2. Chapter 2
Chapter 2
Zeph
" T ell me again why we're not going after them. They can't have gotten far." I glance over at the God with something resembling awe. This whole situation will take some getting used to. Acknowledging that I am standing next to the fearsome God of Winter, Himureal, is surreal. From my restrained and weakened position, I was unable to fully grasp what happened in the garrison, so after initial introductions, he filled me in. But what I'm still confused about is why he didn't just follow them out immediately.
From the dusty round table in the garrison, he looks at me with an annoyance that has become his standard expression over the last few hours. "As I have said, Zeph, they will return to us eventually. The damage they can do in the Lowlands is nothing compared to the good we can do for our cause here in Ytopie." He turns back to the books he's been flipping through in the few hours since the love of my life, my traitorous best friend Plume, and Mace Nightroot, the man I will never again call my brother, escaped after tying me up, trapping Himureal and resurrecting Stone, who lays twice-dead and crumbled at Himureals feet.
Himureal is convinced that the people of Ytopie will welcome him with open arms, thrilled for his return after so many centuries.
I have my doubts, but I'm not sure if I can fully voice them.
"You have no followers here, Frostweaver. Your magic has long been extinct. No one living has any memory of Winter magic except what they've seen in Viola, and most don't even realize that's what they saw." His icy blue eyes meet mine with a snarl, and he prowls towards me, his very presence so overwhelming I take a step back. His limbs are long and strong, and he looks younger than me despite being around since before the dawn of time. His long white hair fans out around him as he stalks towards me. He grips my shirt collar, pointed nails digging into my skin.
"Viola's magic is currently a parlor trick compared to what I can do. It is only a piece of my whole. Without my guidance, she will falter quickly. Once the people see what I am capable of, they will fall in line behind me."
I squirm in his grip. His insults to Viola do him no favors in my affection. The pull I've felt towards her is as strong as ever. Working with him is a means to an end. She may have said she didn't have feelings for me, but I felt them in that kiss. I just have to make her see reason. It's what helps me push through the way my skin crawls when he touches me. "What is the end goal, Himureal? You're a God. Why do you need Ytopie to follow you?"
"My siblings are fools. When they locked me away, they thought I would stay gone. They thought they could break me." He laughs ruefully. "Well, they didn't. The world does not need them. I was the first. I am all this world needs. Me, and my Shadowweaver." His breath is frosty and cool across my face as I try to ignore how tightly he is holding me to him.
"Are you not worried they will wait for their Gods to return? It's unheard of to follow the God of another season."
He releases me, shoving me a few steps back. "Oh, the other Gods will return, of that I have no doubt. The Shadowweaver is probably figuring out how to bring them back as we speak. And I hope she does it." His face curls into a snarl, animalistic rage overtaking his brutal beauty. "That way, I can kill them myself."
Not for the first time, I'm wondering why I thought aligning myself with this vengeful God was a good idea. My mind is constantly running with a refrain that reminds me that Viola will not come back of her own accord, and if I want her back to me, this is the way to do it. "They won't follow you if you kill their Gods, Frostweaver. People here are still very pious, despite your disappearance. They don't even know you've gone."
"And that is where you come in, Zeph. You will win them to my side before that battle even happens. To be at my strongest, I need devotion, and you will help me get it. You will build me a devout little army of fae." He taps me condescendingly on the cheek. "It will be easy for them to listen to you as the new head of the Patricians."
I sputter a bit, backing farther away from him as he speaks. "What do you mean?" I won't lie and say I haven't thought about sliding into Mace's position now that he's gone, but publically following Himureal feels like it's pushing a limit that I'm just now realizing I have.
"But first, I need a high priest." He looks me up and down as if assessing my value. "You'll do." He shoves a book at me and taps the page it's open to with his nail. "Here, these are your new responsibilities."
I've heard of the prior high priests of the Gods, but there have been none since the banishing. The story that was spun for Ytopie is that the Gods do not need high priests with the Patricians in place.
With the God of Winter breathing over my shoulder, I turn my attention to the book, its pages yellowed and crisp with age. The garrison is dreary on the best of days, and I struggle to read by the low light. I toss fireballs into the air to float over me as I turn to the book.
