18. Delphine
But forever was no longersomething either of us was guaranteed.
I stood at the edge of the Sand Court with Armene and Caldamir at my side when Nyx came to join us. We’d stayed together, the two of us, in that oasis he’d created as long as we could, but we both had our own fates to prepare for. Fates that we had to face alone.
Before me, a three-sided courtyard opened out towards the desert, stairs leading down to the sand that now glittered golden in the freshly rising sun. By noon, that sun would cast this court in the kind of sweltering heat that would cause the sand in the distance to ripple like water, casting a mirage that turned the wasteland into a shimmering distant pool of gold. But by noon, this battle would likely be over, and if we were lucky—so would the war.
Far in the distance, where the dunes melted into the distant slope of mountains, they’d already appeared.
Deimos and Mordrigal’s army.
And far before them, walking across the sands like two dark shadows, were their leaders. The other two high kings of faerie, side by side.
There was something unsettling about seeing the two of them together, even at a distance. It was less about the sight of them, one cloaked in shadows, the other glinting in the light that reflected off the massive plates of his armor, and more about the way their power clashed. I could feel it, even from the distance slowly closing between us. It was like oil and water trying to mix, one fae responsible for the flow of life-giving glamour to all of faerie, the other responsible for the glamour of death. They warred with each other even as the two high kings stood as allies. It made my own glamour writhe and sour within me, as if I was in the presence of something inherently wrong.
Nyx’s presence brought a calm I didn’t expect, his light feet bringing him to my side so silently that I didn’t notice him until he stood close enough for me to feel the flutter of his jacket brush my arm. The movement snapped me out of reverie, however, and the moment it did, I felt him too. His glamour was warm and soft, like a summer breeze. It was calming, airy, and seductive—the very opposite of the one that crashed into me next.
Nereus had arrived.
Tethys’ brother preceded the salty scent of his own glamour. Armene’s advisors scurried to announce him, but he didn’t wait for their flowery words. His boots, heavy leather that carried that familiar musk of his court, stomped heavily out onto the sands that swirled across the top of the steps until he came to stand at Caldamir’s side. He said nothing, at first, just looked at the four of us with a solemn expression on his face before he bowed his head.
A gnawing ache took hold of me deep inside at the sight of Tethys’ regent. I’d known it was too much to ask, too much to hope, that the god of the sea would free Tethys to stand beside us. It was already too much that he’d allowed him the time that he had. But at least now, all five princes or not, all five courts of Avarath stood before Mordrigal united, for the first time. And this time, they had another court, another high king, too.
This time, they had me.
There was something broken about Nereus this time. He was not the proud fae we met on his brother’s throne. He’d been humbled, reminded that he was not the true keeper of his kingdom—but more than that, he’d been reminded of where we all stood. We were all on the brink of losing what little we held on to. We were all fractured, worn thin, far too close to breaking than any one of us was willing to admit.
That was why we had to win here, why we had to win now.
It had been five hundred years in faerie since the last war, and already, it was far too soon for another.
The sight of an army at the two high king’s backs should have inspired terror, but instead, it inspired that small blossom of hope that had been slowly burning like an ember within me to glow, once more. It meant at least part of our plan had worked. It meant the rumors Armene whispered had spread exactly where we intended them to. It meant that Deimos already knew we planned to defy him.
It was too soon to tell just how much of their combined armies they brought, too soon to tell how much Deimos was hiding in his own realm, still. But it was a start. It was enough.
Even as I was scanning the horizon, one of Armene’s advisors scurried out from the shadows to whisper something new into his ear. I watched as the newly crowned Prince of Sands dipped his head to listen, the glittering bejeweled crown of his court glinting in the early light. It suited him, his crown, as did the solemn look that accompanied it. He’d taken his crown without ceremony, sworn his oath without celebration. But it was done. It was his. And even now I felt the swell of his power strengthen just as his tie to his own court had.
So too, did I feel Seren’s power strengthen. I wrapped my hand around the crystal in my pocket, the direct connection I still held to him—my own regent in my absence—stronger now that he was back in the court we both shared. His power was weak, still, but it had grown from that tiny grain of sand into what we needed it to be. He stood at the ready, waiting for my word to open the pools should I need them.
Deimos and Mordrigal marched on us, prepared to face all the armies of Avarath and beyond. We hoped we wouldn’t need them, but if we did, they’d be theirs to face.
I just hoped it didn’t come to that.
I just hoped it didn’t come to bloodshed.
I’d promised Icarus an army in exchange for his help, but I didn’t plan on sending one single fae to him that wasn’t already dead—lost in the Afterworld, or lost at Mordrigal’s command.
