Chapter Seventeen
A whispered voice pierced the fog of Wynter’s sleep, playing into her dream. A voice that wanted her to wake. To move. To follow. She ignored it, busy cleaning the blood from her boat.
Icy fingertips fluttered over her face as the voice patiently persisted.
Ugh. Couldn’t it see she was busy here?
She let out an annoyed sniff, scrubbing the fiberglass boat harder. The voice didn’t give up. It kept on whispering, telling her that it wanted to show her something; something she needed to see.
Little by little, Wynter’s dream broke apart around her as sleep gradually lost its grip on her. Awake, she tiredly opened her eyes. And froze. Her heart slammed hard against her ribcage.
What the hell?
She was no longer in the bedchamber. She wasn’t even sure if she was still in the Keep. This place . . . it was some kind of grotto. The rock walls looked like they’d been adorned with splatters of gold glitter, much like the vaulted ceiling above her. The light from the flaming torches slashed through the darkness. The stone floor was smooth and warm beneath her bare feet.
Her monster stirred, tense but intrigued—there was so much energy here. An energy that was foreign and intense. It rolled over her skin, causing her flesh to prickle and making every tiny hair on her body lift.
The ethos . . . It was hard to put it into words. It was electric. Magnetic. Disquieting. Charged. Like the buzz of energy before a storm, or the unnatural quiet before an earthquake.
And fuck the grotto was hot. Really hot. The humid air was so thick it felt heavy. It carried many scents, such as mildew and algae.
It seemed safe to conclude that she’d gone walkies in her sleep again. But to where, exactly? What was this place?
Swiping her hands down the long shirt she wore, Wynter looked around her. An arched wrought-iron gate was wide open. The rudimentary carvings on one wall made her think of those that Cain showed her in his temple. Was that where—
Wynter jumped as muted male whispers floated through the air. Whispers from something sentient. Aware. Older than old. Powerful in a way she couldn’t describe. And it was urging her forward.
It was the same voice from her dream, she realized. And it had led her here.
Some of the things that Kali had told her during Wynter’s recent trip to the netherworld leaped to the forefront of her mind. They explained some of what was happening here, but not all.
Swallowing hard, Wynter glanced back at the gate. She could head back to the Keep and wake Cain. She should. Because this whole thing was goddamn weird. It was weirder still that he hadn’t already caught up with her and ushered her back to bed the way he usually did.
Yes, she should go back and ask him to—
An otherworldly breeze nudged her back, urging her forwards.
Crap.
Wynter nervously licked her mouth, able to taste the sweat beading her upper lip and the tang of minerals in the air. Pulling up her big girl panties, she took a few steps further into the grotto. The source of the humidity soon came into view. It appeared to be a natural hot spring, but it wasn’t like any she’d seen before. Whips of power bounced along the surface of the burbling turquoise water—crackly, sparkly, and beautiful.
The high concentration of power was like a beacon. She edged closer, careful not to lose her footing and slip on the wet stone.
Her pulse jumped as water briefly shot upward out of the well like a geyser. Cursing her raw nerves, she walked a little faster toward the spring.
The muted whispers grew louder, clearer, more frantic. And they urged her to put her hand in the water.
No, thank you.
She had the feeling that the little sparks of power skipping along the surface would pack a real punch if they zapped her. But the voice persisted, reassuring her that there was no danger to her here. Which didn’t actually succeed in putting her mind at ease.
Only one thing made Wynter consider granting the voice its request—although Kali was brushing against her, She gave off no cautioning vibes. The deity was all calmness and encouragement, seemingly relaxed about the whole thing.
“Fine, fine. Just so you know, Kali, I’ll be totally pissed if I get zapped or some shit.”
Wynter knelt beside the steaming well. The insane heat it gave off rose up and flushed her cheeks. “Awesome.”
Steeling herself, Wynter pushed aside her doubts and reached inside the spring. She didn’t need to plunge her hand into the well. The water weirdly splashed upward and swallowed her hand.
A gust of otherworldly air washed over her face, communicating . . . something. Something she didn’t understand. Inside Wynter, her monster abruptly rose to the surface, but it didn’t take over. It melded with her.
She sucked in a breath as power punched into her, surging through her body so violently it bowed her back. Oh God, it was too much. It rattled her teeth. Stung her eyes. Bubbled in her blood. Buzzed against her bones. Made her heart gallop and her head spin.
