Chapter 16
Aimee
As I find my footing in Killian’s chamber, I don’t know what feeling to focus on first.
Should I fixate on the outrage bubbling up to the surface at the fact that Killian displayed such a public claim on me by kissing me in front of Mael and all the warriors present? I am not his damn possession.
I absolutely don’t want to address the disappointment swirling at the edge of consciousness over not being able to take the kiss further due to finding Blaise and his latest conquest all tangled up in the middle of Killian’s room.
So I turn to laughter, cackling at Killian’s irritation, his neck veins bulging so prominently that I’d probably be afraid he’s about to have a stroke if he weren’t a vampire. Blaise’s eyes are wide as saucers, and he stumbles before he flings himself at both of us, engulfing us in a bear hug.
“Thank Akaori, you’re safe! I was so worried, out of my Godsdamn mind!” he says between sloppy pecks that he lands wherever he can—on top of my head, my forehead, Killian’s ear, his neck.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, idiot! Stop touching me with those filthy lips of yours that Akaori knows where the fuck they’ve been. And never in your sorry ass of an existence do you kiss Aimee again, in my presence or otherwise.”
Killian is seething like a volcano’s boiling surface right before a devastating rupture, but that doesn’t deter Blaise in the least.
“Oh, shut it, you grumpy old vampire! I was one meltdown away from wreaking havoc in Ryawarath, showing up at the Fae Court blades blazing, and you were probably not even there.”
“Of course not,” I say between laughs. “We were in Reweroth, dummy.”
“I told him as much, but pretty boy here is much like a dog with a boner, erm, I mean bone.”
That voice. Oh, Gods! I would recognize that mocking tone anywhere.
“Sariah?”
“The one and only.”
Sariah appears from behind Blaise, doing a mock curtsy and throwing her straw-colored curls behind her shoulder before she extends her hand to Killian for a handshake.
“Sariah Voxhall. Best friend extraordinaire. Enchanted to make your acquaintance, Vampire King.”
Killian shakes her hand, brows arched, no greeting coming out of his slightly ajar mouth. Leave it to Sariah to manage the unmanageable.
To baffle the imperturbable Vampire King.
I throw myself at her, engulfing her in a hug so tight she whimpers, and I swipe the moisture from under my eyes.
“You’re here, dear Gods, you’re really here!”
“Of course she’s here,” Blaise interjects, clutching his chest in feigned indignation. “Did you doubt my kidnapping skills?”
“I mean…” we both answer at the same time, before erupting into a fit of giggles.
Gods, it’s so good to see her. A cumbersome weight has just lifted from my chest, and for the first time in weeks I feel a sense of ease, of happiness, almost. In this instance, I can forget the dreadful future that awaits us and just revel in having the closest beings to my heart, all in the same room.
Even Killian. As much as I’m still mad at him, I can’t deny the feelings I harbor for him. They might be murky and confusing at the moment, but they are there.
I steal a glance at him, just in time to notice how he stiffens, going impossibly still, his brows furrowed in concentration.
“Blaise,” he says in a voice cold as the ice shards hanging from the balconies of Sangeries, “care to explain why there are hundreds of Fae running around my castle? What the fuck have you been up to in our absence?”
“I fear they are my Dark Umbras, King Killian,” Sariah answers sheepishly.
“Your what?” I ask, confused.
“Maybe it’s better if you sit down for this story, kitty cat,” Blaise answers instead of Sariah, his tone conveying a note of worry. He looks between the three of us and the mess on the floor, his earlier happy-go-lucky demeanor gone. “Perhaps we should move this party to your study, Killian.”
“So you’re half of the leadership of an ancient, occult order meant to wait for my arrival and awakening,” I say in a pained voice.
Sariah nods slowly, with measured movements. The only sign that she’s not as calm and collected as she looks is the slight tremble of her little finger that is tapping a hushed hum against the tabletop of Killian’s desk.
“And you were tasked with befriending me and keeping a close eye on me until said awakening, under the suspicion that it was I, the real savior of the prophecy, and not my sister.”
I keep waiting for the fury to build, for its flame to spark inside my soul before burning me.
But the only thing rearing its decrepit head inside me is loneliness.
The unmistakable, sinking realization that I’ve always been utterly alone.
Not now, in this moment, with Killian’s hand wrapped protectively around my shoulder in a sign of support.
