Chapter 4
Petra
There was no wall constructed around Soren’s castle to keep the commonfolk out.
No guards stood sentinel atop the rosy marble steps.
And when I raised my fist to knock on the grand wooden door that was carved with flowers and leaves, I met no resistance.
It swung open as if on a soft, invisible wind.
“Hello?” I called, peering in as the door slowly opened.
Tentatively, I took a step through the doorway, Larka and Da trailing close behind.
We found ourselves in a foyer with walls so high, the ceiling might as well have been the sky itself.
Everything was made of the same swirling pink marble, from the floors to the walls to the arched doorways lining the foyer and the towering staircase looming toward its far end.
“You look just like your mother,” a soft male voice breathed, and I whirled to find a man standing in a doorway to my left.
But even before I beheld his round cheeks and glittering amber eyes, I knew who he was.
His presence was stamped on a memory that had been stashed away long ago.
A plump hand gently covered his mouth as he stepped forward, his ornately embroidered white robes swishing against the floors.
The smile that split my face was involuntary as I beheld the man.
Soren, Saint of Heaven.
“Hello,” I said quietly. “It’s nice to meet you.”
He reached for my hands, folding them into his and squeezing gently. Being at the receiving end of his gaze made warmth bloom in my chest. It was like finding something I never knew I’d lost, something that was so integral to my soul I wasn’t sure how I’d managed to live without it all this time.
“We’ve met, dear,” he said, eyes crinkling at the corners.
My own eyes widened in surprise as his face softened even more.
“You’d just been born. It was… Well, it was a stressful time.
I am delighted to see you, Petra,” he whispered, tears pooling in his gaze.
“Delighted.” Soren pulled me to his chest, resting his smooth cheek against my head.
Tears sprung from nowhere, and I wiped them away as he pulled away to look at me again.
“You can come out now,” Soren called over his shoulder. “It truly is her.”
All at once, three figures appeared at the stop of the staircase, where apparently they’d hidden themselves away.
They glided down the steps, each of them possessing an otherworldly, ethereal grace.
And just like I knew it had been Soren, I knew who walked toward me now.
Their joyous energy grew warmer as they neared, coming to a stop before me with clasped hands and beaming faces.
“This is Tolar,” Soren said with a flourish of his hand.
“Saint of Wealth,” I murmured, taking in the tall, lean, middle-aged man. His deep brown eyes crinkled as he smiled, and even deeper creases bracketed his mouth.
“Oh, but you do look like your mother,” he whispered with a smile, leaning in to fold me into a hug.
I had that same feeling again, like a part of my soul was being pulled from the depths and laid in the sunlight for the first time.
Like a part of me was shifting into place after being dislodged from its rightful spot for so long.
Like a part of me was home. Tolar pulled away, his hands on my shoulders as he took me in.
“Stop hogging her!” a high voice scolded, and suddenly Tolar was being pushed to the side by a petite, ivory-skinned woman.
“Hello, Petra,” she whispered, tears flooding fine lashes that were the same silvery sheen of her hair.
As she pulled me to her, I was hit with the smell of spring, when the air was finally mild enough to open the windows after a long, brutal winter.
“I’m Aanh, Saint of the Home. Are you well? Have you eaten?”
“I-” I stammered, surprised. “I’m well, thank you.” Though I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten, food was the last thing on my mind. But my answer seemed to satisfy Aanh, and her smile grew impossibly wider. I turned to the last figure, patiently waiting. “And you must be-”
“Onera, Saint of Miracles,” the woman answered, her deep brown skin highlighted in gold in the soft light of the foyer.
Gold strands were woven into the braids that hung over her shoulders.
She seemed to glow from within, as if her very soul was made of light.
A true miracle incarnate. Her embrace was warm, and I was sure if I could look into my own soul right now, it would be sparkling.
Onera pulled away, a perfectly soft palm resting against my cheek. “And they’re right. You do look just like your mother.”
I blinked, taking in the faces of the Benevolent Saints before me. “I didn’t realize you all lived here.”
“We don’t, dear,” Aanh said, her cheerful expression faltering for a moment. “We reside in the Saints’ Realm. We’re only here temporarily. While…” She looked nervously toward Soren.
Soren was silent a beat too long before he finally smiled. “Why don’t you all join us for some tea?” He gestured toward a sitting room off the foyer, more grand and palatial than anything in Eserene’s castle, yet somehow cozy. “You must be Sarek and Larka. ”
Da and Larka glowed under the attention of the Benevolent Saints. “That’s us,” they said in unison.
“Thank you for taking such good care of her,” Onera said with a smile, a hand resting on Da’s arm as we made our way into the sitting room.
“She’s been one of m’ greatest joys,” Da answered, his voice catching.
Larka raised a hand. “I’m the other joy.”
I couldn’t help but smile as everyone settled into armchairs with fabric the same bright white as the robes billowing around the Saint of Heaven. He somehow looked exactly the way I’d expected him to — his bald head gleaming softly in the light, his cheeks plump and rosy.
With a snap of his fingers, a steaming teapot appeared on the table between us, an assortment of teacups alongside it. “Please, help yourself,” he said.
“But I don’t like tea,” Larka whispered out of the side of her mouth. In true Larka fashion, it was nowhere as quiet as she’d thought.