She couldn’t move; could only stay still as the alien power arched through her like forks of lightning—flooding her with warmth, jumpstarting her senses, waking up her nerve cells, and electrifying her body.
And then it was over.
Her eyes snapped open as her monster slinked backwards in withdrawal. Once more herself, she shook her head hard to clear it. What the fuck was that?
Quivering, she brushed her dry palm down her face. God, she’d never felt so . . . awake. Present. Energized. Wired.
Swallowing around her dry throat, she pulled her other hand out of the water and stood. Which was when the spring began to ripple and splash like a goddamn Jacuzzi. She promptly backed up, only able to watch as lights began to flash like crazy beneath the water. The whips of power dancing along the surface began to wildly hiss and pop and crackle.
Wynter’s breath snagged in her throat, and her heart began to pound hard and fast in her chest. Oh, hell, what had she done?
*
Rubbing at his nape, Cain walked down the stone passageway en route to the chamber he shared with Wynter. Sleep had eluded him. His mind—currently a chaotic place of messy thoughts and relentless questions—simply wouldn’t rest. As such, he’d headed to his ledger room to get some work done.
He’d considered instead waking his consort and then fucking them both raw—that would have helped his brain power down for certain. But the last thing he wanted was for her to be sleep-deprived. With all that was going on around them, she needed to be sharp and alert at all times.
He’d left her a note just in case she woke before he returned. He hadn’t realized he’d been in his ledger room for over three hours until he’d glanced at the wall clock and saw that it was 3:45am.
Now, Cain pushed open the door to his chamber. He frowned as his gaze landed on the bed. Ruffled sheets. No Wynter.
Calling out her name, he crossed to the en suite bathroom. Empty. Unease crawled through his gut, and his mouth tightened. Sleepwalking. She had to be sleepwalking again. “Fuck.”
Since there was only one place she ever went during such times, he hurried out of the Keep and headed straight for his garden, never willing to take for granted that—despite how often he’d found her unharmed—she’d be safe from the many serpents that roamed in it.
The gates were wide open, and the padlock was on the ground. Yes, she was out here. And something had unlocked the gates for her yet again.
His pulse thudding hard, Cain rushed along the winding, twisting path. He expected to come upon her at any moment, but there was no sign of her. How long had she been out here?
His creature writhed inside him, agitated that she was missing and furious that another male could call her to them like this. Furious that they would even dare.
Nearing the temple, Cain frowned. The fuck? Mounds of snakes were piled outside, writhing on top of each other. He knew they usually followed her when she came to the garden during her sleep. Could they have followed her here?
Cursing, he took the pitted steps two at a time and rushed into the temple. “Wynter!”
he shouted, lighting the wall torches even as he stalked through the eternally long sculpted archway. “Wynter!”
A ruthless little voice inside him spoke up, saying it would be better not to wake her; better not to sever the current connection between her and Abaddon—no one else could be calling her here, could they? And if the Ancient was close to waking, that could only be a good thing.
Cain quashed the voice fast. If the woman in question had been anyone other than Wynter, he would have been prepared to sit back and observe. But this was his consort.
His pace faltered as he sensed vibrations coming from somewhere below him.
Coming from the grotto.
Cursing again, Cain bolted for the spiral staircase he’d descended almost every night for weeks on end. He swiftly jogged down it and hurried through the open iron gate. His pulse leaped as he took in the scene.
Wynter stood against the wall opposite the spring, her eyes wide, her lips parted, her focus centered on it. Water splashed over the edges of the stone well as it bubbled and gushed and lit up with pure power.
He’d witnessed such a spectacle before. Many times, in fact. It meant only one thing.
A Leviathan was rising.
Cain rushed to Wynter’s side and curled a hand around her upper arm. She jerked in surprise, only then noticing him. “Are you all right?”
he asked her.
Looking somewhat dazed, she nodded.
“He called you here again?”
A line dented her brow. “He?”
“My uncle.”
Cain curled an arm around her shoulders and held her close. “He’s waking.”
And for some reason, Abaddon wanted Wynter to be present when he did. The man had some explaining to do.
“Wait, he’s in the water?”
“Ancients always Rest in water.”
Cain cast a quick look at the well. “You should go back to the Keep.”
Her brows snapped together. “What? Why?”
