CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX #2
Theia cleared her throat and shot him a quick glare. “Alright, point made.” She turned to me. “None of that matters right now. We can start by taking a walk, yeah?”
I hid my clenched fists behind my back. “Fine.”
Not a lick of familiarity. Even when my temples began to throb once again, I couldn’t remember anything of value.
We passed through a courtyard filled with hundreds of poppies and orange marigolds so vibrant it almost hurt to look at them. Their beauty was a blessing, distracting me from my rising frustration.
Our surroundings were quiet, save for a choir of birds somewhere high in the trees, and the rush of a fountain to our right.
So quiet that I startled when Kodhan suddenly spoke behind me. “You don’t need to shout, Theia. I’m right here.”
She scoffed to my right. “How else am I supposed to get through your thick skull?”
A beat of silence. Then Theia whirled.
And punched Kodhan square in the shoulder.
His brows lowered. Though he said nothing at all out loud, the quirk of his lips as they tilted into a smirk spoke for him.
Theia’s eyes rolled.
While they remained that way, fighting inaudibly, Brannon nudged me with his elbow.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“I can’t help but feel like we’ve robbed you of proper silence. Even the quiet is…” He winced. “Deafening.”
“No,” I said quickly. “Don’t apologize. I’ve missed this.”
The admission surprised us both.
“Alright, then. In that case,” he replied, flashing me a teasing smile. “Apology revoked.”
A smile tugged on the corners of my own mouth.
Two doors, almost as tall as the surrounding trees, opened wide to welcome us inside.
Upon closer inspection, they were made entirely of opal, refracting the light of the sun in shimmering colors across the floor as we entered what I assumed to be the main hall.
A colossal staircase wound up to a vast mezzanine overlooking our floor, its white pillars blocking the view of the next one.
Pieces of colored glass were woven into the windows lining each wall, creating images of animals, flowers, and people alike.
Like the creators of this castle wanted to bring nature indoors instead of shutting it out.
Further proved by the real flowers, of all shapes and breeds, hanging from both the ceiling and the walls.
“This place…” I spun in a slow circle. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a place so beautiful.”
Beautiful was putting it thinly. It was magnificent. I could walk the halls for hours and find something new to admire around every corner.
The castle was cared for. Appreciated. It was obvious that those who oversaw its upkeep were not afraid of losing their heads if a chair was out of place, or a speck of dust accumulated where it shouldn’t. Rather, it seemed creativity was encouraged.
And it all harmonized together perfectly.
Theia smiled. “I told you, didn’t I? Come on, it gets better.” She gestured for me to follow her up the stairs.
I readied to follow, but a voice called out from down the hall to the left, followed by hurried footsteps echoing our way.
“A little early to start opening the doors, don’t you think?
” An irritated huff. “The sun has barely risen! Everyone knows how drafty it gets at this time of day. You could at least close them on your way in.”
We turned to see a woman, no older than I was, march down the remainder of the hall, a clay pot in hand.
The closer she got, the easier it was to see the dirt trailing behind her as it slipped over the lip of the pot.
Miraculously, none of it got on her white robes, tied off at the waist with two ribbons, one silver and the other gold.
A similar necklace hung from her neck. Half its chain bore the first, and the second half the latter.
A small locket pendant, white-gold this time, hung delicately from it.
Her light golden hair was plaited in a single braid down her back, though whisps of it had fallen out. She moved so quickly that I could barely register the pointed tips of her ears peeking through until her hair had fully covered them again.
She blew a strand out of her face before her gaze settled on Theia. “Oh, it’s you!” Then Brannon, and Kodhan. “You’re all back!” she gasped. “It took so long this time that we…” She trailed off when her gaze settled on me.
The pot slipped from her fingers.
Dirt scattered around her feet, while shards of clay slid across the pearlescent floors.
She said nothing in the wake of the pot’s shattering. Only stared, mouth slightly agape.
More footsteps came rushing down the stairs.
“Fiora? Are you alright?” A lilting, feminine voice called as its bearer appeared from where they must’ve been walking along the mezzanine.
“I heard you yell. I was already on my way, you know. I am the one who asked to start so early.” She descended the last row of winding steps, allowing us to see her fully.
She stopped instantly as she took in the scene.
The dirt. The shattered pot. The woman, Fiora, still staring at us. No, staring at me.
“Oh,” she said, simply. “Well, I believe if I’d been holding something, I might’ve dropped it as well.”
Brannon crossed his arms over his chest, amusement flashing in the amber of his eyes. “A simple hello would’ve sufficed.”
All at once, it crashed into me.
I could barely see the woman’s soft, alluring features.
Her hair, lighter than Fiora’s, could’ve almost been described as silver.
Tinted with a pinkish gold from the rays that hit her from the window above her head.
I barely registered her simple dress, a flattering periwinkle blue that accentuated the only one of her features that I could properly focus on.
The one that gave her identity away instantly.
Her irises, as purple as mine. Both of them.
I knew I should be in better spirits. According to Kodhan, she’d created me. Made a deal to weave me into existence from the essence of the stars themselves.
But the very corners of my soul shook with rage. Cold, mind-consuming rage. It was like it had a mind of its own. And it had sunk its claws into mine.
Darkness bit at the edges of my vision.
Her eyes were as stunning as she was, though hers were a brutal reminder that I’d been forced to hate my own. That I had grown to resent those like her because of it. Because of what they cursed me to be.
Or so I believed.
I still suffered greatly for it either way.
There she stood, mesmerizing and perfect and the embodiment of what I was not.
I was still broken.
And it was the fault of the gods, the fault of her actions and their tumbling aftereffects.
Death chanted a hymn that for once, I could not recognize. Far from the rhythm I was used to, the steady sureness running through my veins with each life I stole. Was forced to steal.
This was darker than night, cold and unforgiving. Like the pits of the Underworld reached up and cradled me in its palms. Its touch chilled my blood. Gnawed on my bones until it felt as though spiders crawled along my skin.
My vision darked until it discarded everything but her. Who she represented.
I moved, my limbs no longer my own to control. I was a mere puppet encircled with strings made of growing shadows, acting on the whims of that cold darkness.
There was nothing, or no one, that could stop me as I lunged. Nothing that could stop my lone dagger from plunging through her stomach.
Death laughed and laughed.
Or perhaps it was the goddess, her smile brighter than the sun.
The darkness wavered. Enough for a single thought to escape its suffocating hold. What have I done?
My eyes snapped back up to meet hers.
“Oh, Fourth Star. How I’ve missed you.”