Chapter 50
Chapter fifty
It came upon her in a whirlwind. Lux was so caught off guard, she cried out. The sanctum didn’t dissolve, but rather disappeared. In its place sprawled a field of white flowers.
Lux spun a slow circle, trampling blooms beneath her feet.
A sweet, subtle fragrance permeated the air.
One she couldn’t help but to inhale deeply.
A calm settled over her heart by its end; her breath eased.
She could hear music, but not of any sort familiar to her, and she smiled, bending her ear to the flowers.
“Welcome to the Beyond.”
The voice swirled around her, coming from every direction at once.
But Lux didn’t surge upright as she would have outside the dreamscape.
Instead, she rose slowly. Awe replaced everything else, even peace.
The strange voice belonged to a figure, tall—inhumanly so—and robed all in white.
They stood at the opposite end of the field beneath a violet sky.
She couldn’t discern a face due to the distance and their hood.
“Are you a Saint?” she called back.
Lux blinked, and the figure crossed the distance.
They stood an arm’s length from her now.
Pale, unmarked hands reached to lower their hood, and Lux’s awe transformed into something else.
She looked at herself, standing so tall above, with hair as ebony as it was in life, but shining and long to her hips.
Her lips were redder on this face, her cheekbones more pronounced.
But it was the eyes that stilled her—eyes entirely silver, not even the slimmest line of green.
“What are you?”
“I am who you could be.”
Lux raised her hand to her eyes, ensuring they were open. “Tell me how.”
The dreamscape version of her smiled—so lovely, Lux found she couldn’t form another thought.
“It is in our grasp. We have been chosen, Lucena Thorn, by the highest power. Rid us of those who would mar our perfection or”—a crown of thorns materialized on the being’s brow— “damn us to mortal suffering.”
The smallest of feelings disrupted her peace. Enough that she said, “Who is the highest power?”
The Saint’s smile grew. “The Lord of all things. Trust in His guidance. Obey His word. And this”—the Saint gestured widely at the plain—“will be yours.”
The dreamscape dissolved. Lux breathed as though she’d nearly drowned.
Her vision struggled to adjust, and her knees wobbled.
She stood in the sanctum—surrounded by dark walls and dim torchlight.
She stood amongst entombed bodies of unwilling, past harvests, and the few overaged and unlucky investors.
She looked around the sanctimonious society, at each pair of silver eyes unfocused with rapturous awe.
They’d beheld themselves, too, she realized.
As what they could be—a saintlike version of themselves, perfect and powerful, in the Beyond.
Several collectors had collapsed to their knees, tearful with triumph, when Corvin, splayed nonchalantly upon his throne, said, “Bring us Cecily Otterbee.”
Lux nearly collapsed then too.
The girl was brought forward through the archway in a white robe. Much like the dream, a hood was pulled up and draped low over her face. Lux—if she could have—would have screamed. Cecily was meant to be gone.
Attendants gripped her upper arms, and Lux noted the lack of clanking chains. They led her around the gathered collectors until she stood not far from the dais. Lux expected to hear her cries, but the girl was steadfastly silent.
“Considering my natural-born brilliance, I gravitate toward manipulative types; I wanted this soul for us.” Corvin nodded toward the girl like she was nothing more than something to be consumed. “I think you will enjoy what manipulating emotions brings you, my Mistress of Mothlock.”
Lux’s heart beat in her ears. “She doesn’t manipulate emotions. She understands them.”
“Which makes her underutilized and better off submitted to the society. Come, Lux. I will inject you myself.” His tongue licked at his stained teeth. “Once you’ve had your share, you will never be the same. There is strength in power. Your brilliance will be restored.”
He’s no different from any twisted revived. All he wants is lifeblood. All he wants is souls.
“And what of her?”
“The harvest? She will continue as she has. An attendant to Mothlock, and all the comfort that ensures. And though her body will age and die as is natural, her soul and brilliance will live on. In us. How wondrous a gift is that?”
“It isn’t. I can feel the wrongness like its leaking from the walls. I refuse.”
He pouted. “After everything? Is it your pride? Stubbornness? If you deny to be amplified, then I suppose I must take it upon myself to do what is best for you. The Saints will understand. Silas.”
Lux scrambled backward, awaiting Silas’s touch—but it did not come. Instead, she turned and discovered Silas staring at Corvin as though he contemplated doing something much worse.
“Silas,” Corvin barked.
“We will not divide the harvest. A fraction of a soul is not enough. Not anymore.”
“The Saints—”
“You have shown us the true path to Sainthood, and I am through with mortal suffering.” He spun, grabbing hold of Cecily’s arm. “I will have my share.”
Silence descended upon the sanctum. Lux waited with bated breath to see who would move first. Then Corvin raised his chin. “Those who feel their portion is not enough, step forward.”
