52. Chapter 52
Chapter 52
Zeph
I wake with a mouth so dry it may as well be coated in ash. My head pounds, a brutal staccato that draws the grief of the day before behind my eyes. It is a pain I do not deserve to be free of.
For the briefest moment, I think maybe yesterday was just a nightmare. But, of course, it was not.
My best friend is dead, and it is my fault. If I hadn't partnered with Himureal, none of this would have happened. The only goal was to get Himureal what he desired so I could get what I wanted – Viola back safely in Ytopie.
My best friend died because I couldn't accept that maybe, just maybe, Viola was of sound mind when she made the decision not to be with me and chose Mace instead.
I must forget the feeling of inevitability she gives me and ignore the ache I feel without her by my side.
None of it fucking matters anymore.
Who am I but a monster? I all but sacrificed my best friend to force a woman by my side.
And this isn't even the first time I have made reckless decisions in relation to Viola! I forfeited any chance of continuing my friendship with Plume when I kidnapped Tulip. I attacked my own brother because I felt like he was encroaching on my property.
Property.
That's how I treated Viola.
What is it about that woman that has turned me into a force of chaos, forgetting my morals regardless of who it hurts?
My thoughts have been stacking up since Himureal arrived, but Loris' death has kicked them all into overdrive.
It's abundantly clear that I am beyond reproach.
I don't even have a good reason for my actions.
I laid eyes on Viola during the Race and decided I had to be near her. That it was my responsibility to protect her.
I completely ignored the fact that Viola Mistflow is a force of nature who can protect herself.
She's a God. And I am nothing but the monster that desires to be by her side.
Everything I did was solely focused on getting Viola Mistflow on my arm.
I was willing to make whatever choice I needed to to get there, damn the consequences of my actions.
I was doing what I thought was right. I believed that the ends were justified by the means.
And they weren't.
They really weren't.
I'm not looking where I'm going as I stomp through the Palace, feet heavy, head heavier, as I trudge to my – Mace's – office.
It doesn't feel like mine anymore. I shouldn't be here.
I'm going through the motions, a pathetic attempt to keep my promise to Loris that I will continue with the plan we crafted, which requires me to follow Himureal unwaveringly as I build an underground resistance to support Viola.
The parallels between what I was planning for the Race before Viola entered my life and what I am doing now are not lost on me.
I'm so wrapped up in my thoughts I don't notice I have a visitor outside my office until I stumble into him on my way into the door. I look up into the shrewd eyes of Kon, the Bayal who has now been promised to Viola.
"Zeph, you're here. Good, I needed to go over some logistics."
"Logistics?" I step into my office and gesture for him to follow me as I prop myself on the edge of the desk, one foot off the ground.
He ruffles his dark hair as he slips a hand into the pocket of his black slacks. "The Frostweaver told me you'd be helping me get set up in a place to live with the Shadowweaver. He said he expects her any day now."
My chest constricts. Himureal still hasn't told me how he plans to ensure she's going to be here, and part of me wonders if it's because he still suspects I'd do something to sabotage it. At this point, he's probably right. It seems like the safest place for Viola right now is anywhere but Ytopie.
"Right, your… betrothal." I fight hard to keep my voice impassive like the word isn't poison as it rolls across my tongue.
A snake-like smile creeps up his face. "If more had known she was the prize, I'm sure they would've entered. She's something spectacular." He pitches his voice lower, eyes darting around to survey the hall for eavesdroppers. Unsatisfied with what he sees, he closes the office door and moves closer to me. "You've been there, right? You've taken her for a ride? I heard rumors of her leaving your home in your clothes after the gala."
Bile rises in my throat, and it takes every bit of self-control I have not to set this asshole on fire. "Viola and I did not have a relationship of that manner," I grit out, wanting to add so much more but needing to seem impassive and unflappable overrides the venom I want to spew.
"Oh, right. But your brother did, yeah?" He sighs, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. "I prefer that they've been around a bit, ya know? I know a lot of men want an untouched woman, but I prefer someone who knows what she's doing." He drags his tongue over his teeth. "I can't imagine a woman like that would struggle to know what to do with a cock, you know?"
His crass words are lighting all my nerve endings on fire, my knuckles whiten with how hard I'm clenching my hands.
Looking at his nails, he shrugs. "I'm sure Mace broke her in well and good, though. Those uptight ones always end up rough enough to warm them up for me."
I spin, my hand finding Kon's throat easily as I push him against the wall. My chest heaves with labored breaths, and I flex my fingers into his skin. He looks at me with wide, confused eyes, shock preventing him from fighting back immediately. I lean close to his face, sneering, fury radiating off me in waves.
What I don't say is, "Don't talk about Viola like she is nothing more than an easy fuck."
What I don't say is, "If you fucking hurt her, I'll rip your Godsdamned throat out."
What I don't say is, "Leave my fucking brother out of this."
What I do say is, "None of this conversation is appropriate about your future God, Kon, even if she is your betrothed. You will give her the respect she deserves, or you will lose the privilege to wed her."
He rolls his eyes at that, entirely unaffected by my aggressive outburst, and pushes out of my grip. "That's not a decision you get to make, high priest," he says with a sneer. "She may be a God, but when she marries me, she will know who she belongs to."
I hear the intent, the malice, in his words- the desire to own, destroy, mold, and possess her.
An intent not unlike the one I had.
Is this what I sounded like?
No wonder Loris was so disappointed in me.
No wonder Viola ran .
