Chapter 23
Chapter
Twenty-Three
LYRA
It was nearly dark as we made our way across the marsh and into the forest beyond. The rain had stopped, leaving a fresh, earthy smell in the air and a stillness that made me shiver.
The wooden walkway creaked loudly with every step I took, and my skin prickled as I remembered the terrifying merpeople who dwelled in the murky water below.
Kaden and I didn’t speak, though it was the first time we’d truly been alone since his imprisonment. My mind was still reeling from Fione’s revelation.
Adriel wasn’t just a Morkahlf. He was the child of a god.
Did that mean he had other powers besides his earth-wielding ability? Or was his earth magic magnified by the celestial blood that flowed through his veins? I’d seen him collapse half the demon king’s palace, but I’d never known a Morkahlf before and didn’t know if he was unusually powerful.
Part of me wanted to ask Kaden about it, but I felt the distance between us like a splinter that had begun to fester. It wasn’t just the lack of physical connection; I could feel him withdrawing more with each passing day.
Gone was the dry humor and dastardly charm. The Kaden who’d slain all those soldiers in Klod?sch was serious, guarded, and full of self-loathing.
I hated Semphrys for everything he’d done — everything he’d taken from my mate. It wasn’t enough that he’d thrown open the sire bond; he’d destroyed the one place that had always felt like home to Kaden and forced him to put up a wall between us.
As Kaden led me away from the manor, the trees grew older and more gnarled, with trunks too wide for my arms to encircle. A thick carpet of moss blanketed the forest floor, dampening our footsteps until we reached a clearing where a single tree stood apart from the rest.
Its branches cast so much shade during the day that no other trees could grow near it. The full moon was bright enough to illuminate the clearing, with skeins of silvery light spilling from between the branches.
The yew’s trunk was so large that three Kadens could have stood inside. Twisted limbs sagged to the ground, and tendrils of green moss hung from them like wisps of hair, blowing gently in the breeze.
I felt a crackle of old magic that reminded me of the Great Oak, and when I heard a distant rustle in the bushes, my heart nearly punched out of my chest.
“It’s only the wood nymphs,” said Kaden, reaching down to give my hand a reassuring squeeze.
He nodded at a fallen log that was partially consumed by spongy green moss, and when I looked over, I caught a pair of verdant eyes beaming at me through the dark. All around us, I could hear the murmur of voices and the patter of tiny feet.
Then they began to chant.
The nymphs’ voices were surprisingly low for such small creatures. Bodies undulated in the moonlight, clad in the same style of mossy clothing that Fione wore, and I realized they were all dancing to the rhythm of the eerie chorus.
The wind picked up to accompany their chanting, filling my ears with the hiss of leaves scraping together and the soft groan of heavy branches swaying overhead. Their shadows swept over the clearing, moving in time with the wind or the song. I couldn’t tell which was leading.
Then I realized the breeze had stopped. The wood nymphs were still chanting and dancing, their strange green markings winking in the night as they moved in a lithe rhythm that filled me with a strange, restless energy.
Strands of pure moonlight peeled from the shadows, twisting and writhing to the music of the forest itself. The silvery ribbons fanned out across the clearing, twining around my arms and legs and the trunk of the enormous yew tree.
Looking over at Kaden, I found him staring at me in rapture. I understood why. Strands of gleaming silver had wound around him too, gilding his midnight hair and illuminating his skin with an otherworldly glow.
A deafening crack sounded from behind me, and I whipped around. Dazzling light flooded into the clearing, and I realized the same silver glow was emanating from cracks in the yew tree’s bark, which stretched and yawned as though it might burst.
It crackled and groaned, and then that silver light seemed to collect, forming into a tall male body. He towered over me and Kaden, glistening with an intensity that forced me to squint.
The woods fell silent as the being solidified, and the nymphs ceased their monotonous chanting. The male’s body was light made solid, his muscular naked form almost too bright to look at. Lush curls tumbled all the way to his shoulders, and his eyes were a solid mass of silver, devoid of any pupil.
This had to be Gninou, god of knowledge and life.
When the male spoke, his voice boomed out over the clearing, making my teeth rattle. “Kaden, son of Elowynn. And Lyra, Daughter of Two Realms. It pleases me that you have placed yourself at my mercy.”
Kaden bristled. I knew he balked at the idea of being at anyone’s mercy — even a god’s.
“We come seeking knowledge,” I interjected before he could open his beautiful mouth.
Gninou inclined his head, his eerie silver eyes flashing.
“I have been to visit the Three that dwell beneath the Great Oak,” I said, my voice shaking despite my resolve. “Morta, the third sister, no longer wields the hands of death. They were severed by Semphrys, the demon king.”
“And you wish to understand how you may restore her hands and end the Dark King’s existence.”
“Yes,” I said, my voice coming out hoarse and breathless.
“Knowledge is both a blessing and a burden,” Gninou replied. “You cannot have one without the other. If it is knowledge that you seek, then it is knowledge you must receive, along with its triumphs and tragedies.”
“What does that mean?” I rasped, looking to Kaden for clarification.
“It means he will tell us something we do not wish to know before he tells us how to restore the Death Bringer’s hands.”
