59
It was days later, Malik and Valine having engaged in numerous salacious encounters and other sexual acts, that led to hours ensconced in their chambers when curiosity struck her and didn’t let go. In addition to the bedroom—and other locations—that she and the king were participating in, Valine was also using her body for training with Sarim.
The Valmotti warrior and the assassin met at the training ring each morning, sparring and sharing techniques and maneuvers, parrying blades and words, teasing each other about their newfound sexual encounters. It became abundantly clear that Sarim and Freyja were up to a similar amount of fucking as Valine and Malik were. Sometimes Malik and Freyja showed up to observe, the two of them bearing the brunt of more jokes and taunting, to the point that Freyja declared that “the onslaught of innuendoes was horrific”. This had only sent them laughing.
Although she was keeping her body busy, her mind had latched onto an idea and couldn’t shake it. Concerning thoughts wouldn’t leave and so she took to the rookery to pen a letter. In addition, Valine had tried to slip away while Malik slept, disappearing into the forests that edged the palace and standing on a cliff face under the stars, venting her frustrations and tinkering with her necromancy, but even that didn’t bring solace. She debated asking for an experiment, mixed between not wanting to show her hand, and needing to know the extent. She played this game of mental tug-o-war for days, laying abed after sex, staring at the canopy, zoning out during meals, a plate of food untouched before she managed to work up the nerve.
After a knifework session with Sarim that left the Valmotti hilariously sweaty and Valine astoundingly cool, Valine departed for a certain dignitary’s chambers. Valine navigated her way through the halls until she found the door she was looking for, knocking perfunctory.
Alastair opened the door, groggy and sleep-drunk. His hair was rumpled, and he wore a half-tied emerald silk dressing gown and white pajama pants—also silk. He rubbed the heel of his hand against his blue eyes, dusting off the sand.
“Valine, what are you doing here so early?” Alastair asked, voice roughened by fatigue. A yawn punctuated his words as he rubbed his eyes again. “Is it even dawn?”
“It’s past dawn,” Valine said dismissively. Alastair was wont to wake up at noon if he so pleased, and while sleeping in sounded lovely, this niggling thought could no longer wait. “I want to try something. Something I’ve never done before.”
Alastair raised a reddish brow. “You’d think coming onto a gay man would be the last thing on your mind, especially considering the sounds I heard in the courtyard the other day.”
Valine resisted a blush and the thoughts that came along with it. Malik had hiked up her skirts over her bottom and pressed her face first into the wall while he’d railed her into oblivion. She’d tried to keep quiet, but Malik had been doing the most exquisite things to her clit and nipples.
“Or was that Freyja and Sarim I heard? I simply cannot keep track of your fucking antics anymore. Or rather fucking antics.”
“You’re hilarious,” Valine said deadpan. “And as much as I enjoy your company, I don’t want to sleep with you.”
“That makes two of us.”
“I wanted to test our magics.”
Alastair cocked his head in curiosity. “Now you have my attention. Come in.” He swept her grandly into the room, and he guided her to his sitting room.
The walls were all done up in warm shades, marigold yellow, pumpkin, rust, gold, and interspersed with some cooler tones of sage and muted blue. Alastair had taken a maximalist approach to his space, floral print wallpaper and plaster walls painted ochre, heavy wood furniture was built in chestnut and walnut, clear glass scattered throughout the room as vases and light fixtures, an elegant chandelier hung high above, reaching its arms like a kraken.
Valine took a seat on a paprika lounge chair, scraping her slowly growing nails against the velvet. Across the room, Alastair was at a drink cart, a crystal decanter in one hand, a tall, silver coffee carafe in the other.
“Which one do you take to start your day?”
“Coffee, please.”
“So responsible,” Alastair scoffed jokingly. “Next, you’ll tell me you drink the recommended amount of water a day.”
“Well…” Valine trailed off as Alastair handed her the steaming cup.
“Are you even human?”
“I mean, technically, no, I’m a necromancer.”
The comment had circled them back to her original intention, leaving the perfect opening to delve into her idea. She redirected the conversation and took a sip of the hot, rich coffee, smiling at the taste of cinnamon.
