11. Chapter 11
I’m whisked back down the corridor by a flurry of soft hands, to where Regent and the others are now standing. He gives me a once-over as I draw near, his sadistic grin widening in appreciation. “Much better. The God of Dreams will be very pleased.”
“Great,” I grumble, the maids’ words echoing in my mind long after they themselves have absconded into the shadows. “It’s an honor to be bestowed a name from the one destined to save us all from the gods.” What the fuck does that even mean?
Maybe they’ve been eating too much Dreamshade, a plum-like fruit with toxic juices that often triggers delirium. Yes, that must be it. That would also explain why they look so familiar. The Dreamshade effects are emanating off them and seeping into my brain.
“I understand why you were chosen now,” Maxine says with a precarious smile, her gorgeous gown glinting like plated armor beneath the light of the flickering sconces.
“You didn’t before?” I ask.
“No,” she admits with a shrug.
Gods, she’s going to be a thorn in my side. I can already tell.
Regent straightens his bowtie and motions for us to follow him down the corridor.
“This way ladies, after me!” he says. “Know that as you walk these illustrious halls, each piece of décor that you see here reflects the history of the gods.” He points to a set of portraits above him, his eyes glittering with emotion.
“This illustration encompasses the moment the universe imploded, an event which birthed the old goddesses in their purest forms. Notice how all the paint strokes scatter violently in different directions. It was painted by the famous artist, Vesper Frostquill, a Truthseer with the gods-given talent to see across space and time. Luckily for us, he painted his visions on these canvases before he died.”
Lily makes an impressed cooing noise as we all follow Regent brusquely around the corner, picking up our pace so that we don’t get lost in the vastness of the corridor.
“This illustration here depicts the old goddesses after their creation,” he continues, motioning around vaguely.
“They are known as the Mother of Fate, the Mother of Time, the Mother of Life, and the Mother of Chaos. The very deities who unraveled space and time, shaping it to their will and creating what we now know as life.”
My lungs pool with oxygen. I’ve heard very little about the old goddesses, likely because the new gods erased them from our history books and nursery rhymes, which explains my sudden difficulty in comprehending the news of the Mother of Chaos’s real identity.
“The old woman’s name is the Mother of Chaos,” Solara had sworn, and I’d been too foolish to ask who she was.
Apparently, I’m not searching for a witch to reunite me and Solara across the universe.
I’m searching for a goddess. And not just any goddess.
One of the original deities who created the universe.
And to make matters worse, her name is Chaos.
New plan, Solara. Fuck this.
Lily looks ecstatic. Maxine looks like she’s fighting back the urge to yawn. And Bella, well, she’s been whispering vague obscenities beneath her breath for the last five minutes, so I’m not quite sure what to make of her.
Regent admires the next painting fondly, which is as white and regal as his hair.
“After the old gods created the universe, they grew lonely.” His voice crumbles, almost like he’s lonely too.
“Their heartache fueled the creation of mortals. And from the mortals, they learned of the capacity of love. With the mortals, they birthed children, whom we know of today as the new gods—the result of the old gods and the humans embracing in a symphony of tangled limbs and tender heartstrings. There used to be hundreds of them, but most of them were slaughtered during the War of the Wraiths.” He spins on us, his eyes narrowing.
“Who here knows which new gods are alive today?”
Lily raises a hand and blurts out, “The Goddess of Love, the God of War, the God of Wisdom, and the God of Dreams.”
“Very good, Lily!” Regent rocks on his heels, bobbing like an eager buoy. “Does anyone happen to know their real names?”
Lily slams her mouth shut.
“Anyone?” Regent cocks a brow.
Maxine slowly raises her hand. “Bella here knows everything about the realm’s history, including what my great-grandfather ate for breakfast on the morning of his one hundred and eighth birthday, which was cinnamon buckwheat cakes with charred apricots, by the way.
Her admission came to me unsolicited just this morning while she was sleepwalking. She also said—”
“Bella?” Regent cuts Maxine off. “Is this true?”
Bella’s pale cheeks bloom cherry-blossom red.