The closer Deimos and Mordrigal drew, the more I felt my pulse begin to race. It was wrong, to feel excitement—anticipation, even—for what was about to begin. But I’d grown used to the adrenaline of the fight these past months. More, now, weighed in the balance than my own life—so much more—but I couldn’t help it. My glamour screamed to be let out, to be unleashed. It had grown and boiled inside me until it was simmering so hot beneath the surface of my skin that it just dared to be let out. I couldn’t imagine how it would feel if we’d met these high kings on my own turf, in my own court, in the realm of Elysia where my powers would be amplified even further. But here, now, they were already more than enough. I could feel it. I just had to wield them the right way, at the right time, before Deimos discovered just how much I’d mastered them in the mere hours he believed we’d had to prepare.
The tension grew with every footstep the two kings took. Every step that carried them closer to us, the greater I felt their warring powers—the life in Mordrigal and the death at his side. The other princes stood still, heads forward, but Nyx shifted slightly by my side until his hand brushed mine. It was not to soothe me, not to calm my own nerves—far from fearful—but his own. I snuck a single glance at him, just for a second, just long enough to see the way something glittered along the line of his lashes. He looked out at the desert as if he searched for the trees, as if he realized for the first time that there was a good chance he would never see them again.
Not as Prince of the Woodland Court, anyway.
The thought struck me hard, hard enough that I had to force my mind not to wander, not to let the realization settle.
Nyx would die, and with it, he’d lose his court.
Someone else would secede him.
There was no time to ask him who, no time to wonder what fae would step up to take the place of the gorgeous creature beside me. A new weight settled over me as I realized his loss, his sacrifice. Even if Nyx lived to see another day, if Deimos lost him to Icarus, and Icarus one day gave him back—Nyx still lost.
He truly did love me more than himself.
I wished, with all my heart, that there was some way to save him from this fate—but even as I thought it, I knew there wasn’t. I knew I had to let him go through with this.
Not just for Sol, not just for me, but for Nyx.
This was his penance. His reparation. His apology.
I couldn’t take that from him, even if it made those growing fractures deepen even more somewhere inside me.
So, instead, I took his hand, squeezing his honey-drenched palm, my fingers intertwining with his as Deimos and Mordrigal took their final steps and reached the entrance to the courtyard.
The moment they stepped within its walls, within the boundaries of Armene’s court itself, the air changed. It became thinner, somehow. It was as if all three of our glamours, so close together, became so thick that it forced the air out. The magic took up physical space between us. I heard Nyx’s breaths grow shallow, shorter, as if he felt the suffocating slip of oxygen as it drained away.
Deimos’ cloak, this close, was more impressive than ever. He’d changed into battle armaments beneath it, but they only seemed to writhe with shadows on the outside even more. They sucked the light out of the air around him, making the high king seem as if he stood with only one foot in this reality, while the other remained firmly planted beyond the land of the living. Mordrigal, meanwhile, shone with all the brightness of the sun. That sun had risen higher, and now its golden beams caught upon the careful craftsmanship of his armor, making him glint and glimmer with a golden light that only made his stature all the more impressive.
He stood at least half a fae taller than Deimos, and twice as broad. He looked like he fed off the very force of life that flowed through him, that same glamour I felt pouring out and into him like an endless loop of power. But I also sensed something missing in him. Something about his power was imperfect, something kept him from accessing it fully.
I didn’t need to see the glare he fixed Caldamir with to know exactly what that was. But glare he did.
Mordrigal looked at Caldamir with the kind of hate that would make a lesser fae shrivel in his boots.
But Caldamir just met it calmly, unflinchingly.
Beside me, I felt all of them stiffen, slightly, felt their posture straighten, their hands still. Nyx, Armene, Caldamir, and Nereus, every one of them looking down at the other two high kings with all the reverence—if not respect—that they deserved. I felt their power too, but fought the urge to let it shake me. It was strange to think, meeting the eyes of these two most powerful fae in all the realms, and knowing I alone stood strong enough to challenge them. I, a human-born fae who was human only not long ago, had the right to meet their gaze and stand as their equal.
Little did they know just how much I was their equal.
It would have been easy to stand there, facing them, squaring off as we did now for an age. There was so much that passed between us without words, so much more that could, but we were not here to stare. We were here to fight.
It was Deimos who took the final step forward, his power the one that pushed further, testing, into the courtyard as he summed me up one last time before speaking.
A smug look had begun to spread across his face. He didn’t ask if I’d considered his deal. He didn’t need to. He saw all he needed to standing before him.
“I see you’ve chosen not to take what was offered to you,” he said, simply. “Such a shame, for blood did not have to be shed this day.”
I summed him up, too. Took my time. I’d fought against that vile creature, time, for long enough. I was no longer a slave to it.
“Blood may be shed for Avarath,” I said, in response. I felt Nyx’s hand tighten around mine for a second as I spoke, but I resisted the urge to look at him this time. “At least, if it is, it’ll be done to save it from you. From the high kings who wish to disrupt the balance of the realms and poison what the glamour has given us with their greed.”
