34. Chapter Thirty-Four
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CAIUS
“ I didn’t know.” Wilder sinks into the armchair next to the bed, haunted. His cheekbones are more pronounced in the harsh light, shadows pooling in the hollows beneath his eyes. “About the guard. What he did to her.”
He looks like we all feel.
Devastated.
Enraged.
Gutted.
Like we could set the realm on fire, and we’d stare through it, unblinking, numb to the flames licking at our skin as everything burned to ash around us. Everything she endured—what we failed to protect her from—settles over us all.
I ache like when Aggonid died. A lot of it has to do with what we’re feeling through the bond, but a large portion of it is because we couldn’t keep her safe.
“None of us knew,” Em murmurs.
Morte sleeps fitfully in our massive bed, her small form nearly swallowed by the dark silk sheets. Even in sleep, her brow furrows, and her lips tremble as if holding back sobs.
I lean against the headboard, my tail wound around her bicep as I watch her sleep. She’s curled on her side, her face pressed against Aggonid’s sternum as he holds her.
Emeric sits at the foot of the bed, one leg dangling off the end while he keeps the other tucked under him. Normally, you can see his dimples, but it’s been a long time since I’ve seen him give a genuine smile.
Maybe we can all find our way back to that again.
Aggonid's fingers absently stroke Morte's hair as she sleeps, his stare distant, his other hand toying with the necklace at his throat.
“Where do souls go when they’re done here?” Wilder props his head in his fists, elbows on his splayed knees.
Aggonid’s fingers pause mid-stroke in our mate’s crimson hair. The motion of his thumb against the necklace at his throat falters, the metal of it catching faintly in the firelight.
Memories of a past he can never let go.
His eyes shift, sharper now, though he doesn’t answer immediately. Wilder’s question lingers like smoke, curling through the silence, daring anyone to breathe it away.
“Once a soul has served its punishment here, it returns to the River of Souls. The body turns to ash, and the essence of who they were dissipates, becoming part of the flow,” I offer. Did Aggie forget?
“The river doesn’t take all of them,” Aggonid finally says, his tone edged with reluctance. His red eyes don’t leave Morte, but there’s something harder in his posture now.
Emeric sits up. “Some souls get trapped in the current.”
“But finding one …?” Wilder rises to his feet.
Emeric shakes his head. “It’s not like calling someone’s name and hoping they answer.”
Wilder turns toward him, his words pointed. “But they can be found, theoretically?”
Emeric straightens, the faintest hint of frustration crossing his face. “The river isn’t just a stream with a path to follow. It shifts, it twists. It devours everything it touches, save the reaper’s ferries.” He huffs out a laugh. “No, they can never be fou?— ”
“—But they can.” I interrupt, turning my head towards Aggie next to me.
Aggonid exhales harshly, breaking his silence. “It can be navigated.”
Emeric’s head snaps toward him, disbelief flashing in his eyes. “You don’t navigate the River of Souls. Gods, no one would survive it.”
Wilder steps forward, his movements restless, as if the energy building under his skin could ignite at any moment. “If there’s a chance—even a slim one—we take it.” He stops next to the bed. “Couldn’t we just ask the reapers where it is?”
Aggie shakes his head. “Doesn’t work like that. It fucks up the balance.”
Emeric rises as he shakes his head, striding to the edge of the room to look out the window. “You think I don’t want to find him? You think I haven’t already thought of it? The reapers don’t answer to anyone, and the river—” He cuts himself off, his fists tightening. “She’d never forgive us if one of us gets killed, too.”
“And yet,” Aggonid interjects, his shadows spilling off the bed, “you’ll do it.”
The hellhound stares at him, a hint of rebellion in his depths. “What makes you so certain?”
Aggonid’s grip tightens on the necklace. The faint clink of metal sounds in the quiet. “Because I’m not asking. I’m telling you.”
“It can’t be done!” Emeric whispers harshly.
Aggie smirks. “Oh, but it has.”
The memory wiggles its way into me, sparking hope where there is little to be found. Along with that memory is how it felt watching Aggie break down, day after day, for hundreds of years, searching for what he needed.
“What?” Wilder pauses his gait.
Aggonid's eyes blaze with a dangerous light as he meets Emeric's wide-eyed stare. "It has been done before. By me. It’s why I can’t do it again."
The room falls silent, his words settling over the others. Em looks on in disbelief, while Wilder stills .
“We should wake Morte up for this. If there’s a way we can get Az back, she should hear it.” Em glances down at her.
“I don’t want her getting hurt,” Wilder snarls. “If we tell her there’s a snowball’s chance we can bring him back, she’ll try to do it herself.”
Morte stirs in her sleep, and Aggonid’s hand resumes its gentle stroking of her hair.
“It won’t be as difficult this time, not now that I know how to navigate it.” My mate tilts his head back, resting against the headboard. “And I think we’ve kept enough from her.”
“How?” Wilder breathes, desperate hope in his eyes.
We all want to bring Azazel back. If only to see a little levity in our mate’s eyes again.
Aggonid continues his ministrations of soothing our mate’s slumbering form. I’m pretty sure he’s using sleep magic to help heal her troubled heart. “It was a long time ago. Shortly after I took the throne.” His eyes grow distant, lost in memory as his voice takes on an ancient sorrow. “There were two souls I couldn’t bear to lose. Two people I loved more than anything.” His fingers tighten around the necklace. “I searched for three hundred years, scouring every inch of the Underworld, until I found a way to navigate the River of Souls.”
Wilder stops at the foot of the bed, taking Emeric’s vacated position near our feet. “How? What did you do?”
Em stares at Aggie, shock written across his features. “That’s impossible, the river would’ve torn you apart.”
“I made a deal with the Gravewoken.”
“A deal with the Gravewoken?” The hellhound breathes, his eyes taking on a skeptical look. “What kind of deal?”
Aggonid's focus remains fixed on Morte's sleeping form, his fingers still gently stroking her hair. "The kind that comes with a price," he says softly. "A price I'm still paying."
A lump forms in my throat. I remember it well. Eventually, she’ll need to know.
“What was the price?” Wilder asks.
Aggonid's eyes finally lift from Morte, meeting the merfae’s stare. There's an ancient pain there, a weariness that speaks of millennia of burden. "A story for another time, perhaps," he says simply.
Emeric puffs out his cheeks, breaking the heavy silence left in the wake of Aggie’s words. “So, I go to the River of Souls. And what exactly do I tell the reapers when they demand their price? What do I offer when they refuse?”
Aggonid stares off in the distance for a while, haunted, before returning his attention to Emeric. “You tell them I have two souls worth trading.”
Poignant agony flutters through our mating bond.
"Aggie," I say softly, my tail tightening reflexively around Morte's arm. "You can't mean?—"
His red eyes meet mine, filled with a will that brooks no argument. "I do."
All the air punches from my lungs and tears prick at the back of my eyes.
Wilder takes in the pained expression on Aggonid’s face, then the tears swimming in mine. “Whose?”
“My parents.”