Chapter 34
I don’t need to say anything. The dream that woke me in the night wasn’t a warning of what’s to come…
It was a glimpse into what had already passed.
I don’t need my sight to know what’s happened here.
In a way, I already knew. And even if I hadn’t, the acrid stench of burnt flesh—death’s shadow lingering in the air—would tell me everything I need to understand.
Ether weeps. The sound of it carries across the desolate village, piercing the silence with heart-wrenching lament. She isn’t mourning. She is nothing but resentment now.
The mages did this. But why?
They can be odd creatures, but I’ve never seen one pursue violence, not even after they’d left the castle as rogues to haunt Arcanvale.
So why?
“Why?” Ether rasps, echoing my confusion aloud.
The brokenness, the complete hopelessness in her voice, crushes me. Whereas I’m more curious as to the mages’ intentions, she feels this pain viscerally.
Whether they serve my father or not, I cannot let this transgression go unpunished.
I try not to let my lost sight bother me when I can help it, but I never thought to question the mages’ malpractice…
Could they have blinded me on purpose?
A lump catches in my throat.
If my guess is correct, this is just the beginning. Of an insurrection. Of a rebellion. Of…something.
Does my father know?
A feeling creeps over me, making the impenetrable darkness seem smaller, more claustrophobic as it rapidly implodes on itself, my entire world burning.
My feet shift weight, my head suddenly hot.
Ether howls in pain, and as the sound of it rips through the air, my hand starts to feel as though it’s burning, marked with unbearable heat. I grunt, running my fingers over where a laceration wound should be, but there is nothing. The phantom pain fades quickly, but Ether continues to groan.
I lean and catch her shoulder, tapping gently along her arm until I reach her hand.
Tacky liquid clings to her fingers, molten and gushing from the wound at the center of her palm. My heart quickens as I try to staunch the bleeding.
Her hand goes limp in mine. She remains silent.
If someone had attacked her, she’d be much less reserved.
I swallow as realization dawns on me. She’s harmed herself.
I stop pressing on the wound.
My first instinct is confusion. Why would she injure herself when she is already faced with overwhelming suffering?
My second is to yell. To do… something . To tell her she shouldn’t have done this.
I quell both with the pulsing in my arm, linking me to the rage and horror swirling through her.
“Ether, I?—”
“No,” she says, voice gravelly. “Don’t speak. I won’t accept comfort right now.”
She pulls her hand away, severing our connection.
“You can see my eluviam, can’t you?” she spits.
The question catches me off guard.
“Yes, but?—”
“Then you should be able to follow me to Hearthstrom without having to hold my hand.” She moves away, but stops to take in a quick breath. Her voice shrinks. “I’m…sorry. I can’t comfort you either.”
No. This doesn’t feel right.
I reach for her arm, and, to my astonishment, a mere tug is enough to draw her back to me. She doesn’t say anything as I gently pull her close. The skin of her arm is feverish.
The mark on mine goes cold.
“I’m sorry,” I breathe, but I don’t let her go. “You said not to comfort you. I’m… I’m not doing that. I just fear you might regret it if you don’t stay here longer. I know I’m probably not making sense, but we might not ever return. This is your home, so I thought…”
She laughs bitterly as she yanks her arm from my grasp. “You know nothing.”
I shudder, my hand clawing at the ice shrouding my heart.
Her eluviam shies away, but before it disappears completely, I move to follow her.
Dawn breaks upon our return to Hearthstrom. The sun’s breath huffs along my back, and the smell of pine hovers in the air—a welcome change from the mugginess of the forest.
Ether wordlessly moves to her usual place near the fire pit and starts cracking rocks together to spark a flame. She must not be in the mood to conjure her own.
A profound pain, sharp and unrelenting, gnaws at me. I long to understand the depths of her sorrow, to be the solace she seeks. I wish she could lean on me, even if it’s just this once and never again.
She doesn’t trust me, though.
The dark reality is cold, settling in my gut.
I am not the one who can comfort her.
That person is Pluto.
Jealousy coils itself around my throat.
But you are bound to her , a voice growls. It’s the same one I heard when I first removed my ring, though that moment feels like a lifetime ago. The voice presses on, You have every right to comfort her. You know it will work.
Just when I step toward her, Ronan catches my elbow and flips me around.
“Where in the seven hells were you two?” he hisses. His arm slackens. “Surely not indulging in each other’s company?”
The implication of our nighttime activities tightens my chest ever so slightly, but the bitter reminder of the true events quenches the embarrassment I have no right to feel.
I cough.
Ether makes no sound.
“No. We visited her village,” I say quietly.
Ronan hasn’t spoken this much around Ether since he returned earlier this week. I haven’t asked him why. He’s talked to me plenty to help me perfect my grip on the hilt of my longsword, but he hasn’t mentioned the events of the week, and I won’t either. He will talk to me when he’s ready. I hope.
Ronan pulls me into a squat. His breath hits my nose as he talks in a low voice. “What business do you have in visiting her village?”
I pick his hand from my arm and roll onto my heels.