“So, what brought this on?” Alastair asked, sitting across from her in a matching orange-red chair, sipping an identical cup of coffee—well, maybe not entirely identical. She was pretty sure she saw him splash some liquor in his.
“I’ve been thinking lately—”
“You have time to do that?”
“Shut up. Anyhow, I’ve been thinking about the extent of my magic, and I truly don’t know what it is at this point. I’ve killed sand serpents and kraken, not to mention broken a Veritasium Medallion, and I’m questioning how far I can push my limits.”
“So, you’re wondering how far past mine, yours are?” Alastair said slowly.
“Right. We know that vitamancers and necromancers are magical opposites. While retaining some of the same abilities, it only makes sense that we negate each other, correct?” Alastair nodded. “So, with that being said, will you nullify me completely if you tried? Or only to the degree that our magic matches up? Say…” Valine brought her non-coffee hand to the side, level with her shoulder. “What if your magic is here, but mine—” she moved her hand up to her temple, “is here. What would happen if we pushed our magery against each other?”
“Perhaps societal collapse and a combustion that would rival the experimental weapons of the Tri-Region War.”
“Har-har. I’m serious, Alastair. Haven’t you ever wondered?”
“Of course, darling. But as you probably know, I haven’t had the privilege of meeting many necromancers—willing or otherwise.”
“Well, you’ll be pleased to know that I’ve not met a vitamancer, either.”
“Look at that, taking each other’s magic-user-meeting virginity. How do you feel?”
“Like a new woman,” she said flatly.
Alastair cocked a brow. “Did your first sexual encounter disappoint you as much as your face is telling me right now?”
“Yes, did yours?”
“Well, of course. He was a man, instinctively, they know how to take pleasure, not give it. That’s why you have to teach them.”
“You’re a man.”
“I’m an anomaly.” He waved offhandedly.
“So, are we doing this?”
“Lets.”
Valine and Alastair set down their cups on crystal coasters and situated themselves across from each other. They remained seated, but their feet were planted and their backs straight. Their hands were on their knees, and their eyes were level.
“On the count of three?”
“One,” Valine began.
They counted, and on three Valine uncoiled her necromancy and directed it outward, seeking to tether to Alastair. The vitamancer threw out his sapphire magic and Valine watched as her shadows shattered through it an immediately speared into him. He gasped as her magic caught him, but immediately she pulled it back.
“Bloody hell!” Alastair cursed, hand flying to his chest.
“Come on, Alastair. I need you to actually try.”
“Valine…” Alastair raised his cornflower blue, Runellian sea blue eyes to hers, fear and shock alighting them. “I did. You destroyed my magic the moment you touched it. I’ve never felt that…it felt like it just exploded through it.”
“What?” Anxiety and trepidation flushed through her, raising the fine hairs along her body. “That’s not possible.”
“I assure you it is,” he said haltingly.
“Can we try again? You with your magic up first?” Valine requested cautiously.
Alastair patted his chest once. “Yes, let’s go for one more.”
Twisting his fingers, Alastair brought up his vitamancy and pulled the sparkling light between them, allowing it to form a hazy shield. Once the wall was in place, Valine lifted her hand, tweaking her fingers delicately. Her shadows slipped between them, and she aimed once again for Alastair’s chest.
His shield didn’t stand a chance.
Without resistance, Valine speared through his magic and arrowed through him, knotting a tether between them. The shield dissolved between them, like paper disintegrating in a fire. It was ash and nothing. She watched his magic dissipate and flicker out in horror, the blue decaying to gray before going out.
Slowly, as if in a trance, Valine dropped her hand, meeting Alastair’s shocked expression. The dignitary stared at her, taking her in for all that she was, knowledge dawning, realization becoming concrete.
“What are you?”
Valine looked down, drawing herself up. With resolve she felt strengthening, she pulled her midnight gaze from the floor and looked at Alastair. “I am a true daughter of Mrithun.” Valine paused and then inhaled sharply. “I’m sorry, I have to go.”