Alone in retrospect.
The girl who ran away from home and started a new life in Annerough. That learned how to dance, moved in with a quirky and unapologetic Fae, and got a job at the Twinkling Meadow. That believed she had found one genuine friend, someone who made her better, who accepted her, demons and all.
Turns out that girl was always alone.
Just a mark.
A target to safeguard.
An unaware part of the prophecy that’s been hanging over my head since I drew my first breath, even before it was clear I was its central pawn.
Sariah’s bottom lip trembles as if she wants to say something, but she hangs her head low and gives another defeated nod.
Killian’s fingers squeeze my shoulder, and I lean into his touch unconsciously.
Isn’t it ironic that he’s trying to be here for me when the last good memory of my past crumbles to dust?
“Do you, um—do you hate me now?” she asks in a small voice, and I wish I could give her a resolute “Yes.”
Cold.
Unflinching.
Uncaring.
But I can’t.
“I don’t.”
The words escape my lips with a heavy sigh. “It pains me that my only friend for five years was a spy on a mission, but I think I understand. You did not mean me harm.”
“I truly didn’t. My brother and I, it runs in our bloodline to protect the Foretold One.
We were sworn to secrecy by blood magic.
You don’t know how many times I wished I could tell you the truth about the Dark Umbras, about everything,” Sariah says, her hand reaching out to touch mine.
Her fingers hover in the air, as if she’s unsure whether I’d welcome the gesture.
I thread my fingers through hers, giving her a tired smile.
No, I could never hate Sariah.
I see the goodness in her. She might have lied to me, but her betrayal tastes bittersweet.
I lost the image of a friendship I thought I had, but we gained a powerful ally with unforeseen resources. And maybe we’ll build a stronger sisterhood, based on truth this time around.
“I understand better than most that some candors are harder to share than others. And some lies are meant to protect oneself or others, although they end up doing more harm than good,” I say, stealing a glance at Killian.
Something akin to regret swims in his hooded eyes as he stares directly into my battered soul.
“You are a better person than I could ever wish to be, little umbra,” he whispers for only my ears to hear. An unspoken moment passes between us, one of mourning.
A sense of melancholy washes over me at what could have been if only he had extended me the same grace I am showing Sariah. But what good can it bring us to dwell on the past much longer?
“I can’t wrap my head around the fact that you have a brother,” I say, facing her once again.
“Oh, believe me, kitty cat, you haven’t missed out on anything with that one. He’s a real piece of work,” Blaise interjects in his jolly voice, gaining a smack over the head from Sariah. “Ouch! What? It’s true! Your brother is something else.”
“Soren is as committed to the cause as I am. He’s overseeing the border crossing of our warriors from the other side, and he will be joining us soon.”
“How many warriors do you have in this order of yours?” Killian asks, voice sharp and calculating. The softness has disappeared from the edges of his appearance; his presence is once again commanding, that of a true king.
“Thousands,” Sariah answers. “Soldiers, spies, courtesans, Fae from all over the kingdom. Some will stay behind to be our eyes and ears in the Fae court.”
Killian grunts his approval before addressing Blaise.
“And you’ve taken care of things on our end for their arrival?”
“Yes, Mattya and Axel are in charge of welcoming the groups as they reach Drovillan, directing them to the castle. For now, they’ve been occupying the barracks and the servants’ quarters, but we’ll move them into the city as more show up.”
“So that’s where the boys disappeared to,” Sariah says with a sly smile painted on her face. “I’ve been wondering where those hotties are.”
Blaise makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat, but ignores her comment.
I wonder what that’s about?
“What can you tell us about the prophecy?” Killian asks, seemingly oblivious to the awkward shift in the room’s energy.
“Our Order was founded by Ereshkygall herself,” Sariah answers, and my pulse spikes. She knows about Ereshkygall too? Why is the Goddess of Death so tangled up in this story?
“Before the last ancient battle between good and evil, a vision showed itself to the Gods. The outcome was bleak, and there would be only one survivor. A keeper of the prophecy, tasked with keeping the memory of what had passed alive. The Gods died on the battlefield, except for Ereshkygall. She went into hiding, but not before she gave my ancestors the mission to wait in the shadows for the birth of the Foretold One. The one that would end the cycle of violence.”