He doesn’t need to know. Somehow, I feel like telling him will only make things worse. He and Ether have a clear hatred for one another. Gods forbid, he’d probably celebrate the massacre of her people.
I cannot endorse that kind of reaction.
“We are friends, Ronan. But I do not need to explain my actions. Not this time.”
“Friends,” he scoffs. “Do you truly believe a servant can be friends with his master?”
“Of course,” I say without a second thought.
“Then answer this question,” Ronan grinds out. “Do I not… repulse you?”
I try to hide my alarm. Perhaps this is what he’s been thinking about.
“Of course not,” I say firmly. “Why would I detest a perfectly good man?”
“Why?” He chuckles darkly. “Because I know things. Things you can’t even begin to comprehend.
” For a moment, I think we’ve moved past the issue of my midnight excursion to Nwatalith, but Ronan continues, “And if you’d tell me why you left for Ether’s village, clueing me in as to why she’s so miserable after visiting the one place where she should be relaxed, then I might be able to help you.
But because I am not a perfectly good man, I’ve decided not to tell you until you answer my question first.”
I inhale sharply.
Has he always been this difficult?
“Mages attacked her village,” I finally mutter, but I know Ether can hear us. She is silent throughout our conversation. My arms prick with worry. What if she hurts herself again?
“And?”
And?
“They killed everyone,” I say incredulously.
“And you’re surprised?”
I open my mouth, then promptly clamp it shut.
Am I missing something here?
“May I remind you, Your Highness, it was mages who caused your blindness? And the blight on your arm… They did that too.”
“Yes, I know.” My jaw tightens.
“They cannot naturally use magic, like we can,” he continues. “They use dark magic instead. Do you know how they obtain dark magic?”
I shake my head. I’ve never thought about it before.
Now I feel like a fool.
Ronan is silent, as though giving me time to piece the answer together on my own. But I cannot. After a second, he sighs.
“His Majesty. The sacrifices to Lord Arioch?” Ronan pauses, giving me another chance to figure it out.
Yes, I know of the sacrifices. They are a tradition.
Years of this ritual required kings of the Faundor line to sacrifice magical beings to our kingdom’s founder, who had been immortalized in the heavens since his death after the War of Undying.
As a prerequisite for receiving immortality, the king must practice a life of piety and perform sacrifices when the divine words of Arioch reach his ears.
However...this seems to be another lie I’ve been spoon-fed my entire life. I’d witnessed Xavelor’s soul being sent to the heavens, sparkling high in the cosmos without having ever sacrifi?—
Wait.
“Did Xavelor ever sacrifice magical beings while away at war?”
“Yes,” Ronan says flatly. “What do elves do after slaying a beast? Do they leave its carcass there to rot? Or do they find some use from it?”
Ether had eaten the tallup’s eluviam to gain its energy.
I hold my breath.
Xavelor must have consumed the eluviams of magical beings to fuel himself in battle. Mages consume the sacrifices’ eluviams to stay alive, to strengthen their tainted magic.
Xavelor was a mage. Or at least, he committed the same acts they did in order to use magic.
“It seems you’ve figured it out,” Ronan says, his hand gripping my shoulder.
“A week ago, I had a lot to sort out. I wasn’t ready to tell you these things.
I wasn’t ready to tell you that my obligation to the crown prince was to keep him in check with our elixirs.
If I wasn’t careful, he’d die from the volume of eluviams he was absorbing. ”
He takes a deep breath. “After hearing Qor, I went to visit my father to confirm my suspicions about the War. I swore against him. I will not promote the lie that keeps the kingdom under the influence of this intoxicating and dangerous dark magic. But even with my verbal refusal to obey the family, my blood is still cursed to serve the king. I feel it. It is in me. I am unable to clip the chord of loyalty.” He swallows.
“If I had a choice, I’d end it, this cursed oath.
But while I don’t have that kind of power, I’m beginning to believe you do. ”
He doesn’t give me time to process everything.
“They’ll kill her,” he says, voice tight.
“Ever since they set eyes upon her, upon her magical abilities, they decided to kill her and use her magic for their own benefit. They’ll rend her core from her body, then crush it and eat it to regain their power, like savages.
Her body will be thrown to the starved wild beasts they trap in the dungeons. ”
I go still, wondering if Ether is listening, or if she’s too enveloped in her sorrow to register the truth Ronan willingly shares.
His hand shakes before he removes it from my shoulder. “That’s how dark magic is made. Seven hells, that’s what I’ve been using, in small doses, in the capsules we make. I used to think so little of it, but now…”
“Damn them,” I curse between clenched teeth. “They went to her village looking for her . And in doing so killed everyone in their wake.”
Ronan steadies his breathing. “We can certainly try to protect her, but I fear the lengths they will go to ensure they destroy her for the threat she is.”
“They won’t so much as touch her,” I growl.
The fairy laughs without mirth. “No, I know you won’t let that happen. But how much longer, Ramiel? How many more will have to die?”
He leaves me with that question, moving to sit where we usually sleep. The sharp shhink! of his blade against stone rings in the thin morning air.
When I turn around—hands outstretched to catch myself if I trip over anything—there is no eluviam hovering in the darkness.
Ether is gone.