences in the gateways.
“It is,” the woman agreed, allowing us to keep meandering at the same pace as I satiated my curiosity. Neither of us spoke again until we stopped at the end of the hallway marked by a massive entryway.
It would have almost seemed plain next to the other doorways if not for the startling color. Crafted from pure gold, it seemed to change and shift depending on the angle at which you took it in.
“There is something on the other side that may upset you,” the woman began, gauging my reaction.
Immediately, my thoughts wandered to Calia, wondering if she would be waiting for me. I did not want to return to a life amongst the living if she was not there.
“It is imperative that you do not engage, no matter the lies it speaks.” Her tone was annoyed as she added, “And believe me, this particular soul will do anything to get your attention.”
She pushed open the doors, and I raised my hand to block the blinding light that shone through. Someone screamed my name, their voice raw and broken from overuse and agony. Chains clattered against the ground, intensifying my curiosity about what they might hold.
As the image came into focus, I saw a dirty figure chained to a hanging ring in the center of the room. They were naked, balanced on the balls of their feet as a woman clad in all black circled them like prey. She held cat o’ a nine tails in her grip, flicking the plaited leather to clean it of her victim’s blood.
“Goddess,” the woman in black purred, mockingly bowing at the waist. “Have you come to see my work?”
The goddess next to me smiled, though it did not reach her eyes. “I do not relish pain as you do, Lilith, though there are times I wish I did.”
The figure raised their head, screaming out for me once more. Only then did I notice the familiar blonde hue of my mother’s hair peeking out from between black, matted clumps stained with gore. It was the only discerning feature about her.
The whip had torn flesh from bone, leaving it hanging in jagged strips from Leonora’s body like ripped cotton sheets. No part of her skin remained untouched, each inch disfigured beyond recognition. Blood coursed down her in thick streams, pooling on the floor beneath her. Her eyes had been torn from their sockets, leaving behind gaping voids of grisly darkness.
“You do not know what you are missing, Niandra,” the woman said, her tongue darting across her lips. “It is simply divine.”
Niandra.
I sharply turned to study the woman beside me, looking for similarities to tie her to Calia. The two had nothing in common other than the blood they shared and the shade of their hair.
“Rion, is that you? Please—” my mother screamed, thrashing against her bonds as the whip connected with her skin in a sickening thwack.
“Silence,” Lilith hissed, reaching for Leonora’s chin. “You do not speak unless spoken to.”
“My son,” she wailed. “My son will save me?—”
Lilith laughed. “You can not be saved; only I could offer you such a blessing.”
I should have felt something for the woman in front of me. Stripped bare and mutilated for the world to see, my mother had never looked so pitiful. It was almost enough for me to step forward and ask for forgiveness on her behalf.
Almost.
But then I remembered each time she had locked me in the chamber—whipped, bloody, and freezing. How I suffered for days on end without any sort of sustenance or comfort, being forced to feed on days old blood just to regain enough strength to crawl from the curved staircase to the main floor of the house.
She did not deserve penance or any kind of intervention on my part. I was more than happy to watch as Lilith bled her dry and carved new wounds upon her flesh.
“I have seen all I care to,” I said, looking away from Leonora’s destroyed body.
It would have been far too comfortable to fall into the role of executioner. Her pain would have been an addictive retribution running through my veins, leaving behind only an incurable craving for more.
But after today, I never wanted to think of my mother again.
Lilith wiggled her fingers as the goddess ushered me toward the exit. My mother shrieked as the doors opened, and the goddess strode through the curved frame into the fresh air.
I stopped, staring at the sharp line on the floor where the sun cut through the shadows. Did the curse stand if I was dead? Would I burst into boils and sores the moment it touched my skin?
“No, no, no!” Leonora begged. “You cannot leave me!”
If my only option was to stay behind and endure my mother’s screaming for all of eternity, I would gladly risk eternal slumber.
The crack of Lilith’s whip against my mother’s body was the last thing I heard as the door locked behind us, leaving her behind to suffer in perpetuity.
“I amsure you are wondering why you are here,” Niandra said, trailing her hands along blooming wildflowers. It was strange that such a beautiful place could exist just outside the door of another where evil incarnate was being stripped of her dignity.
The garden butted up to a waterfall that cascaded down a jagged mountain peak. Stone walkways carved a path through bright clutches of flowers and luscious fruit trees as far as the eye could see.
It was a strange sensation, feeling the sun against my skin. It was warm and decadent, reminding me of a fresh pastry and a cup of coffee in the dead of winter. I had not understood my mother’s obsession with walking in daylight, but in this moment I could see how such desire could drive one to madness.
People meandered through the area, wearing similar robes to Niandra—talking and laughing with one another as they tended to the land. As we passed, they bowed to the goddess, returning to their work without fear of being caught idle.
