Chapter 2 A VENGEFUL SMOKE
A VENGEFUL SMOKE
Acacius
Rain fell from the night sky and pelted the top of Acacius’s tense shoulders, drenching his hair and clothes as they melded to his skin.
Jaws clenched, he stood in front of Ruelle’s statue, the polished granite dripping with rainwater. Beads rolled like liquid glass over her eyes and down the crevices of her full lips—all made of stone, all perfectly carved.
His insides twisted with the cut of her thread still trapped in his ears.
He wasn’t sure why he’d come here. Perhaps to relish in his misery, in the throes of self-inflicted torture that kept his eternal agony ablaze. It was his only way to see her, feel close to her, as much as he could, now that she was…
Acacius glared down at the silver plaque with her name elegantly engraved across it. Bouquets of flower arrangements surrounded it, their ends wilted and soggy from the downpour.
It had been four months since her death, four months since he’d watched her reunite with Klaus in the Land of the Dead.
The memory was like hot iron branding his heart.
Behind his eyes, it was all he saw—her arms draped around Klaus’s neck, swaying against him, her face lit with a smile, lips pressed into his. Such unblemished happiness.
He curled his lip at the sickness clotting in his stomach.
That could have been with me.
Ruelle didn’t have to die.
Acacius could’ve been her happy ending.
Marina, his Chaos whispered.
Divine power buzzed in his fingertips and festered like a manic itch up his arms. His hands balled into fists at his sides to quench the madness.
He was not in his own Land where his Chaos and Ruin could run freely. Here, he would need to keep himself in check to avoid deities feeling his call to run rampant and topple the city’s walls.
Acacius looked up at the statue again.
Perhaps hope had brought him here, to mourn her once and for all. Leave his love for her in the particles of the stone. Let the rain wash it all away.
He was sick of her ghost plaguing his thoughts: a specter, always there. Ruelle’s laughter infected his mind, the sound like a melody he dreamed of, yearned for, but never heard slip from her lips in his presence. She sang it so effortlessly with Klaus.
A sour taste hung in the back of his throat as a distorted, wet hiss came from behind him.
He made no move to turn and greet his sister. Her presence was soft, like frost in the dawning, quiet hours of the morning. That solace triggered a reaction to replace her stillness with wild frenzy.
He was in no mood to speak with Iliana.
She stepped up to his side, her heels rippling the puddles at their feet. “Brother, where is your mask?”
The fall of the rain roared harder.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her hands joined in front of her blush blouse. The flood quickly saturated the chiffon fabric of her skirt and flattened her brunette strands. She wore a thin sheer over the bottom portion of her face, revealing her golden eyes under a furrowed brow.
Iliana’s original hair color was the same ivory blonde as his own, but much like himself, she hid her identity, for the same reason that Cassius decided to keep his real name private.
As the first three deities in existence, they were not short of enemies.
Acacius ignored her question and continued staring straight ahead, past Ruelle’s statue, at the arched ruins. Ivy wrapped around the dark, jagged stone. In the crevices of the green backdrop, slivers of Isolde’s lights spired through. The ancient city of deities.
“What do you want, Iliana?” It came out tart, unwelcoming.
“You cannot keep missing Council meetings, Brother.”
“Call it my bereavement leave,” he grumbled.
The last thing he desired was to sit across from the new High Goddess of Fate, Solasta; to listen to Mavros, the new High God of Death and Curses, speak while seated in his brother’s throne; and most of all, he didn’t trust himself to be in such close proximity to Naia, the High Goddess of Eternity—the one who stole Ruelle’s immortality and birthed a demigod that had the blood to end a god’s life.
Put in that position, he feared the thrashing monster of his Ruin would claw its way out and devour Naia.
Iliana’s precious temple-palace and her realm of Entity would be invaded by his Chaos.
The Council members, specifically Azara, wouldn’t have the patience for it.
The new members wouldn’t know how to handle it. It wouldn’t end well for anyone.
If he were being honest with himself, it was taking a hellish amount of self-control to keep his tendencies contained at that moment.
Iliana pulled her gaze from his profile and onto the statue before them. “I am here because the gods are uneasy.”
“Because I stand in front of a memorial for one of them.” Acacius’s mouth twisted.
The first memorial for a deity in all of history.
