Chapter 54
“Sylaira,” Vaeron breathed in my ear, his arms tightening around me. “You need to get up and get dressed.”
I groaned, my eyes stiff and swollen. Once again, I’d spent most of the night crying. My mate hadn’t protested in the slightest, not in the days that had passed since Heraphia died. Each time a sob slipped out of me, he was there, holding me tight, telling me everything would be okay.
He absorbed my rage. My sorrow. My pain. He didn’t flinch as I blamed his sister, blamed him, for her death.
The only protest he offered was when I blamed myself for not protecting her.
For letting him catch her instead of me the first time.
For not sneaking virelthorn into her food even though she wanted to See.
For any number of things my mind conjured to ignite self-loathing and scorch myself from the inside.
“I’ve run a bath for you,” he continued, gently dragging me toward the edge of the bed. The only time I’d left it was to relieve myself. I’d barely eaten either.
My head swam as he positioned me upright. Cupping my face, he captured my gaze. “I know this day will be hard for you. But I’ll be right there, by your side. You don’t have to do this alone.”
Alone.
But without Heraphia, without my parents, without my Elessarum friends, wasn’t that what I would always be? Could I really exist in a world without them, where my strongest connection was my mate—the male who happened to be responsible for all my loss?
A muscle feathered in his jaw like he’d been reading my thoughts. But he didn’t comment on them. Instead, he exhaled, long and slow, like he was bracing for something. Probably whatever harsh words wanted to bite out of me.
A gasp burst from me as he gripped my waist and tossed me over his shoulder, striding toward the bathing chamber.
“Hey!” I protested, my ribs banging against his backside. But weakness held me hostage, and I had nothing more than a word to offer him.
He slid me down his torso a moment later, the scent of ghostflowers wrapping around me, heady and intoxicating. Around the bath, low candles burned, their flames flickering and dancing in the mirror’s gleam.
Vaeron tugged on the hem of my tunic, and I lifted my arms overhead, allowing him to remove it as I gaped at what he had arranged.
Petals floated atop the water’s surface, mixing with silky oils. The window was open, allowing fresh forest air to trickle in. The gauzy curtain lifted in a light breeze.
He tugged down my pants, leaving me bare before him. I stepped out of them and leaned down, dipping my fingers into the water.
It was decadently warm.
His hot body crowded mine a moment later. “Get in.”
Those words, a command both soft and firm, had me obeying. I slid into the sunken bath, water trickling in my ears. A moment later, Vaeron stepped in too, and I glimpsed the hard planes of his body before he submerged himself.
When he surfaced, his iron-gray hair darker now that it was wet, he held out his arms. I paddled into them and turned so my back was pressed against his front.
The mirror across from us revealed the darkness that clung to me like a thunderhead.
I welcomed the sight. Memorized it for when I’d need to hold this simmering rage in my hands in the future.
Neither of us spoke as our gazes collided in our reflection. My mate reached for a bar of soap with quiet purpose and brought it to my shoulder. In slow, languid strokes, he cleaned me. I watched each movement, focusing on that instead of the screaming sorrow of my thoughts.
Each wave of heat brought respite to my aching limbs. Eventually, I sighed and surrendered, allowing him to lift my limbs and continue his delicate care.
Not once did he attempt to touch me in a way that was anything other than reverent.
“Duck underwater so I can wash your hair,” he murmured in my ear.
Gulping in a breath, I submerged myself. His strong, sure fingers massaged my scalp, and I let out a low groan. Goddess, did it feel good. I surfaced again, and he worked the floral soap through my roots then along the tangled length of my silver locks.
Twice, I slipped beneath the surface and allowed him to scrub. Then, he applied oil to the ends and twisted them to a bun atop my head. He pinned it in place with a long stick.
Because in reality, he was preparing me for a public display. A performance of grief. A stage I never wanted to be on.
“How are you feeling now?” he murmured, turning me to face him.
“A little better,” I admitted. Something about him bathing me had washed away the worst of my sorrow.
It was…nice to be taken care of like this. When for so long, I had to be strong. Had to always be on alert, ready to sprint.
That hadn’t changed upon arriving at Thalvireth. If anything, it had gotten worse. Especially once the court knew of our mating bond. The whispers that followed me wherever I went. The way Dasha seemed to appear every time I had to return to Vaeron’s rooms by myself.