Before Alastair could rebuke or reassure her—if that is what he wanted—she was gone, racing for the doors. She delivered a hasty note to Malik, informing him she’d be scouting the city for the day, then she was out beyond the castle walls. She snagged the black cloak she’d tucked into an alcove for her midnight jaunts, eased her way past guards, and navigated her way through the forest. Climbing up steep terrain, Valine dug her fingers into the dirt and planted her favorite boots against roots and rock.
When she reached the top, she could see the pewter sky yawning above the treetops, shadows languishing around her, the foliage creating an air of darkness that was both eerie and welcoming. The small rock clearing on the cliff was insular and freeing. She was hidden as if she were miles away and ensconced in the deep woods, praying like the ancients to the patrons.
She sat alone for a time with her thoughts, watching the sun reach its zenith and then fall again. She sat on that ridge all day and most of the night until darkness was a velvet sheet and the moon hung like an illuminated orb in the sky.
Finally, she steeled herself, and she stood. Instead of reaching out with her magic to Mrithun, she reached inward. Into the very being of herself, into the very essence that made her, her. Past her necromancy, and past the orb of fire that wrapped around it. She dove through and in, shuttering her eyes against the night, feeling a new tether in her very soul. Then, she did something for the first time, something she intrinsically knew how to do.
She summoned her father.
Valine focused and willed the existence and when she opened her eyes, a man swathed in the very shadows that made her necromancy stood there.
Daemons were traditionally depicted with leathery wings and horns, but the man that stood before her bore neither. His skin was deathly pale, his eyes liquid pools of ink. A small smile graced his wide, pouty lips, and humor lined his sharp, angular features. He tilted his head to the side, his black waves shifting and lifting in the smoke as if the gravity of the earthly plane did not affect him.
“Daughter,” Mrithun said lowly, his voice like gravel and endlessness.
Valine drew herself up to her full height, levelling the Patron of Death with a hard stare. “Why?” She demanded. “Why am I here? Why do I exist?”
Mrithun smiled and let the shadows dance between his black-painted fingers. “You were a dream, and I knew I had to make you real.”
Valine held a breath in her throat and steeled herself for her next question. The answer to it would shift her perspective and understanding of herself, should it be the response she abhorred. She wasn’t sure she entirely wanted to know. It was as they said, ignorance is bliss. But the not knowing was almost worse. Her heart hammered, but she finally spoke through the anxiety.
“Was I created through deception?”
“No,” he said calmly. “Your mother knew who I was. She sought a lover when her husband forsook her for others. She was so sad, Little One, and I was glad to bring her joy, if only for a short while.”
Valine deflated in relief. She wasn’t the product of rape or dishonesty. She wasn’t the product of violence and power and fear. And she wasn’t the product of Dáinn Desdemon.
It sounded odd coming from a necromancer, but death was demanded and warranted in certain situations. She could not name one that called for unwilling sexual violence. Death could save, death could be mercy, death could end. There was no excuse for the other.
“You have grown to be more incredible than I ever thought you could be,” Mrithun said, approaching her. He tucked two fingers beneath her chin and tilted her face to his, admiring her. She realized, through the smoke and shadows, that they had the same eyes, the same slope to their nose, the same full pout of lips. But somehow, she still looked like Dáinn Desdemon. “And as any father, I have hopes for you.”
“Such as?”
Mrithun smiled a white, cheery smile. “Have you not figured it out by now? There is a path set before you, drawn by the saints and daemons of old, from their prophets and seers.”
“You want me to be queen.”
“No,” he corrected. “I want you to be empress. Can you not see your lover’s vision? You are creating a deathless empire.”
There it was again, a deathless empire.
“That doesn’t make sense. I’ve killed so many to be here.”
“You misunderstand. You are deathless. You are undying.”
An undying queen.
“I cannot die?”
“You can, should someone decide to forcibly take you from this world, but you have contingencies for that, don’t you?” Mrithun’s voice was filled with pride. “You stopped aging on your twenty-sixth birthday. You will not grow old; you will remain immortal and a master over death. It is the gift that patrons give their children.”