Saying it aloud was visceral, like a blade slashing through his middle. A reminder of his poignant reality: Ruelle had lost her immortality and willingly cut her own thread, all to be reunited with Klaus.
“The Himura child’s blood did not cause Ruelle’s death,” Iliana stated, her collected tone further prying at his already taut nerves.
“But it did Vale’s. One of us is dead because of its blood.”
Iliana rubbed at her temples. “Acacius, that was ruled an accident.” Her tone shifted as she let out a stale breath. “You would know this if you attended the meetings.”
A cynical sound left him. “I was there. It was no accident.”
Iliana dropped her hand. “Vale’s death was caused by Ruelle’s meddling.”
Acacius ground his molars, his sister’s words piercing his patience like bullets.
Vale was dead because of Marina.
He shook his head in disapproval, fixing his sight away from Iliana. “I told you once, the child’s blood will end us all. You do not wish to listen, so I have nothing more to say.”
He could feel her eyes probing him, as if she were searching through the hatred that blackened his mood.
“Acacius, I know you are hurting.” Her voice went soft again, coaxing him to look over at her. Droplets washed down her face. The fabric of her mask stuck to her lips. “But please, do not amplify your Chaos amongst the deities because you are against the Himura clan and Naia. It is not just.”
The muscles in his forearms flickered as he squeezed his fists tighter.
“If you do not wish to do this for me,” Iliana said, “then consider what Ruelle would have wanted. She is the one who defended the Himura clan centuries ago when the deities stood against them.”
The mention of Ruelle, of the Himura clan, of the past that Ruelle had so meticulously weaved together, all of it sparked vengeance in his blood.
“She did so for her own gain!” He took a step into Iliana’s space, his voice trembling with rage. “Because she knew the threads of Fate would lead to her death!”
To her precious Klaus.
Iliana studied him for a long moment, a sadness flitting across her expression.
“My darling little brother.” She cupped his cheek, a soft gesture that soothed a bit of his anguish.
A mysterious power of Iliana’s that had affected him since he was a mortal boy.
“Ruelle was a snake. She fooled us all. Do not let her drown you in despair.”
Acacius recoiled from her touch, baffled by the dissonance of her tender tone married to such disdainful words.
He turned away from her. “Leave me, Iliana.”
The ricocheting of rain against the marble echoed louder. Its veil thickened, hazing the view of Ruelle’s statue.
Iliana stepped back, chin down, without another word. Her divine power lapped behind him, a wet zip announcing her departure.
Rose petals lifted and floated in the grooves of the granite from the floral arrangements decorating the statue’s base. Acacius stared at the lone white petal twirling and carrying itself along the small stream to the side where it drained out.
He was alone again.
The petal stuck to the marble, and the rain pummeled down on it.
Iliana’s request echoed in the back of his mind, his chest clenching at the thought of disappointing her. And for a brief moment, he considered attending the next Council meeting. All because his sister asked, a frustrating pull only his two siblings had over him.
And the worst part was Iliana knew this. He had known this ever since they were children. Acacius, young and full of life, had admired her and Cassius. In his mortal life, he’d wished to do and be anything they wanted of him.
His absence at a Council meeting was hardly abnormal. Schedules and consistencies were never his strengths. Over the years, he would miss a few in a row, and eventually, Cassius would appear and chide him. A fun ritual now ceased.
Acacius gave one last look at Ruelle’s statue—the regal pose of her arms down at her sides, palms facing outward, chin raised gracefully, and the exquisite, gloomy backdrop of the ivy and rain. The sky was weeping, just as Acacius had for the last four months.
However, the time for tears was over.
Acacius ripped around, giving himself permission to channel his ruinous impetuosity on the task at hand.
The act of turning his back on the statue and exiting the alcove lanced in his chest.
With each step, the fissures webbed deeper through him. He couldn’t help the inherent need to cling to the only thing left of Ruelle—a fucking statue.
The harsh reality once again knotted like a ball of roots in his stomach.
Without his consent, Ruelle’s final moments flashed like strokes of lightning in his mind. The dirt staining her skin, the dull strands of her amber hair, the dagger in her grip, the delicate gold thread.
Enough of this.
A midnight-blue cloud rippled up from the ground and devoured him.
In his next step, the scenery expanded to an atrium that acted as a concourse for traveling deities. The grand hall existed between realms, a bridge escorting gods and goddesses into Isolde.