Chapter Forty-Six
If I had to do it all over again, I would.
For him.
Tabitha Wysteria
Adriana had passed the last few weeks within the wyverian castle in a strange, suspended calm. Beyond the black stone walls, the winds howled as they always did, but inside, time seemed to move in hushed increments around a single, failing bed.
Keir, her husband, had worsened with each passing day.
What had begun as weariness had become frailty; what had been frailty was now near ruin.
He lay bedridden, unable to leave their chambers without aid, breath shallow, skin too pale against the dark linens.
The mortal vessel he inhabited was no longer strong enough to contain a god of his magnitude.
Divinity pressed against flesh that could no longer bear it.
Many believed, and had always believed, that Adriana, known in the god realms as Themis, had married Keir solely because he was one of the Originals.
To wed an Original was to secure influence, privilege, power beyond measure.
They were said to have been the first sparks of divinity in existence, the beginning of all that followed.
But the truth was far simpler. And far more dangerous.
Adriana had married him because she had fallen in love.
Yes, perhaps his status had intrigued her in the beginning; it would have been foolish to deny that.
But once she had come to know him—the quiet steadiness of him, the mind that carried centuries yet still marvelled at small things—something deep and aching had taken root inside her.
It had grown slowly, stubbornly, until it became inseparable from her own being.
Now she could not imagine an existence without him.
That morning, she had spent long hours with King Ozul, speaking in low, measured tones about what was to come. He had returned weeks earlier with an immense wyverian army, one he had spent months gathering in secret, forging strength from scattered loyalties.
Adriana had informed him that Mal had left with Ash to bear her child somewhere hidden from prying eyes.
There would be no more time for hesitation.
They needed to march on the witches, and soon.
‘I think it is time,’ Keir mumbled when his eyes fluttered open.
He said it every day.
And every day Adriana leaned over him, brushing the damp strands of black, thinning hair from his brow, smoothing them back as though she could smooth away fate itself. She would murmur reassurances, soft and steady, insisting that it was not yet time. Not today.
‘You need to hold on,’ she said now, her voice low but resolute. ‘When we reach the witches, then you may let go. Release your power. You could tear through them, Keir. You could obliterate most of their forces.’
He gave the faintest shake of his head, the movement costing him more than it should have. ‘I can’t hold on any more.’
The words struck deeper than any blade.
‘You must, my love,’ Adriana pleaded, her composure fracturing despite her efforts. ‘You are our only hope.’
His eyes drifted shut once more, his body surrendering to a heavy, unnatural sleep.
She remained there, watching the shallow rise and fall of his chest, hatred blooming in her heart. Not for him, never for him, but for herself.
She was forcing him to endure what his vessel could no longer sustain. The flesh was failing. It trembled beneath the weight of the god it carried. And still she asked more of it.
Yes, part of her reasoning was strategic. When he finally released his hold on mortality, when the divine essence tore free, he could shake the world in his passing. His departure could become a weapon, a cataclysm unleashed upon the witches.
But beneath that calculation lay something far uglier.
Selfishness.
She was not ready to let him go.
They had built a life here together, beneath storm-dark skies and among wyverian stone. These were not their true names nor their original forms. They had claimed these bodies in near-infancy, growing into them as mortals did, weaving themselves into the rhythms of this world.
They had lived as husband and wife.
Once Keir let go, he would return to their realm, to the place of their first existence. And Adriana would be compelled to follow. She could not remain far behind him; the tether between them would not allow it.
And when they returned, the old ways would reclaim them.
The vastness of divinity would swallow memory. Mortal years would fade into something distant and insignificant.
Everything they had built here—every quiet morning, every shared glance, every fragile human tenderness—would dissolve like mist.
Adriana pressed her forehead to his hand and closed her eyes.
She did not want eternity.
She wanted this.
Adriana had grown up at Haven’s side. She had become the future queen’s shadow and her confidante. And Haven had been her dearest friend.
It had not been coincidence.
Adriana had woven herself carefully into Haven’s life so she might remain close to Mal Blackburn. So she could observe. Watch. Guard. Adriana had always known the truth about Mal. What she was, what she could become. The ancient power coiled within her like a sleeping serpent.
The God-Killer.
Adriana had sworn to herself that Mal would never awaken into that fate.
And yet she had failed.
Now a colder fear stalked her thoughts: that Mal might one day discover the truth. That Adriana had stood beside Persephone and Hecate all those years ago. That she had helped force Mal into Hell with her own hands.
She had done it believing it was necessary. Believing it was mercy. Believing it would spare the world from devastation.
Mal would have become dangerous, unstoppable. It had seemed the only choice left to them.
The only way.