“Because I don’t know what mental state he’ll be in when he rises. Like I told you once before, I don’t know of an Ancient who’s been at Rest for so long and I have no clue what kind of impact it might have had on his psyche.”
And sanity, for that matter. His uncle had always been reasonably calm and collected, but these were unusual circumstances. “That unsurety bothers me.”
“It bothers me as well. Which is why I’m not leaving.”
Cain sighed at the determined set to her jaw. “You’re a stubborn woman. I like that about you, even as I find it an inconvenience at times.”
Since he highly doubted that his uncle would have any wish to harm her, Cain didn’t push for her to leave. “At least let me do the talking.”
“That I can easily agree to. Um, the lights beneath the water are beginning to fade. That doesn’t mean he’s slipping back into Rest, does it?”
“No. It means he’s close to surfacing.”
Cain’s chest tightened as he recalled the last time he’d seen Abaddon. The man had been deathly pale, so weak his heart barely beat, his face lined with grief and pain even in sleep.
They hadn’t expected him to survive more than a few nights, if that. Still, they’d placed him in the water. Instead of slipping away peacefully while at Rest, he’d gradually healed. More, he’d strengthened—something they’d sensed as the level of power in the grotto slowly but surely intensified over time.
When they’d been sure he was strong enough to wake, Cain and the other Ancients had contemplated it. But they had all agreed that Abaddon wouldn’t thank them for it. At least at Rest he could dream of being with his deceased family members, of having a life that didn’t involve being imprisoned. Awake, he would have to accept so many deaths, process so much grief, and learn to cope with being in a cage where he’d be unable to avenge those he’d lost in—
The lights flicked off, and the bounding whips of power disintegrated.
Cain released Wynter and moved to stand in front of her, earning himself a little huff.
Head first, a man slowly rose out of the spring, water sluicing down his half-naked body. Abaddon looked so much like both his brothers, Satan and Baal. Tall, broad, dark, hard. And, at this moment, thoroughly disoriented.
He blinked, his gaze sharpening. “Cain?”
he asked, his voice croaky with lack of use.
Cain nodded. “Yes.”
Abaddon looked around. “Where am I?”
“A temple near my home. You’ve been here for some time now.”
As Abaddon continued to examine his surroundings, Cain took a moment to really study his uncle. The Ancient appeared weak but not frail, and there was no glint of insanity in his gaze, merely confusion. He had the look of someone who’d overslept and was now suffering the adverse effects of it. Which, really, probably wasn’t far from the truth.
Finally spotting Wynter, Abaddon squinted. “Who are you?”
he asked, imperious.
Cain felt his brow furrow. He had not expected that question. He shifted aside slightly, giving his uncle a clear view of her, but the Ancient still appeared nonplussed. “You don’t recognize her?”
“Should I?”
Abaddon frowned, rubbing at his temple. “Everything is . . . cloudy.”
Cain knew that feeling. He’d experienced it each time he woke from a long Rest. It was as if the brain struggled to make the full transition from “sleep”
to “conscious”. Like parts of it needed a few moments to “warm up”
in order to properly function.
He watched as his uncle awkwardly stepped out of the well, his movements stiff and uncoordinated. While Ancients didn’t struggle to walk after years of Rest, they weren’t at their most graceful upon waking. “What is the last thing you remember?”
Abaddon’s eyes lost focus. “I . . . It is difficult to get my thoughts in order.”
That was another annoying thing about first rising. Until the brain caught up with reality, it wasn’t always easy to tell what were memories and what were images from the dreams you’d had while Resting.
“I recall the guardians dumping us on barren land after—”
He cut himself off, his teeth snapping together as an unholy rage flamed to life in his eyes. The air began to buzz and tauten with a power that hummed with sheer fury.
Cain’s creature tensed, a hiss rattling in its throat at the potential danger to their consort. “If you lose your control here, you will bring this temple down upon us.”
“My children,”
Abaddon croaked out, his voice thick with grief. “My brothers.”
“I know.”
The Ancient’s eyelids slammed shut as he breathed deep, his face lined with pain. Long minutes went by as Abaddon took one centering breath after another. Finally, he opened his eyes. The rage was still there, but it was now cold and controlled rather than hot and wild. That he could regulate his emotions so well was a very good thing.