“Humor me, Miss Larka,” Soren urged with a knowing smile. “Pour yourself a cup.”
Larka gave him a sidelong glance — not something I would do to a fucking Saint — and reached for the teapot. Deep red liquid poured out when she tipped it over her cup, her eyes widening as she brought it to her nose and inhaled.
“What a trick that is,” she remarked as she took a deep sip and gave Soren a beaming smile, settling deeper into her chair. “Petra, your Uncle Soren is great. How did you know red wine was my favorite?”
He answered her smile with one of his own before turning to my Da. “Sarek, you go ahead.”
Da eagerly leaned forward, his mouth dropping open in surprise when ale poured from the same spout that had just poured red wine.
He took a sip, slapping his knee and letting out a hoot of a laugh that echoed through the sitting room and the foyer beyond.
“Remind me to ask ye for one o’ these special teapots before we leave. Could use one back at the cabin.”
“That can be arranged,” Soren answered before he turned to me and nodded. “Petra.”
That unsettled feeling cropped up in my stomach again, suddenly sprouting thorns. “No, thank you,” I said politely, folding my hands in my lap. “If you don’t mind, I have some questions.”
“Drink first,” Aanh insisted, leaning forward to tip the teapot into a cup. Water flowed from its spout, and I took it from her grasp, first taking a polite sip then immediately chugging the rest of it down. Fuck, I hadn’t realized how thirsty I was.
“Thank you,” I murmured, placing my teacup back on the table. I wanted to drink the entire teapot’s worth of water, but I was afraid if I stopped pushing forward, I’d realize other things, like how exhausted I was, how broken I was. “Okay,” I continued. “Questions.”
“Yes,” Soren replied with a nod. “We’ll answer all we can.”
I took a steadying breath. This was it. The answers I needed were here. “So, my mother is Katia, and my father is Rhedros.”
It hadn’t been a question, but still Soren responded. “Yes.”
“And are you all…siblings? Friends?”
“Not siblings,” Soren answered. “Not always friends.” A chuckle moved through the four of them. “No blood relation between us. We were created by the Keepers to preside over the forces of the world and oversee humankind.”
“Created by the Keepers?”
“As the New World began to grow, it became clear the Keepers wouldn’t be able to efficiently oversee all the worldly forces, so they created us. They willed it, and it was so.”
I nodded, moving down my mental list. “Do all the Saints know who my parents are?”
“Yes.”
The last words of the prophecy rang through my head.
Her bloodline exposed by he who exacts pain, cursed to walk the realm when evil comes again.
“There’s a prophecy about the Daughter of Katia.
It says that my bloodline will be exposed by the Saint of Pain.
” The Benevolent Saints look nervously between each other.
Their reactions didn’t feel promising. “Who is he?”
Soren shifted in his seat, his face suddenly tightening as the other Saints averted their attention. “I’m afraid I cannot divulge that information.”
My jaw gnashed back and forth, annoyance immediately sparking in my chest. What good was Heaven if I still had my anger?
My frustration? What good was the relief of death if I never got the answers I’d been searching for in life?
It felt like just another person — well, Saint — withholding information from me.
I did my best not to betray my irritation when I spoke. “Why can’t you tell me?”
He blinked slowly, his mouth working before speaking carefully. “The day Noros was cursed, so too were we all. Noros was cursed to the Human Realm by Rhedros, and the rest of us were cursed to keep his identity hidden by Malosym.”
I kept my eyes hard on him, my brows furrowing. “You mean all the Saints? All the Saints were cursed by Malosym?”
“Yes. I couldn’t tell you his identity if I wanted to. And believe me, I do.”
I let a breath out through tight lips. That was why Katia and Rhedros couldn’t directly tell me who he was. All they could say was…what was it? The Saint of Pain walks among you.
“The Saint of Pain is in the Human Realm. Is there anyone acting in his place now?”
“As Keeper of the Blood Saints, Rhedros oversees the Saint of Pain’s responsibilities. But since he’s been imprisoned…” Soren’s jaw moved back and forth for a moment. “The situation is precarious.”
“But how can Malosym curse you? Aren’t you the most powerful beings in existence? ”
This time, it was Tolar who answered, “We are powerful, yes. But we simply preside over our designated forces, ensure they remain balanced. There is some room for push and pull, but no absolute control, no matter how many prayers we receive. Malosym is powerful in his own right, and his power comes from a different source than ours.”
“And since we don’t have absolute control…” Onera started, trailing off.
“That leaves room for other… forces to come into play,” Aanh finished.
I blinked, trying to keep the threads of this story from tangling in my mind. “But why would Malosym curse you to begin with?”
The Benevolent Saints looked to one another again. I could almost see the wordless conversation that passed back and forth between them.
Onera leaned forward, her expression one of caution.
“He is a separate being. He is not from this world, but a world long since burned. Or, I should say, a world that was meant to be burned. The Old World.” She raised her hands, her mouth opening for a moment before it closed again and her hands fell to her lap.
She was trying to explain something complicated in a way I could understand, trying to bridge the gap between my human knowledge and that of a realm I hadn’t even believed to exist. “He is bound by the rules of the world from whence he came, not ours.”
“So why did he come to the Human Realm in the first place?” I asked.
Onera’s posture straightened, her mouth a grim line. “For you.”