But now, as events spiralled beyond even divine foresight, Adriana could not silence the creeping dread that perhaps every careful decision, every calculated betrayal, had not prevented catastrophe but shaped it.
And perhaps, in trying to save the world from Mal, she had merely ensured her own undoing.
The moment Adriana left Keir to his restless sleep and descended the stone steps, she halted.
Cronan stood at the foot of the stairwell. He was the largest wyverian ever to walk these lands. He did not speak; he could not. And almost no one knew which being inhabited that formidable vessel for if they did, their knees would surely buckle beneath them.
He was the god of time.
And Keir’s father.
Not counted among the originals. Not ranked beside them.
He was something older.
Something whispered of.
Adriana paused beside him, unease prickling beneath her skin as she met his unblinking stare. Long ago she had glimpsed his true form—not bound by mortal symmetry, not confined to flesh and bone. Cronan was not shaped like the other gods. He was not shaped for comprehension.
He was something that made even her tremble.
There was tension in the way he held himself, a stillness too deliberate to be calm. She followed the direction of this stare towards the towering black doors of the castle. Slowly, hesitantly, she pushed them open and stepped outside, Cronan’s immense presence trailing after her like an eclipse.
The world beyond appeared unchanged.
The sky hung in its usual ashen gloom above the Kingdom of Darkness.
Dead grasses bent beneath a restless wind.
The volcanic mountain loomed behind the castle, the fortress carved into its jagged spine.
In the distance, the Forest of Silent Cries—gateway to the Underworld—brooded in perpetual shadow.
All was as it had always been.
Adriana was about to turn back inside when it struck her.
A sensation.
A presence.
Ancient and uninvited.
Adriana stiffened, turning sharply, her head tilting ever so slightly as she listened.
Her black eyes widened as a figure emerged from the winding path that led from the Forest of Silent Cries. Even though the body was different from the last Adriana had seen, the wickedness was unmistakable. It clung to her like a second skin.
Eris.
She wore a witch’s vessel once more—slimmer this time, plainer. Pale skin dusted with freckles. Long, unruly brown hair whipping about her shoulders in the wind. And those purple eyes, burning with naked hatred.
‘How did you find me?’ Adriana asked, her voice cool despite the tension coiling beneath her ribs.
Eris continued her leisurely march forward, that dreadful, lilting laugh spilling from her lips—a sound that remained unchanged no matter the body she inhabited.
‘It is quite easy to find you, mother,’ she replied sweetly. ‘All I must do is follow the path of betrayal, and there you are, hiding away with my father.’
Adriana exhaled slowly, weariness edging into her features. She had grown tired of Eris’ venom, tired of the theatrics.
‘What do you want?’
‘I merely thought I’d share my plans,’ Eris said, shrugging lightly as if discussing the weather. ‘I’m dreadfully bored. And I find myself longing for a war.’
Adriana’s eyes sharpened. ‘What are you scheming?’
Yet even as she asked, she knew the futility of it. Killing Eris would solve nothing. Death did not hold her. She would simply return to their realm, slip into another vessel, and begin again.
An endless, vicious circle.
‘I am leaving for Velunthar.’
‘Velunthar?’ Adriana’s brow furrowed, unease threading through her voice.
‘Oh, let us say a little birdie told me where I might finally find my real mother.’
Adriana went still.
She refused to let the pain show—the sharp, tightening ache that clenched around her heart at Eris’ choice of words.
She had always known she could never replace the one who had birthed her.
Even in absence, that woman cast a long shadow.
Still, Adriana had tried. She had tried to love Eris despite the thorns, despite the cruelty, despite the darkness that seemed stitched into her very being.
‘Did Persephone tell you?’ Adriana asked, forcing steadiness into her tone. ‘Are you working with her now, Eris? Nothing good will come of that.’
‘Oh, spare me.’ Eris rolled her purple eyes with theatrical exasperation. ‘Do not start preaching. Did you not once work with Persephone to help Hecate cast Melinoe into Hell?’
‘That was a long time ago,’ Adriana replied through gritted teeth. ‘I have changed.’
‘How admirable,’ Eris laughed softly. ‘I have not.’
She turned on her heel, already striding away as though the matter bored her.
‘Wait!’ Adriana called, emotion tightening her throat despite herself. ‘Eris… it does not have to be this way.’
Eris paused only long enough to glance back. Those eyes—no matter the body, no matter the colour—were always the same. Hard. Unyielding.
‘Unfortunately,’ she said coldly, ‘it does.’
Adriana moved instinctively, ready to reach for her, to seize her arm, to force sense into her if she must. But a massive hand closed around her wrist.
Cronan.
He shook his head once, a silent warning from something older than gods, older than grief.
And so Adriana stood rooted to the grey earth, watching her daughter walk away.
Two hearts, long since fractured, breaking all over again.