“Revenge will be yours,”
Cain told him, remaining calm. “Will be ours. First, you need to get stronger. You’ve been in a coma-like Rest for much longer than you can imagine.”
The truth of how much the Ancient had missed would likely come as something of a shock to him.
Abaddon’s face tightened. “Revenge has not already been wreaked?”
His voice was jagged with a growl. “The ones who massacred our people and left us to die still live?”
“Some. But perhaps not for much longer. We plan to invade Aeon soon. Very soon.”
The anger in the air began to recede, but Abaddon’s gaze still gleamed with it. “We are not back there, then?”
“No. We were all cursed to be trapped where the guardians dumped us. The story of how we reached this very moment is a long one. I will soon explain it all to you, just as I will explain why the other Ancients and I recently worked so hard to wake you.”
“I vaguely remember hearing voices chant while I Rested. It occurred several times. The words were indecipherable to me. I heard them, recognized the rhythm of them, but they didn’t reach inside me as they should have.”
He tilted his head. “It was you who woke me just now? It did not feel like you.”
Cain felt his brows dip. “Feel like me?”
“Something disturbed my rest. Pulled at me. Something . . . alien. It was powerful. Too powerful. Unnerving, even.”
His skin prickling with unease, Cain resisted the urge to turn and look at his consort. She was powerful, yes, but not to an extent that would daunt an Ancient. Cain could only think that it was Kali who his uncle had sensed.
“My creature didn’t like it at all. It fought to surface and protect me. It was then that I woke.”
Abaddon took a step closer, eyeing Wynter again, still no recognition on his face. “I doubt it was you either.”
Cain frowned. “You really don’t recognize her? You should, considering you’ve called Wynter—who, I will add, is my consort—here to the temple several times.”
His head drew back slightly. “Called her?”
“Yes, in her dreams. It caused her to sleepwalk, though she never got this far until tonight.”
Abaddon’s frown deepened. “I do not remember ever reaching out to her or anyone else while I Rested, but my thoughts and memories are still jumbled.”
His eyes sharpened. “You said a moment ago that we will invade Aeon very soon. Exactly how soon?”
“As I promised before, I will explain everything to you. For now, let us get you settled in my home. You may wish to freshen up and change. Then I will tell you all you wish to know.”
*
Sipping his coffee, Cain looked up as Maxim escorted Abaddon into the dining room a short time later. To say that his uncle’s presence had shocked the aide was an understatement, but Maxim had recovered quickly and summoned the household staff to ensure that Abaddon had a clean bedchamber and fresh clothing. The hirelings were sworn to secrecy, so Cain didn’t worry that news of Abaddon’s mysterious appearance would leak.
As the Ancient appeared to be stable, Wynter hadn’t protested to Cain spending time alone with him. She understood that Abaddon wouldn’t want an audience to his emotions—he’d for sure experience a whole array of them while he was brought up to speed on everything—so she’d headed to the cottage. Cain hoped she managed to catch up on her sleep.
Before she left, he’d asked her if Kali had woken Abaddon. She’d only replied, “The deity had a hand in it, yes.”
Wynter hadn’t elaborated, giving him one of her maddening “that’s all I can tell you” looks.
After his aide left the dining room, Cain looked at Abaddon and blindly gestured at the table on which a selection of foods were laid out. “Sit. Eat.”
Being only 5am, it was a little early for breakfast—at least for Cain—but he knew the other Ancient would be feeling famished. It was always that way shortly after rising.
He again sipped at his coffee while his uncle took the seat opposite. “How are you doing?”
“Annoyed,”
replied Abaddon, sniffing almost suspiciously at the foods in front of him, as if he hadn’t seen some of them before . . . which might well be the case. “It took me ten minutes to learn how to operate that thing you called a shower.”
Cain felt his mouth curve. “I offered to show you. But your pride wouldn’t allow you to admit to needing help. Not my issue.”
“You’re still as blunt and pitiless as ever, nephew.”
After piling food on his plate and pouring himself a glass of water, Abaddon met his gaze. “Tell me what I have missed while at Rest. Leave nothing out.”
Cain set down his cup with a sigh, regretting that there was no way to avoid overloading the Ancient with information. He didn’t want to overwhelm his uncle, but there was no way around it. So many eras had come and gone since the last time Abaddon walked the Earth. There was much that he’d need to learn, adjust to, and decide—and that was without even including the recent goings-on with the Aeons.