At first, it was only Kent who joined Silas. But soon, more stepped up until the majority of collectors had separated from the circle, forming a line in front of the throne.
“The ungratefulness astounds me. Truly, it does. I forged this road you’ve set yourself upon. I harness nightmares. The devastating truths people bury, refusing to acknowledge or study or see. Can you suffer yours without flinching? Show the Saints, then—that you are worthy.”
Lux recognized Corvin’s incantation now. None of them would be spared his ire.
And she’d no sooner tucked the berry into her mouth when the walls began to melt.
The collectors transformed. Each looked like their most nightmarish version to her, except now their silver eyes glowed, their mouths no longer dried with their earlier feast, but dripping.
The torches guttered until she could hardly see.
In her head, there was no room for any thought or reaction—all she could hear were screams.
It was worse. Worse than anything she’d ever dreamt or experienced. A torment she couldn’t escape. The box she’d reburied in the void burst open, every insecurity, memory, and fear swallowing her up. The walls scuttled with beasts. Each one had her face.
But you are not made up of these bad things, said her heart.
She spun toward the throne. To Corvin. His eyes were wide, and his irises leaked silver, mingling with the blood in his mouth. He licked his lips, satisfied with the chaos he’d toppled them into, and his teeth dripped—a red and silver mix.
His gaze met hers over the madness. His head tilted. And the screams—they quieted to a dull shriek in the background. As Lux lifted her chin and strode forward, the nightmare seemed to ease—just a little—for her.
Corvin’s response was immediate. A corner of his mouth rose. “You look like you want something from me, doll.”
“I do.”
Lux climbed upon the throne.
She did want. So many things. But mostly, a future of not being used. Of being free to choose. And though she would never choose this Overlord of Mothlock, this master manipulator of nightmares and dreams, she decided to allow him to believe she wanted only one thing.
Lux licked her lips, coaxed the abundance of want to her eyes, and said, “I’ve met my future, Corvin. I’ve faced my truths. Let me prove my worth.”
She kissed him.
Corvin startled beneath her. Lux thought he might actually push her away. But when her hands reached upward to grab hold of his robe, he finally seemed to decide she was quite serious. One hand pressed against her chin, angling it higher, and his other cupped her head.
And Lux fell into him. Deeply.
She dove for his soul.
What she found—
Spoiled and ancient.
Rotten, yet powerful.
Corvin’s corruption pulled at her rather than shutting her out.
She didn’t want to touch it. She didn’t want to look at it at all. But if she didn’t dig farther, she would never know for certain. Lux reached, tentative and slow, and when her fingers clawed and her nails sank deep, Corvin jolted beneath her.
The corruption latched onto her right back.
Her mind stuttered; she could form neither words nor thoughts. Whatever this was, it was not alive in the traditional sense, but that didn’t stop it being shoved down her throat. She choked.
And in her drowning was her answer.
Greed. Greed. Greed.
She wanted to scream, but no sound left her. Instead, her lungs seized as they did right before panic set in. And when panic finally came for her, it came in waves bigger than the sea.
She retched and swore saltwater poured from her nose and mouth. This was bigger than corruption—far hungrier—this was madness. And it would bury her down here, beneath a crushing weight.
Don’t sink.
Her own voice. Not the nightmarish version or the dream’s.
You will not be buried.
Because Lucena Thorn fights for those she loves.
In that moment, Lux rejected every foul insecurity, traumatic memory, and overwhelming fear. In its place, she recalled every moment of light she could. Of Shaw. Of her parents. Of majestic mountains, quiet trees, and sea air.
Lux fought to the surface with everything in her.
Corvin’s fingers were cold on her skin. His mouth was colder. At some point, he’d pulled her flush against him, his lips moving against hers; she followed him on instinct. When he moaned into her open mouth, she nearly died of disgust. She kissed him all the harder.
Until he shoved her away.
Coughing.
Retching.
Purple saliva dribbling down his chin.
“What—”
Lux swiped at her lips as his now moved without sound. “Gorga berries,” she whispered so only he could hear. The nightmare dissolved around them. “Did you swallow it? I think you did.”
Corvin spat onto the stones but other than a stream of violet liquid, no seed came with it. He lifted his head—and there was murder in his seeping gaze.
“Saints above, devil below.” She tutted. “It looks as if your brother’s soul hasn’t cured you after all.” Her fingers came away from the grip she had about his neck, the skin there beginning to grey. “I found Mania Malus, Corvin—and it’s not eating me. It’s eating you.”
Before Lux could scramble off his lap and off the throne, Corvin lunged.
He was stopped by an old blade to his throat.
Shaw’s jaw feathered with a rage that didn’t look like it could ever be contained. “Stay in your saintforsaken seat.”
And—laughing wildly—the girl behind Lux lowered her hood.