I swallowed, staring up at the brilliant deity. Gninou wanted to tell us something we’d rather not know?
Somehow, I couldn’t fathom how knowledge could be a curse — not with all the unanswered questions burning inside me.
“What is the nature of this burden you intend to foist upon us?” Kaden asked, an edge of irritation in his voice.
“You will receive the gift of my knowledge before I share that which you seek.”
Kaden made a noise that was halfway between a growl and a sigh, and I elbowed him in the ribs.
“Very well,” he ground out. “Bestow whatever burden you wish to share. Then tell us how to restore the Death Bringer’s hands.”
I grimaced at his lack of deference. Something told me it was unwise to anger a celestial being — even one who had lain with his mother.
Gninou turned the full force of his gaze on me, and I fought back a shudder. “Your father no longer walks in this realm or your own. His heart beat its last many years ago, but he has not been laid to rest.”
I sucked in a breath, my throat suddenly too tight.
My father’s heart had beat its last? Did that mean he was dead?
It wasn’t exactly a revelation, though I still felt surprised.
I couldn’t remember my father, though I knew he was a hunter.
He’d left when I was small, and my mother had barely spoken of him.
My whole life, I’d been torn between the fantasy of reuniting with the father I’d never known and learning that he was dead.
“Though his mortal life has come to a close,” Gninou continued, “he may yet help you in your time of need.”
Kaden’s warm hand wrapped around mine, and I let out a shaky exhale.
So he was dead. But then how could he help me?
“W-what does that mean?” I demanded, my voice quivering with unexpected fury as Gninou turned to Kaden, clearly finished with me.
How dare he? How dare he thrust this piece of information at me without further explanation? That wasn’t knowledge. It was torture — like gifting a starving man with a single crumb, knowing it would do nothing to sate his hunger.
But the god began to speak to Kaden as if I hadn’t uttered a word.
“You hunger for the crown ripped from your mother’s head, and you intend to slay two kings to claim the throne that is your birthright.
” Silvery wisps of moonlight unfurled from Gninou’s hands, ghosting over Kaden’s arms. “Your craving for revenge taints your blood. I can taste it on your skin.”
A muscle feathered in Kaden’s jaw, though he said nothing.
“Vengeance is a blade that can be lethal when honed. Anger can be alchemized into glory, but only when it eclipses all else.” He nodded to me. “Your yearning for your mate is stronger than your bloodlust. It dulls your mind and impairs your judgment.”
His words hit me like a punch to the stomach. Kaden’s feelings for me impaired his judgment? I might have been affronted by that, but a small voice in the back of my mind whispered that it was true.
I didn’t dare look at Kaden, though his shadows crept over the forest floor, colliding with the tendrils of moonlight in a brilliant clash of light and dark.
“Is that all?” he ground out sharply, and I felt the hum of his ominous power.
Gninou eyed him blandly. “You cannot have her and your crown.”
Nausea churned in my gut, but Kaden’s grip on my hand only tightened. When he spoke next, his voice was a low growl that raised the hairs along my arms. “I am Kaden, son of Elowynn, uniter of the faerie peoples. Rightful heir to the throne of Anvalyn. I can have anything I wish.”
But the silver god merely tilted his head, his expression almost wistful. “If you insist on making her yours, you will never wear the crown.”
“She is mine,” Kaden snarled, shadows whipping out with the force of his rage and snuffing out the twisting bands of moonlight.
My heart beat faster, my mind peeling apart what Gninou had said to get to the truth of the matter.
The silver god spoke the way faeries often did, using clever wording and half-truths to conceal their true meaning.
And yet . . . I felt the reality of his words.
It wasn’t as if Kaden and I had ever talked about what we were to one another, beyond the mating bond. And yet I felt foolish for having never considered the implications of his ascension to the throne.
I wasn’t of royal blood. I wasn’t even fae. Surely if Kaden wished to be king, he would need to take a queen.
“We’ve heard what you have to say,” I told Gninou, carefully not looking at Kaden. “Now tell us what we want to know.”
“Very well,” said the silver god, fresh tendrils of moonlight flowing out across the clearing. “There is already one among you with the power to do as you wish.”
“You’ll have to be more specific,” Kaden growled.
“Many centuries ago, I sired a child that did not form in a mother’s womb but emerged from the earth itself. He commands the very clay that birthed him. With it, he may restore the Death Bringer’s hands.
Adriel.
The silver god’s son. Was it really that simple?
I opened my mouth to ask Gninou how the royal guard was meant to reattach Morta’s hands, but he was already dissolving into wisps of pure moonlight, which were being pulled back into the cracks of the bark.
“How?” I called after him.
But Gninou’s face had become distorted, finally shattering into a burst of glittering dust.
The clearing stilled, the forest falling silent. The wood nymphs had long disappeared, and no breeze rustled the yew’s leaves. Even the moonlight seemed to have ceased its wild dance, beaming innocently through the gaps in the branches.
I glanced at Kaden, and my blood went cold. He wasn’t staring at the spot where Gninou had disappeared. He didn’t look surprised or angry or even intrigued by the information the silver god had shared.
Kaden was already staring at me, a look of pure devastation in his eyes.