“First of all,”
began Cain, “time is measured a little differently now.”
He quickly explained and then added, “By this estimation of time, you have been asleep for several hundred thousand years.”
Abaddon went exceptionally still, pausing midchew. Long moments ticked by before he stiffly went on to chomp on his food, his movements almost mechanical. He very slowly sank back into his chair, looking like the wind had been knocked out of him. “Several hundred thousand years,”
he echoed, his voice rough.
Cain gave a slow nod. “We would have tried to wake you sooner, but we didn’t believe you would have thanked us for it, given our current situation. We chose to instead let you wake in your own time. You simply never did.”
Abaddon swallowed. “There is much for me to hear, then.”
Visibly gathering himself, he straightened in his seat. “Tell me everything.”
Hour after hour went by as Cain updated him. He suggested multiple times that they take a break, but Abaddon waved it away, intent on hearing all he needed to learn in one swoop. Cain understood. Whenever he woke from a Rest, he liked to catch up fast on all he’d missed.
His uncle listened carefully, posing questions here and there. He mostly responded with grunts, sighs, curses, or strained chuckles that told Cain his uncle might have a tight hold on his anger but it remained close to the surface. So he wasn’t the least bit surprised when his revelation that three Aeons now lived at Devil’s Cradle had Abaddon shooting out of his seat, sending it skidding backwards.
“They live here?”
Abaddon demanded, as mystified as he was furious. “As residents, not captives?”
“They came seeking sanctuary—”
“And you gave it to them?”
“None were part of the war,”
Cain calmly reminded him.
The Ancient’s eyes darkened to flint. “But they are guardians! Two are the offspring of one of our jailors!”
“And if we kill people simply because of what they are or who their parents are, we are no better than Adam and those of his ilk.”
Abaddon snapped his mouth shut and ground his teeth. After a few moments, he cursed. “You just had to word it like that, didn’t you?”
he grumbled. “I know that you are right. I do. But I do not care to be rational.”
“For you, the war happened only yesterday. Your anger and grief are still fresh—I understand. But you’ve never been a slave to your emotions before, Abaddon. Will you change that now?”
A long sigh slipped out of the Ancient, who then grabbed his seat and retook it. “Continue,”
he bit out.
So Cain picked up where he left off. His uncle didn’t interrupt again except to ask for elaboration on this or that. Finally done relaying everything, Cain leaned back in his seat. “I know I’ve given you a lot to process in a very short time—”
“It is best that you did. I would prefer not to be ignorant to the facts.”
Abaddon exhaled heavily. “It did not occur to me that I might have slept this long. I suspect it will take time for me to become fully accustomed to the world as it now is.”
“The other Ancients and I will help you with that.”
“At present, I am more interested in dealing with Adam. While I am glad to hear that Abel, Lailah, and Saul are long gone, I regret that I was not able to witness their demise.”
Abaddon tipped his head to the side. “How did it feel? Killing Abel?”
“In all honesty, I felt no great triumph. Not on a personal level. More satisfaction crept in as the days went by, though. But that was more due to the fact that another of our jailors were dead. Really, imagining the rage Adam would have felt when I sent Abel back to him in pieces made me feel far more victorious than the kill itself.”
Abaddon’s lips twitched. “I suspect his reaction to your package was a sight to behold.”
He paused. “You truly believe we can destroy this cage?”
“Now that you are awake, yes, I do. And then we will storm Aeon.”
Abaddon gravely nodded, bloodthirst glittering in the depths of his eyes. “They must all die, Cain. They took much from me. From all of us. As for Abel’s brats and your mother . . . I will leave them be. Unless they betray us. If that happens, I will end them.”
“You won’t get the chance. They’d be dead before you got near them.”
Abaddon’s brow pinched. “You would wish to kill them yourself? Even your mother?”
“My consort would get there first. She is . . . protective. Not to mention vengeful—but then, revenants always are.”
Abaddon nodded. “Very true. And I will be forever grateful for how she cursed Aeon just as its rulers cursed us to remain in this godforsaken place. I truly do not recollect ever reaching out to her while Resting.”
“It’s highly possible that you didn’t. I’m more inclined to think that it was Kali who repeatedly tried leading her to the temple. After all, it was Her who woke you.”
“Really?”
“Wynter confirmed it.”