The high priest is a role of great honor. When born, the draw of vocation takes up residence in their body, a magical promise of service to their God. Serving their God as their connection to the people, the high priest can replenish magic lost utilizing a combination of ritualistic sacrifice and selfless worship. It is the high priest's responsibility to secure followers for the God, as one cannot maintain the God's power on their own, and to attempt to do so would be disastrous.
The loss of a high priest can cripple a God, and as such, the priest falls under the protection of the one they serve. The high priest cannot break the draw; only through malicious actions towards the God can the vocation be severed.
I look up at the Frostweaver, who is staring at me as I read. "You want me to worship you? How can I channel devotion to you when I do not feel whatever this draw is?"
"I want you to convince this city to follow me. Once they follow me, I can move on to the humans. The draw is not necessary for me to get what I need, and what I need is devotion." His face is expressionless and bored like I am a bug bothering him.
I sigh and pace over to the stage where, just hours ago, Himureal was raised from a bowl of Viola's blood, and I flop down on the floor of it. "Aren't you worried that Viola is going to bring the other Gods back, and this won't be enough? What if your battle with the other Gods wipes out all the people you so badly want to rule?" It's been hours since I've had a drink, and despite the pounding in my head, my mind is surprisingly clear, all thoughts centering around Viola Mistflow and the furious look on her face when I appeared with her friend in my arms.
If I didn't know any better, I would say this burning pain in my chest is guilt.
Himureal's face falls into a cool mask of indifference as he leans against the table, crossing his arms. "You want your girl back, right?"
My heart thrums, and I nod emphatically. "More than anything."
"Then listen to me. I will get her back. It is in both of our best interests that she be here, in Ytopie, with me. I will do everything I can to stop her from waging this battle that I know is coming. But you have to believe me when I say that the damage she can cause in the Lowlands will not affect what I have planned for Ytopie. I need strength, and I cannot get that without devotion. The easiest way to get her in your arms is to get the city on our side. We can spin the story of what happened here in our favor. If and when she comes to the people of Ytopie, fighting for them to be on her side in whatever is to come, she will learn they are on my side, and you can swoop in and rescue her."
I lean back on my hands, not hating the idea of controlling the narrative of Himureal's return. Maybe having the support of the entire city would be all I need to finally get her to see reason. My hand brushes against a smooth stone that was dropped below the altar from the raised stage. I pick it up and bring it close to my face to examine and see a flourished 'M' carved into the smooth obsidian.
Viola pulled this out of her pack enough times during the Race that I would recognize it anywhere. I slip it into my pocket, holding my hand over it, soothed to have a piece of her with me. I glance up at Himureal, who's looking at me expectantly.
"Alright, I'm in."
It's hard to look poised and professional with no sleep, but calling a meeting of the Patricians cannot wait for me to rest now that Mace is gone.
The room fills in, and Nimh and Cirrha take seats beside one another on my left side. I've taken Mace's normal spot and lean my elbows against the table, steepling my fingers together as he always did. As the room fills, I get odd looks from the others on the board. Once they've all taken their seats, I push myself to my feet and turn their attention my way.
"I'm afraid I have some bad news for everyone." I watch them shift in their seats uncomfortably, letting them stew in silence. Just when I think Cirrha is about to speak, I interrupt her thought to continue. "In the early morning hours, Stone was murdered."
Shock ripples through the room, as well as a few strangled cries for a man who ended his life as a monster. It goes to show you can never really know someone.
"What happened?" Nimh whispers, her hand curled up against the back of her scalp, lightly tugging her wet blue hair. The Neried's eyes are wide with sadness as the lock with my own.
"That is the other bad news, Nimh. Unfortunately, I was present for the death, and I witnessed Mace Nightroot murder Stone in cold blood." The words sit heavy on my tongue. I have never liked lying. Spreading these falsehoods to my people makes me no better than Mace, but this is necessary to get Viola back to me.
Right?
There is an uproar in the room, and Cirrha stands up, slamming her hand on the table. "Mace would never." The Tempest's voice is controlled but furious.