To surrender to Vaeron’s loving touch was foreign, and yet I found myself craving more of it.
“Thank you,” I whispered, reaching up to brush my hand along the stubble coating his jaw.
He captured my wrist and pressed back into me. “Of course.”
“How did you get this?” I asked, dragging my nail up his cheek and to the scar that bisected his brow. The raised bump was a reminder that he was capable of cruel, savage acts. That he’d fought more times than I knew.
That I’d slapped his sister. Hit him. Bitten him.
Perhaps, I was capable of violence too. I’d thought striking out, even in my own defense, would make me no better than those the Elessarum preached against.
Shame did not take root in my bones. Remorse haunted another soul.
Only a dark, stormy anger brewed inside me. The injustice of it all made me want to crack the sky open and let the rage inside me reign.
And when Vaeron drank me in, I got the sense that he saw it. A flash in his eyes, a pulse down our bond, told me that he relished it.
For a male so controlled, so emotionless much of the time, he certainly seemed to harbor a deep fury.
And mine was rising to match his own.
“Trying to defend my mother against the Demons who attacked our home,” he stated like he was repeating a fact.
“I watched her die right in front of me, a sword through her middle. After that, I took Iaoth and ran. Because I failed then too.” An acute ache stabbed down our bond, long-suppressed grief surging to the surface.
“That is when I also accidentally consumed Demon blood. My hair turned from the color of mist like Iaoth’s to the color of iron ore. ”
Muscles in his jaw ticked, and he looked away.
“Did anything else happen?” I ventured, sensing he was holding information back.
“I don’t know what type of blood magic that Demon possessed," he started, each word dragged from his throat. “But my father was certain it would warp me into a monster regardless. That’s why he carved this reminder into my chest, so when I looked in the mirror, I’d never forget.”
Sympathy pricked my heart. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
His lips pressed to mine for the briefest moments. Like acceptance. Like an apology.
“We need to get going,” he murmured, pulling away.
Of course.
Because in a short while, I would say goodbye to Heraphia, for the last time.
Vaeron held me close while he pulled the plug for the tub. Continued to support me as my legs wobbled. Dressed me in a fine linen gown—a pure, divine white for mourning. For once, he donned the color too.
The rose garden brimmed with people I didn’t know—that Heraphia didn’t know—by the time we reached it. Rows of benches waited for Angels to sit. At the front, two thrones took a center view of the pyre.
When my focus landed on the sticks piled to create a platform, I froze.
No no no no no…
The days I’d lain in bed had been like hiding from the truth. And now that I stood out in the open, there was no running from reality.
A hundred gazes tracked my every movement. Weighed my vulnerability. Studied how Vaeron guided me along.
Because, of course, the two of us, with the upcoming trial by light, were the premier performers for the court.
They weren’t here to mourn my sister. They were here to measure the two of us.
A familiar figure crossed the garden, long, measured strides betraying no emotion. His regal posture, aristocratic nose, and long white hair were so similar to his nephew.
That Ithuriel was present at the funeral spoke volumes. Heraphia hadn’t mentioned running into him at all during her time here. And honestly, with everything going on in my world, I hadn’t even thought of the male whose house we’d broken into, seeking refuge.
“Has–has someone contacted Zuriel?” I asked, my voice no louder than a whisper. I wasn’t sure where he was in the Demon Realm, only that he was fighting on the front.
“I believe Herr Ilythar? sent a raven,” Vaeron murmured, a hand on my lower back encouraging me to continue down the aisle to the front.
There wouldn’t have been time for him to travel back, even if he had wanted to—or could have been released from duty for it.
That rage nipped at my fingers again.
The other Seers in residence watched us pass, grief shimmering in their red-rimmed eyes. I nodded to a few with whom I was friendly. Whose names I’d snatched and seared into my memory after the first one perished all those weeks ago.
To my shock, they each pressed a single palm over their hearts, then turned them outward—the gesture Elessarum made to one another to show unity.
Not caring who witnessed my treason, I returned the signal.
Several servants in the periphery mirrored us. Lyriasthe was there too, blending in with the rest.
And suddenly, I didn’t quite feel so alone.
It wasn’t just a comfort; it was a count. A tally of those who wanted changes to happen. Who was willing to risk a subtle statement under the monarchs’ noses.