Seeing Kon standing there, a lesser fae under Summer, with elevated desires that mirror what I had, makes me sick to my stomach.
Kon steps out of the office, and just when I think he's fully leaving, he turns around, stalks back to the desk, and slaps his palms on it. He lowers down and, through a whispered snarl, says, "You're not going to stand in my way, Nightroot. I'm very soon going to have the most powerful woman in Krillium shackled to me. You need to watch your fucking back." And with that, he stomps out.
I sink into the chair behind my desk and bury my face in my hands, fighting the desire to pour a glass of liquor from the decanter on the bookshelf. I deserve to feel all this pain, this fear, fully.
I set this all in motion.
And it was bad enough when Himureal wanted to use Viola as an extension of himself to rule, but now he has promised her to Kon, who shows no desire to treat her as the God, the woman, the person she is. He wants to own her, to possess her.
No wonder Mace fought so hard to keep me from taking Viola from the garrison. This was the path I was going down.
My brother saved me.
Loris' sacrifice saved me.
I have made unforgivable mistakes, but I will do whatever it takes to right them. I will never fully atone for them, but I will try, until my last breath, to gain forgiveness from Tulip, Viola, and Mace .
"I have a task for you," comes the cold voice from my doorway.
Himureal stands, pointed nails that have a tinge of blue behind them wrapped around my door frame, in front of me, face heavy and tired. The half-moon bruises under his eyes tell a story of a night of no sleep. What keeps a God awake at night?
I gesture for him to enter, and he does, sinking into a chair across from me. "What task?" I ask, slipping into my role of high priest, leaning back, and crossing my arms across my chest. The stormy gray shirt I'm wearing today pulls tightly across me with the motion.
The Frostweaver runs his fingers through his loose, white hair, looking surprisingly harried for someone who is typically perfectly composed. "There is a new prisoner I need you to personally attend to."
This gets my attention, and I sit up straighter. Sure, we have a prison here in Ytopie, with cells and bars coated in slag to prevent magic use, but they are so rarely used that I cannot remember the last time I went down there. To have a prisoner there that I, as the head of the Patricians, don't know about is almost unheard of. "What was the crime?"
"That's of no matter. No matter. I need you to bring the prisoner food and water. You, and only you. Only you. No one else can know this prisoner is here."
His cagey response sets the hairs on the back of my neck on edge. "So this is not a Ytopian crime, then." The quiet shake of his head is all I get in response to my question, so I try another angle. "Do I need to be concerned for my safety in these visits? "
"No, the slag will keep the prisoner contained. Just drop the food and water and leave. Think of this as your way of ensuring to me you had nothing to do with that Loris nastinesses."
There it is. This is another loyalty test, just like promising Viola to Kon was. I swallow down the acid that fills my mouth and nod tightly. "I'll get right on it."
I push to my feet and walk around the desk, but I'm stilled by his hand on my forearm. "Keep your head, Zeph. That's an order."
My arms have the barest of supplies with me as I head underground to the prison cells. Nestled underneath the Palace, from a hidden staircase, very few people know how to access this area outside of the Patricians.
I'm not sure what this prisoner did, but Himureal seemed determined that I would be the one who handled them, so I wanted to make sure I did this the right way. I've got a pitcher of water, some fruit, and two thin slices of bread stuffed with meat and cheese. It's not extravagant, but it'll keep energy levels up and maybe warm this prisoner up to me enough to get some information from them of what they did to make Himureal lock them up down here.
The prison is dank, the air stale from disuse. There is no grid here, so I'm lighting sconces as I go, the orange glow casting cobwebs and rodent droppings into my vision. It's quiet, the slow dripping of water the only sound as I walk through the halls, checking the cells as I go.
Despite keeping my hands clear of it, the slag makes my head feel a touch fuzzy, so I take care to walk as far from the cells as I can. There is a lot of space to keep prisoners for a place that rarely has them, and I have to wonder if things were a bit more unruly when the prison was originally built.
I approach one with a person curled up on their side on the cot it's equipped with, and I slide the tray through the cutout of the bars, feeling the draining effects of the slag when my arm brushes the bar briefly. The person doesn't stir, so I take my time trying to identify them. Bright white hair, similar to Himureal's, and the feminine curve of hips covered in dirty clothes.
My body tingles and my heart beats faster the longer I look at the person. The feeling I have been plagued with, the one that made me believe my chest was going to explode and that my body was falling apart, bleeds out of me, and it is replaced with a moment of serenity so strong it almost takes me to my knees.
I'm panting, bent over, hands bracing on my legs, when I notice the figure has sat up and is looking at me from the shadows. Slowly, the person rises and stalks towards me, and the moment they step into the light I see what perhaps my body knew all along.
Though her hair is different and she looks travel-worn, with blackened fingertips clenched so tightly her knuckles turn white, Viola Mistflow stands before me, caged, with a look of pure malevolence on her face .
I don't even have the chance to take her in, to revel in the relief I feel being near her. It's like my body was withering away with drought while she was gone, and I have suddenly been dropped into a pool of cool, refreshing water.
Something in my chest snaps into place, and I reach through the bars toward her, my hands moving of their own accord.
Viola moves closer still, her hands wrapping around the bars, clutching tightly despite the coating that reduces her magic. I place my hand gently on hers, unable to stop myself from seeking contact with her. The side of her lip quirks up in a sneer that threatens to buckle my knees with its pure animosity before she speaks.
"Hello, high priest."