Palms down, I hold my hands out to silence the crowd. "I'm afraid it is the truth. I saw it myself. Mace killed Stone and escaped into the Summit, holding Viola Mistflow hostage. At this time, we consider him a dangerous risk to her." My skin prickles with the distinct feeling of being watched. I look over my shoulder towards the door and see Himureal standing there, leaning casually against the doorframe. The protesting group of Patricians in front of me turn to face him, quieting at the overwhelming presence he portrays.
"Mace cared for her," Cirrha hisses, ignoring Himureal's appearance and keeping her eyes locked on mine.
I narrow my eyes at her and unblinkingly respond, "Well, it seems that care was more of an obsession that was not reciprocated."
"Zeph is telling you all the truth. I was there, and I saw it happen." Himureal's deep, booming voice startles the crowd, and they murmur to themselves, trying to figure out who this tall and strikingly beautiful man is in front of them. He stalks to the front of the room, placing himself behind me and resting a hand on my shoulder. I have to fight not to shrink away from his touch. He has tied back his long hair, his sharp features on display. He's wearing an unassuming pair of black trousers and a stark white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and several buttons undone. His chest is covered with raised white scars in a ritualistic design that swirls across his upper body. He looks out over the round table where several of the most powerful fae in Ytopie sit.
"I'm sure it is hard to believe Zeph when he shares this information with you all, as you must have many fond memories of Mace. But at this time, he is not to be trusted. He has used his magic of influence to convince Viola Mistflow and several others away from the city for what I can only assume are nefarious purposes."
Cirrha's eyes are fire, and I can see she will have trouble converting to our truth. Nimh sits quietly and sadly beside her, her head buried in her hands.
"At this time, I humbly suggest that Zeph be appointed head of the Patricians to help guide us through this trying time since he was witness to the betrayal. Viola Mistflow needs to be recovered safely, and I believe Zeph is our best chance, given how affectionate the two were before Mace's interference."
I never spoke to Himureal about the moments Viola and I shared, sitting together across from my table, sharing secrets, and opening up to one another. He has no way of knowing the fluttering that lives in my chest when I think about how she looked in my clothes after the Champions Gala. Despite what she yelled at me in the garrison, there is something between us. I don't know how she doesn't see it, but it's there, underneath the surface, begging to be let out.
If only she'd embrace it and let me show her how good we could be together.
"Why is Viola so important?" Cirrha asks, still exceedingly skeptical.
I glance at Himureal to see if he wants me to answer, and he shakes his head slightly. "Viola Mistflow is a Winter Seasonale." Shocked sounds flicker through the group, except from Nimh and Cirrha. He holds his hand up to silence the noise. "I have no doubt you all heard the rumors surrounding her. The rebirth of Winter magic needs to be contained as she has no one to teach her to maintain it safely. I'm sure I do not have to remind you all how dangerous Winter magic can be if not cultivated and nurtured. She will be very important to the future of Ytopie."
Murmurs continue to rise through the room, and a soft-spoken Spring, who's only been on the board for two years, speaks clearly above the noise, "And who are you to make that assumption of a human woman?"
The Frostweaver's hand tightens on my shoulder, and I watch what anyone who doesn't know him would see as a charming smile slide across his face. In such a short time knowing him, I can recognize it for what it is – calculated and manipulative. A chill creeps up my spine, and I suppress a shudder. "Oh, my sincerest apologies. I didn't realize no one would recognize me."
He moves beside me so his massive presence can be fully recognized. "I must impress upon all of you how important it is that what we talk about here today stays confidential until we, as a group, determine how to handle it." I know as soon as he says it, this is going to spread like wildfire. I can't help but think that was his goal all along.
Everyone in Ytopie loves a secret. Gossip is traded like currency.
The group grumbles in acceptance, but several still eye him with suspicion. The same Spring from before interjects once more. "You still haven't told us who you are."
Himureal smiles, his face pointed and sinister as he locks eyes with the man. "How could I forget my manners? My name is Himureal, but you may know me better as the Frostweaver."
Their confusion was so loud I have no doubt it was heard in the Lowlands.