Chapter 48
“Please stay safe,” I whispered to Vaeron, memorizing the fierceness etched into his dark brows and the set of his jaw. The expression that spoke of his devotion to me. To his steadfast sense of duty.
“I’ve fought Demons countless times, little fugitive. There is no one powerful enough to stop me nearby,” he murmured, thumb brushing against my cheek.
But fear had its claws deep in me. I’d almost lost him once; I couldn’t do that again. I couldn’t live if he died. Not in this realm. Not in this life.
“I’m so glad you have access to your Angel magic again,” I told him, standing on tiptoes to lace my fingers around his neck. I stared at his eyes, the stormy lavender even darker in the daylight.
“I won’t use my other power in front of them,” he murmured, low enough so only I could hear. “That is a secret we need to keep. Together.”
“Instead of from each other for once,” I teased, but neither of us smiled. In that moment, levity had no room to breathe.
“Indeed,” he replied, curving down and pressing his lips against mine. “We’ll have a constant connection. You’ll be in my head, and I’ll be in yours.” He tapped his temple for emphasis.
“Every half hour, you check in,” I reminded him.
He nodded, and I released him, fingers gliding down his torso before falling to my sides. His hand lingered on my hip as he called for everyone to mount up.
Lyriasthe and I were to stay behind with the wounded who couldn’t press forward.
Maelsar had recovered from the poison overnight, standing tall as he said goodbye to his intended.
She threaded her fingers in his tousled hair, and he offered her a devastating grin.
They reminded me so much of when Zuriel and Heraphia had first been together. An ache bloomed behind my ribs.
This is all for you, Heraphia.
And I knew she’d be proud of the female I was becoming. We’d spent all our lives believing peace was the answer, but in the end, she’d realized how foolish that notion was. As had I.
I didn’t like violence, but I understood its place, its necessity in ending the war.
Vaeron pressed one last kiss to the top of my head and stepped away. My skin burned where he’d touched me, the heat lingering even as he shoved his foot into the stirrup and settled atop his stallion.
Lyriasthe drifted to my side as the soldiers rode up the hill and into the trees, headed for the wall. Both our males glanced over their shoulders a heartbeat before they turned out of sight.
“If he dies out there, I’m going to kill him,” she huffed.
That pulled a laugh from me. “They’ll be fine.” But my voice wavered over the words.
“He used his–” she glanced around us, ensuring we wouldn’t be overheard “–magic again, didn’t he? To kill Althirion and Nymirae.”
I knew the change in coloring was obvious. “Yes. Does it look bad?”
“Apparent, more like,” she replied, playing with the ends of her creamy hair. “If Iaoth or Stadiel see him, they’ll know.”
“Let’s hope Ishim doesn’t notice.” I’d never met him, though by the way Vaeron and Maelsar spoke of him, they didn’t hold him in the highest regard.
We trekked back to the cave, checking on the wounded.
The mainland healer who’d saved Maelsar had remained behind too, our greatest protection if attackers came.
But Ilae and Ysolthe flew overhead, under strict instruction from my mate to alert either of us should they so much as spot a flicker of black.
I nudged my auravane, and she sent me an image of a waterfall, icy shards gathered at its base. It was serene in a way such a place had no right to be in the midst of war.
The memory of the bloodstained falls from my prophecy slammed into me, and a shiver wracked my frame.
“I need to sit,” I told Lyriasthe, stumbling toward the closest fire. The world swam around me, and I was suddenly dizzy and lightheaded. Even the flames distorted as I stared at them, trying to ground myself.
I’m about to have a vision.
I opened my well wider, tipping my face toward the sky and asking the Goddess to show me the way forward. To show me more about the six thrones. To show me more about the sacrifice.
Words had always been my weapon—and now I wielded my Sight the same.
A cold sweat slicked my skin as my friend shouted for the healer.
“No,” I croaked, light rearing up within me. “Don’t want him to hear–”
Nausea churned in my gut. Darkness edged in on my periphery. Lyriasthe’s next words were lost in the storm of my power.
And then…
I Saw.
A female knelt at a stone altar, a simple bowl resting atop it, alongside a bronze knife. Her head was bowed, and Demonic slipped from her lips, a frantic sound I couldn’t understand. Slowly, I floated toward her, taking in the black veil held in place by an ornate circlet.
There was something different about her this time from all the times I’d Seen her before…
She lifted the blade and sliced deep into her palm, squeezing her lifeblood into the sacrificial bowl. A chill crept up my spine. I was witnessing something sacred, something holy—something I shouldn’t be.
“Weaver, Giver, Reaper,” she whispered, the words clear in my mind. “Hear my prayer.”
Yet she didn’t speak the common tongue, the guttural sounds of the Demon language echoing in the bare space.
I stepped around so I was facing her, enraptured by her worship.
“Weaver, who spins the threads of our fates, lay down the path for me to tread, unyielding and unbroken. I walk at your command, my feet bound by the threads you have woven. Guide me to glory as we march beneath the banner of war. For the Kral, for the Halálhívó, for your children, I bleed. Bind my fate to theirs, that we may rise victorious.”
She prostrated herself before the altar, loose hair tumbling to the ground around her.
“Giver, bless my people with abundant wells of magic so they wield in your name during battle. Let the blood they spill slake your thirst, and let us slaughter those who defy your design. Gift us with the power we need to bring majesty to your name. By my blood, I honor you.”
Never had I heard the Demon prayers spoken like this, and with such devotion.