Deimos didn’t so much as seem to register my words, but Mordrigal did. All his time in slumber had made him forget how to conceal his emotions, or perhaps, he was never one to hide them to begin with. The high king of Avarath visibly seethed. He bared his teeth at me, shining white from inside his massive skull as his eyes sharpened. His size seemed to grow even larger, his frame towering so high above Deimos, above all other fae I’d ever seen, that he looked more god than fae.
It was his turn to step forward, his one, single step, bringing him several paces beyond Deimos. The sand seemed to writhe beneath his feet, as if it was both attracted to and repelled by his touch. It was as if the realm itself was at war with the high king meant to rule it.
“How dare you oppose fate like this?” he bellowed. “How dare you oppose me? You, who were chosen to awaken me, chosen to set things right in the realms. You, instead, choose in your own shortsighted vision, what is right for faerie? For the very fae your kind despise? And after what…days, weeks, mere months amongst us?”
I opened my mouth, ready to answer, but it was Caldamir’s voice that rang out, instead.
He stepped forward too, right to the edge of the steps, eyes flashing. “You’re the one who dares, Mordrigal,” he shouted. “You’re the one so blinded by power that he cannot see how shortsighted he truly is.”
Mordrigal looked at Caldamir again, this time, pure rage replacing the hate that already burned within him. As their eyes met, I felt something stirring in the glamour. It was off, this feeling, as if Mordrigal was trying to draw up a river of power, but something blocked it, something stopped him from actually reaching into it. Before him, Caldamir’s calm exterior began to crack. His hand shook, slightly at first, but then as Mordrigal drew again—harder this time—the rest of the Mountain Prince began to shake, too.
That was it. Caldamir was the dam, the bracelet on his wrist the only thing stopping high king Mordrigal from drawing on the full depth of his power.
Caldamir still shook, but I knew he was hiding the true toll of Mordrigal’s power. I’d seen him writhe from the pain of it, seen him struggle for weeks to control the way it affected him—even with the high king so far away. The fact that he stood here now, shaking but not collapsing, didn’t mean he wasn’t close to breaking. Just because he hadn’t collapsed yet, didn’t mean he wasn’t about to. The bracelet he wore also kept me from feeling the toll it took on Caldamir’s power, but I could see it in his eyes.
“Deimos! I call on you, now, to honor your deal with Nyx. Before the battle begins and your life is forfeit.”
They were bold words I used, I knew, but it was the boldness that broke the spell as both high kings turned, instead, to look at me.
I traded the pain of seeing one of the fae I loved hurt for the pain of witnessing another.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Caldamir stop shaking, even if his feet were still unsteady as he stepped back into line. Armene reached out a hand to steady him—only to be refused. Caldamir straightened, his nostrils flaring as he took in a deep breath and drew himself up on his own.
Meanwhile, Nyx was the one who quivered, now. His hand, still in mine, gripped me tighter. But still, he said nothing. Still, he only nodded at Deimos as the high king of the Afterworld met his gaze, and then looked on as the shadows danced and dove beneath the surface of the sand, only to emerge again with the golden-haired brother I’d so longed to be united with once again.
Sol was even older than I remembered. The last time I’d seen him in the human realm, he’d been a boy. Now he wasn’t just on the brink of becoming a man, he was one.
I wasn’t the only one who’d aged in the last day. How Deimos did it, I didn’t know. I had no time to wonder, not when Sol was stepping forward, his eyes on mine as something glinted like tears between his lashes. He was only allowed to take a few stumbling steps forward, however, before Deimos’ shadows once more lashed out and wrapped around his wrists and ankles, dragging him back.
The horror on my brother’s face was enough to spark a war on its own, if we’d not already been on the brink of it.
Still, even as I glared with my own, rekindled rage, at Deimos, I felt a kinship with his shadows. I felt the way they moved, both the same and yet different from mine. I knew now how different they truly were, but I felt the way they moved just the same beneath my own skin.
Deimos could only hold my attention for so long, however, not when Sol once again looked up at me and I saw, for a second, that boy again. He was fae now, not an ounce of human left in him, same as me. But he was innocent, still.
Somehow, innocent, still.
Unlike me.
I melted at the sight of him, every ounce of rage and hatred evaporating as I looked at my brother, the boy I’d fought so long to save, finally standing before me. It was my fault he was here, my fault he’d been dragged into this, but finally—finally—I was going to be able to set that right.
If it weren’t for that overwhelming sense of devotion, I wouldn’t have been able to allow Nyx to do what he did next.
The Woodland Prince’s grip lessened on my hand, a sudden sense of peace washing through him and into me. It was more than just in his glamour, it was in his body, his face, his very essence. I tore my eyes from Sol to see that Nyx was looking between us, his face registering everything I felt in that moment.
And in that moment, the Woodland Prince finally let go of my hand and stepped forward without hesitation. It was not Deimos who had to complete the deal, however, not Deimos who had the power to pull Nyx down to the Afterworld. To judgment. To death.
It was me.