“Well, this is wonderful news!” Regent claps his hands giddily. “We haven’t had a Memorykeeper around in over two hundred years. Oh, now this is something spectacular. Let us hope that you’re keeping the realm’s most elusive secrets filed away someplace safe?”
Bella swallows audibly and nods her head. Suddenly, it dawns on me that perhaps the God of Wisdom chose her for a very specific reason: to ensure his precious secrets don’t get exposed without his explicit consent.
“Fantastic!” Regent exclaims, an anticipatory beam spreading across his face. “Would you mind sharing the names of the new gods for us? The ones who are alive and well?”
Bella clears her throat and ticks off the first name on her hand. “The Goddess of Love is named Armona Godsend, who is one thousand and eleven years old.”
Regent nods excitedly, encouraging her to continue.
“The God of War is named Rhaziel Godsend, who is one thousand and eight.”
“See?” Maxine says with exasperation as we all begin moving again. “I told you she’s a book-gobbler.”
“I’d rather be a book-gobbler than a walking matchstick,” Bella snaps over her shoulder.
I glance down at the spellmark curling up the length of Maxine’s forearm, which is a hungry flame threatening to erupt from her skin.
Oh dear. Apparently, Maxine is a Flameweaver.
Why couldn’t her spellmark be something more ordinary, like Eric’s had been?
He’d been able to summon objects on command, but only if he was in the same room as them.
His spellmark had been of a pretty quill etched into his wrist, probably because he was always losing his.
The only time his power had ever inconvenienced me had been when he’d summoned a broomstick and it’d whacked me upside the head by accident.
In fact, now that I think about it, he was rather mundane in every aspect.
“Go on, Bella,” Regent says, his eyes twinkling like a proud grandfather.
“The God of Wisdom is named Thalmos Godsend,” Bella says, sighing with contempt.
“He is one thousand and four years old. The God of Dreams is one thousand and…” Bella’s voice drifts away as she follows Regent around the corner and out of earshot.
I shudder a breath and scoop up the hem of my dress, thankful I missed the end of that conversation.
There’s no way in hell that some centuries-old god who once battled in a long-forgotten war wants to marry me.
And if he does, I will not be reciprocating those heart-felt feelings.
I don’t want to know his name, because I shouldn’t even be in this situation in the first place.
Thanks a fucking lot, Augustine.
The four of us follow Regent down a spiral staircase and through a little servant corridor, where iron hooks hold up brooms and makeshift alcoves balance soap buckets along the walls.
Maids zigzag all around us, balancing trays of candied lemons and frosted pastries in their arms. Some of them stop to stare, but most carry on like we’re invisible.
I catch sight of Sunshine ducking her head through a swinging door, who gives me a warm nod over her shoulder before she disappears.
Once we’ve passed the kitchen, Regent scoots us through another doorway and into a sconce-lit study, which is decorated in purple orchids, waxy vases, and a dozen portraits of the queen in every variety of absurdly expensive gowns.
Once we’re all crammed inside, his voice takes on an ominous tone.
“The old gods created the universe by shedding their bloodmagic in sheets of rain. Their bloodmagic poured down over the universe and created our planetary home, sinking into the glades and valleys, creeping into the gullies and peaks, and finally, creating the mortals who grew in number and strength.” He pauses to take a breath, using this little moment of reprieve to motion for us all to have a seat.
Lily slumps onto a velvet chaise and crosses her legs, but the rest of us remain standing.
“The gods gave their blood in order to create us, which is why we give it back today in blood donations,” Regent adds, pausing for dramatic effect.
“To show our thanks.” Just when I think he’s done with his long-winded explanation, he licks his lips and says, “But of course, something else arose from that flurry of magic cast down from the clouds, something else that the gods had not intended. Dragons.”
Lily presses a hand to her mouth and lets out a little squeal.
Maxine whips a dagger out of its sheath and begins filing her nails with it, looking completely unbothered.
I shove her away from me, because quite frankly, that blade is too close for comfort.
Meanwhile, Bella scrunches her brows, as if questioning the timeline of this story.
Regent points to a life-sized canvas hanging above where Lily is sitting. I study the scribbles of black oil paint embedded in its center, unable to ignore how those ghostly blobs seem to be gobbling up both the gods and the dragons on the battlefield.
What are those things?