I had never known a god until Elios, but ancient stories warned of their vengeful nature. Cautionary tales were passed down from parents to children, warning them of the dangers of angering the old ones. Yet, as I followed the goddess through the grounds, I saw no indication of mistreatment or capricious nature.
Niandra sat on a stone bench near the waterfall, gesturing for me to join her. I felt her gaze as I tipped my head back and let the light soak into my skin. How was I to give this up when I returned?
“It is amazing, is it not?” she asked, gesturing toward the sky. “People often take for granted that which they have always had. The sun and moon are no exception.”
“It is,” I sighed, closing my eyes. “I already dread giving it up.”
“Who says it must be given up?”
I lifted my head, looking in her direction with raised brows. “Your curse stands. All of this,” I said, gesturing around, “exists outside the realm of possibility.”
Niandra chewed on her bottom lip, a nervous habit I recognized from Calia. “I have been waiting for you a long time, Rion D’Arcy. Even if I did not yet know your face,” she murmured, her voice low.
“So many moons have passed since I was forced to intervene in the conflict between fae and vampyres, and yet, it seems like no time has passed at all. I never intended the curse to stand forever. It was only meant as a means to unite the two factions.” She turned, watching the rushing water. “The webs of fate often do not show their patterns until the spinning has already begun. This unfortunate detail has caused me more grief than I care to admit as I watched destinies crumble from my meddling. But it matters not, dear Rion, for you and my beloved Calia have righted my wrongs.”
“I do not understand,” I said slowly.
Gracefully, she stood, wrapping her arms around herself as she looked over the land. “What is the measure of peace, Rion? Is it the lack of warfare and bloodshed? Or is it something small and quiet? A moment of realization dawning as you look into the eyes of your first-born son?”
“Perhaps it is both,” I said, drawing her attention. “You cannot have peace amidst warfare. After all, the crusade for peace often leads to atrocities, is it not?” She nodded. “And while I am not a father, I do not question the ability to find solace in your children. The antithesis of war is not peace, it is creation.”
“Wise words,” she said, smiling. “But this is where my problem lies. There is no possibility in which the curse can unravel itself—which leaves those affected living in a continuous loop that shows no end.”
“Is there no ritual?” I asked in confusion. “My mother?—”
“Your mother was a delusional woman who thought she could outsmart the gods,” Niandra snapped, rubbing her temples. “Like so many other D’Arcys before her, she believed Calix Darrow had hidden the secrets below his palace before it was destroyed. Many lives have been claimed in the pursuit of this so-called cure, but I can assure you they have all been in vain because no such thing exists.”
“There is no cure?”
She shook her head. “Not in the way your ancestors believed, no. I will admit that I failed to understand what would satisfy the magic when it should have been simple. Surely, one would consider the act of marriage to be the perfect unification of two warring factions. Eventually, the original pairing came to love each other and ruled side-by-side for centuries before they met their deaths. Yet, why was the union not sufficient?”
“Because they did not produce an heir?” I asked, unsure of the point Niandra was leading us to.
“It is more than that. It is the fact that their love was not deemed true. They cared for one another as you and Corvina had.” I flinched at her name. “The two of you would have lived out the rest of your lives together if given the chance, but duty does not equate to love. And it was not until you and Calia were wed that I began to see what had been missing.”
She stepped forward and cupped my cheek, reminding me of how Jasper’s mother often did the same. “The sacrifices each of you made for one another demonstrated the possibility of a life beyond prejudice. That even after millennia of hatred and animosity, two people who had every right to hate each other could find a love so true that not even death could keep you apart.”
I blinked at the goddess, attempting to understand what she was saying yet struggling to believe the truth of her words. “The curse is… broken?” I asked.
“From the moment you took your last breath,” she confirmed. “I must confess, I found it rather ironic that the answer to your ancestors’ plight was the very thing they wished to prevent. But I suspect it would have never been enough. As Leonora proved with her hunt for the dagger, the D’Arcys wished for power that was never theirs to own. It was why I originally sought to intervene between fae and vampyre affairs long ago, but you, it seems, are different.”
I closed my eyes, letting Niandra’s words fall away. Instead, my thoughts filled with the sight of Calia’s face when she would at last feel the night-kissed wind on her skin and bask in the moon’s glow for the first time. She would tip her head back and laugh as she danced beneath the stars until sheer exhaustion took her.
Only then would I lay her down beneath the soft silver light and make love to her, claiming her body, mind, and soul as my own until the day burned bright.
Though we had an entire life before us, I did not want to waste another moment without her by my side. We had spent enough time apart, fighting for a future we never thought possible. Now that it was…
Niandra stepped back, holding out her hand for me to take. “It is time to go home.”