“I will outlive everyone?” Valine despaired.
“Not if you properly tether those you care about. Create an indominable legacy and a generational legend. And should you have children with someone you’ve tethered, your children will be immortal, too—a dynasty. You are so close, daughter, so soon you will be infinite and unconquerable.”
Mrithun was smiling at her so proudly, his cool fingers on her chin an affectionate and paternal touch she’d never known before. It was reassuring and comforting, it rang of safety and care. Dáinn Desdemon had never ventured this gentling of behavior.
“I’m not just a dream, though, am I? I’m a weapon. A weapon you created against—what? What do you fear so much that I exist?”
“You think highly of yourself, don’t you?”
“I am not stupid.”
Mrithun sighed. “It has been foreseen that forces will one day come to the shores of Enneive, and only a child of the earthly plane, with the blessing of a saint and a daemon, can stand against it.”
“When?” Valine demanded.
“That, I truly do not know. But you will be alive to face it, and it will be your battle to be won.”
“Can’t you ask Ayyubia or Nafiza, or whoever has power over clairvoyance to figure it out?”
“I cannot.”
“Why?”
“She and I only have so much power, Little One. We are not the only patrons, there are patrons on other continents.”
Valine’s blood went cold. “What do you mean?”
“The northern continent, Eilassor, possesses three powerful patrons with powers unlike those of the mages here. They are like us—like the saints and daemons—but also other. They do not have the power of the elements or storm, or life and death, or even over the mind. Their powers are unknowable to us.”
Eilassor. The continent the original Mayar family came from?
“They’re gods?”
“No, patrons. They are of the same caliber as myself or Nylantia or Dunia.”
“But you’re afraid these other patrons will influence their people to wage war from across the sea?”
“It has been foretold they will come, but not what their reasons are. It could be war, or curiosity, or something more banal, but I do not know, and I dare not risk my world to find out. I only know them by one name, so do you—their reputation falsely praised here.”
Valine didn’t even need to ask. In that moment she realized and her world began to crumble down around her, raining ancient monoliths and cathedrals within her mind. The construction and civilization of her beliefs falling into disrepair.
“The Stygian Ones.”
“Yes,” Mrithun confirmed. “They are not gods, but I do not wish to stoke their wrath. I need you to be powerful when they come, which is why it is so imperative that you do not fail your quest. It’s not just destroying Runell. You must conquer. You must let the power of Adraali spread and consume Enneive. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, I—I do,” Valine stuttered, “but I can’t be the foretold one. I’m not blessed by a saint, only a daemon.”
“Think again.”
So close she could see flames in her father’s eyes, Valine came to a startling realization. A memory of a story and bonds that could not be broken. She stepped back from her father, understanding growing on her face.
“I thought it had burnt me and left a mark on my magic,” Valine spoke softly. “But that’s not what it did. The Call of the Phoenix was not lost. It is inside me.”
“The necklace was only a temporary vessel. When the blood of one of Seraphina or Mrithun’s own touched it, it unlocked. You are connected to the Call at the very core of your essence. You are the new vessel.”
Valine blinked several times trying to clear the fog that was threatening to settle on her. She had awoken this morning under an identity she’d known and understood for most of her life, but now she was encountering a stranger with her face. She was unrecognizable from the person she was before.
“Heed my words, Valine Mithra, if you do not continue on the path you have taken, Adraali will fall to Runell, and when those foreign forces come, they will be able to take it all. Some of our patrons stand against us, heralding their own champion from Talloh, urging them to side with Runell—you must not let that come to pass, even if some do not want to see a crown upon your brow.” Mrithun reached out and stroked her hair. “You are so very young, and immortality yawns before you. One day, you shall understand. Until then, I must depart.”
“Wait,” she said, reaching. “Who is the other?”
“I do not know. The others bar me from this knowledge. You must discover it.”
“Please don’t go, I need you.”
“I cannot stay, Little One. I wish I could.”
Mrithun kissed her brow delicately and backed away.
“You are my best creation,” he said and then disappeared into the ebony.