“We know about Ereshkygall,” I say, my voice above a whisper. “K’haram helped me unlock a memory of a vision I had when I got my powers. We need to find her, but we don’t even fucking know where to begin our search.”
“K’haram?” Blaise asks quizzically.
“The last dragon,” I answer at the same time as Sariah.
“Wait, you know about him too? You know what’s going on?”
My mind is swimming with endless questions. Everything is painfully connected, and yet I don’t hold any answers.
“I do,” she answers, “but this is not my story to tell. My role is to help you find the Goddess. The secret of her resting place has been passed down from one generation to the next in my family.”
“Where is she?” Killian asks, coming to stand fully behind me. His hand on my shoulder tenses slightly in anticipation.
“Deep in the belly of the Saunoque Mountains. There’s a system of tunnels and caves erased from the annals of history.”
“Umbra, we can shadow travel there immediately.”
The feverish urgency in Killian’s tone matches my own. Evident cracks fracture his composed exterior. He’s as ready as I am to get to the bottom of all of this.
“No, you can’t,” Sariah interjects. “I can give you the location of the hidden entryway to the cave system, but from there you’ll have to go on foot. Magical wards protect the entire underground maze against shadow-walking. You’ll have to pass a series of trials too.”
“Trials?” I ask, dumbfounded. “Now we have to jump through fucking hoops, or what?”
“I don’t know the exact nature of the trials, only that they are magically designed to be passed by the prophesied saviors and no one else. A failsafe to ensure nobody else stumbles upon the slumbering Goddess.”
“And if we don’t pass them?” Killian inquires, his tone clipped.
“That’s not a possibility. You are the saviors. You will pass.”
I feel the strength of conviction behind Sariah’s words. Her faith in me, in us, is unwavering. But a tendril of doubt creeps in, nonetheless. What if we’re not able to surpass the challenges left behind by an all-powerful, cruel Goddess thousands of years ago?
My shadows slide soothingly on my skin, like the warm embrace of a loved one. I understand the meaning behind it.
We will not fail.
“Indulge me, though,” Killian insists. “What would happen?”
Sariah’s look is somber as she whispers the death sentence. “You would meet your end. How, I don’t know.”
My muscles go taut, and I suppress a shiver. But Killian feels it, regardless. His fingers curl protectively against my collarbone.
“We will not die today, little umbra. I promise you this.”
I sure hope he’s right.
But even if we’d be facing certain death, it wouldn’t matter. We have the weight of the realm on our shoulders, a responsibility far greater than our individual well-being.
Not because I’m the Foretold One.
Not because it’s my evil sister who threatens to be Imiryion’s undoing.
Because it’s the right thing to do.
For all the innocents out there. No matter their race.
Vampires.
Fae.
Humans.
They all deserve to know peace.
“I’d like a proper bath and a change of clothes this time before we go,” I say, glancing at Killian, and his only response is a half-smirk.
“Actually,” Blaise says, “if we could postpone the doom and gloom for one more day, tonight is the last night of Kronna. You always spend it among your peers, Killian. I believe it’s wise to give them a sense of normalcy during another gruesome war that befell us. Hope is a powerful weapon.”
“Spoken like a genuine leader, pretty boy,” Sariah jests from beside him. “Who knew you had it in you?”
Blaise grumbles under his breath, something that sounds a damn lot like, “You’ll be the death of me, moonlight,” just as Killian nods his approval.
“I suppose we can all take a reprieve for one night. And I would like you to see Kronna, little umbra.”
“What is it?” I ask, not bothering to hide my curiosity.
“Only the biggest celebration in Wrahta, kitty cat,” Blaise answers animatedly. “A kingdom-wide jubilee in honor of Killian’s coronation. But the best party happens here in Drovillan. It will be a night to remember.”
“Why doesn’t it surprise me, Blaise, that where there’s a chance at debauchery, that’s where you’ll be?” Sariah giggles, making Blaise sputter.
“As if you’re not the same,” I retort, laughing. “Come,” I say as I stand from my seat and grab her hand in mine. “If there’s a feast to prepare for, I’d like to do it together, for old times’ sake.”
Sariah recognizes the gesture for what it is: an olive branch that she readily grabs.
“See you later, pretty boys. That means you too, Vampire King,” she says over her shoulder to a flummoxed Killian and a mumbling Blaise as I guffaw in delight next to her.
For however short-lived it might be, my heart is light and carefree.