“Hmm. The deity did say that you and Her had similar goals. Waking me might have been one of them. Though I am unsure why She would want that. Perhaps She wishes to help us escape our cage. She may hope to right wrongs in some gesture that God would so approve of that he’d end Her punishment.”
“Maybe. I wouldn’t have thought that She could have unlocked the grotto gate. That came as a surprise. It was secured closed using the sacred chant. Only another of our kind should have been able to break its hold on the lock. Kali is evidently more powerful than I thought. At least I can be sure that, immensely powerful as She may in fact be, the deity won’t abruptly snatch Wynter’s soul from me.”
Abaddon rubbed at his jaw. “You really told your consort every one of our secrets?”
“Yes. You cannot imagine how difficult it must have been for her to accept everything. Given that people of all species have been raised to believe that the Antichrist will day one come and seek to destroy the world, there is a lot of fear based around who and what I am.”
“Perhaps the guardians saw to that.”
“Perhaps.”
Cain gave him a pointed look. “Don’t forget that we do not call them guardians anymore. We call them Aeons, as they call us Ancients.”
Abaddon sniffed. “Back to what we were saying, the matter of your parentage means nothing to your consort?”
“No. She is more bothered by the fact that I have cherubim blood. She somewhat detests them.”
A chuckle rumbled out of Abaddon. “Then I suspect I might rather like her. Though I am already inclined to like her, given that not only did she kill Saul but Aeon will soon be a wasteland thanks to her.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “You know, despite all you have told me, I find it hard to truly grasp that Wynter is a revenant. Not that I disbelieve you. Only that it is difficult to imagine a situation in which a revenant could be so singular.”
“I initially had the same struggle.”
He shook his head in wonder. “I can understand now why she did not look nervous around me earlier. She quite simply has no real reason to be wary. She could destroy me in a heartbeat.”
Cain couldn’t help but smile. “Yes, she could.”
“That pleases you?”
Abaddon snorted. “Your father enjoyed flirting with death just the same. It did not end well for him, but none of us could lament that he impregnated Eve, because then there would be no you.”
His smile faltered. “How is she? Still fragile as porcelain?”
Hearing the mocking note in his uncle’s voice, Cain remembered, “You never liked Eve.”
“I didn’t like that she failed to protect you. That she abandoned you by falling into a state of Rest to escape her own reality.”
He sighed, shaking his head. “You do not know what it was like for your father to be prohibited from taking you into his care when he knew you needed him. He agonized over it.
“So many times he came close to storming Adam’s home. Baal and I would have gone with him, of course. What stopped the three of us from invading the place was the knowledge that Adam hoped we would do exactly that. He wanted an excuse to kill your father, and we knew he would likely also kill you in front of Satan to punish him. We had to trust that you would one day come to us, and you did.”
Cain hadn’t been sure of what reception he’d receive, but all the Leviathans had welcomed him with open arms, regardless of his cherubim blood. It was strange how the dark could sometimes be more accepting than the light.
“Don’t trust her, Cain. Your mother, I mean. I am not saying that she would deviously set out to betray you, but . . .”
Abaddon let his sentence trail off, as if taking a moment to choose his words carefully. “Fragility by itself is not something I look down upon. But when fragile people are also cowards, I am wary of them.
“I have known many such characters. They never reach for inner strength when it counts. They are prepared to sacrifice anything in the name of self-preservation—their integrity, their pride, their freedom, even the lives and wellbeing of others. That is not to say that they are bad people, only that they are easily compromised and cannot necessarily be trusted to do the right thing. Eve is like that.”
The sad thing was . . . Cain couldn’t even dispute that. “You don’t need to worry that her being my mother blinds me to the truth of who she is.”
He tapped his fingers on the table. “Especially when she very recently demonstrated that she hasn’t changed.”
“Oh?”
“When my consort was teleported out of Devil’s Cradle, Eve repeatedly suggested that Wynter might have abandoned us to escape Adam’s wrath. And I know that that is because Eve would feel such a temptation in Wynter’s shoes.”
Abaddon dipped his chin. “That she would. Your mother might not have ran from Adam until recently, but she still sought an escape—she Rested for many years, even though it meant emotionally abandoning her own children. I would imagine she struggles to understand your consort.”
“Many do. Myself included.”
Abaddon’s lips quirked. “Tell me more about her.”
So Cain did.