“Reaper, whose curse falls upon those who stray from the path, let me not taste your wrath. I offer this blood as a pledge of my loyalty. Let your eye wander elsewhere and damn those who question your mighty power. Should I sin, may your curse be swift and unrelenting.”
Finally, she straightened, her gaze lifting to the sky. And when her veil fell back, revealing her face to me, ice shattered through my veins.
Because this wasn’t the Halálhívó’s mate. No, this was someone new.
“Let the Halálhívó’s victory be swift,” she continued, her throat bobbing. “I cannot ask that the Kral’s reign be eternal any longer, Reaper. Giver, I plead with you to let me See what the Weaver has wrought for me. For my cousins.”
Realization washed through me.
This was the Demon High Priestess, the third in the powers that ruled the Demon Realm. Vaeron had told me she was a Seer too—the only Demon who had ever been gifted the magic by the three Fates.
“For Assyria. For all your children.”
Her hands darted beneath her veil, and she wiped away tears.
“You have not given me any visions since Xannirin…” She shook her head, letting her chin drop to her chest. “I need your guidance now more than ever. Please, tell me of the sacrifice that must be made. Please don’t let it be my death. I’ve already suffered so much…”
I couldn’t breathe. There was that word—sacrifice. And she knew it too.
If the Fates had offered her a similar prophecy to what the Goddess had offered me…
The totality of her words clicked into place a heartbeat later. She thought she was the sacrifice. That her death would be the end that I’d Seen.
She sniffed, drawing my attention back to her. Slowly, she removed the circlet from her brow, setting it next to the knife. The veil fell away next, the opaque black piling beside the blood-filled bowl.
And I finally glimpsed her face, unobstructed.
Through space and time, our eyes met. One Seer looking at another. Energy sparked under my skin as her brows furrowed. Her lips moved, Demonic sliding out, but this time, I did not understand her words.
She reached forward, her slender fingers grasping like she was going to snatch me to her, but they passed through me like my form was nothing more than air.
“Reaper…” She shook her head, then smoothed down her skirts. Gathering her things, she turned, headed for a door. I chased after her, the future still holding strong and clear.
She knocked twice, and it swung out, revealing two guards in polished white armor. Plumes atop their helmets dipped as she passed them…into a white stone hall with a trickling water feature.
The Divine Atrium.
I’d recognize the area of Thalvireth Palace anywhere after so much trauma had occurred there. The place was imprinted in my bones in a way I’d never be able to remove.
She strode forward like she knew the way she was going. But how? Demons hadn’t set foot in the palace since its construction.
Darkness started to edge in again, my vision growing fuzzy. I grasped for the marble, trying to anchor myself. I had to know what happened. I had to save us.
I bolted upright, a scream of frustration ripping from my throat.
“Sylaira!” Lyriasthe caught me immediately, her arms tight around me.
“I know the sacrifice,” I blurted out, then slapped a hand over my mouth. Because no one else could hear the insanity that gripped me at the worst possible moment.
But the mainland healer’s brows pinched over his lapis irises. “Sacrifice?”
Fuck, he shouldn’t have heard that.
Fear gripped me, even tighter than the vision of the future. What if he told someone?
“She’s disoriented,” Lyriasthe quickly explained as I rubbed at my forehead, trying to cover my accidental slip. “This is how she always comes back.”
“Is she always gone that long?”
“How long was I out?” I croaked. My throat was parched, like I’d been racing through the Paks Desert. Every muscle in my body was achy and cold.
The male handed me an open waterskin. Lyriasthe released me, rubbing soothing circles over my back as she had done many times before. “Hours.”
The sip I’d taken spluttered out of me. “What?”
“Leave us,” Lyriasthe ordered like she had been born noble. The healer grumbled but did. My friend waited until he was out of earshot before continuing. “It’s midafternoon now. I haven’t left your side. You were so still, like you’d died. Save for your eyes. They roamed endlessly.”
That explained the headache at the base of my skull. “Thank you.”
“I had him checking your pulse. I’ve never seen you like that before,” she whispered, concern lining her tone.
“I’ve never had a vision like that,” I admitted. “They were always glimpses. But this…”
“Tell me,” Lyriasthe said, rocking back and hugging her knees to her chest.
I curled into a ball on my side, on the bedroll that now rested beneath me.
A heavy sigh emptied me of air. My eyes drifted closed as I returned to that dark room that tasted like metal and sorrow.
“I think I Saw the Demon High Priestess. She was praying…it felt intrusive to hover there, but I couldn’t look away.
And somehow, I understood her when she spoke Demonic.
” I almost didn’t mention how she’d sensed me, but it was too odd for me to keep to myself.
“Do you know any of their language?” Lyriasthe asked.
“None,” I told her. “After, it was like she sensed me there too.”
Lyriasthe rolled her lips. “What about the sacrifice?”
“I think–” I cleared my throat, reaching for the water and taking another sip. The cool liquid soothed the dryness in my mouth. “I think it’s her.”
My friend’s eyes went wide. “Are you certain?”
“The future is never certain. But this was a nine clarity.
I paused, taking in a breath. “And she was in Thalvireth Palace. Specifically, the Divine Atrium.”
“How the fuck…” she trailed off, shaking her head. “We need to tell Maelsar and Vaeron.”
I sat upright again. “We were supposed to check in.” I wasted no time diving down our bond, seeking my mate.
“Vaeron?”
No response came. Panic wrapped thorny vines around my chest and squeezed.
“Vaeron!”
I forced myself further, trying to see through his eyes. Violence swallowed me the moment I stepped into his mind, all fury and fight.
And then I glimpsed the mass of bronze swinging right for his face.