Chapter Three
My first visit to Ollora took place roughly six centuries ago.
Even then, in a matter of minutes, I became smitten.
Witnessing streets filled with throngs of fae going about their lives, seeing the way the city imbues itself with the surrounding forest, and the rocky lakeside in the west—all of it won me.
Ollora possesses a magic I can’t explain.
Since then, I’d visited several more times, and each time my adoration for the fae capitol grew. Ollora during the day was a thriving, bustling city. Everything I’d come to expect for a city filled with fae. Ollora at night? An otherworldly dream.
The cobblestone streets, damp from an earlier rain, glisten under the soft glow of the magelight street lanterns.
The light weaves through the low hanging fog that blankets the city, casting wispy shadows that dance with the mist. Despite the late hour, Ollora remains alive with a muted energy, laughter and music dampened by the fog.
I can’t pin exactly what it is I adore about Ollora.
There are a multitude of cities, both fae and human, that possess the same energy, the same beauty. But they don’t hold my heart like this city. Whatever it is, I’m drawn here.
Like I was meant to be here.
And perhaps I was.
In a different universe where different decisions were made, perhaps I would have lived a life here.
It’s grown since my last visit.
Changed, evolved—unlike the hells.
There are new shops, new blocks, new streets, new homes, new gardens. But its bones remain the same. The dark stone castle towers near the city center ahead, beyond that the temple dedicated to Celesta.
Perhaps she’s why I’m drawn here.
Could it be something in my blood?
The city of Ollora is home to one of eight Moon Temples, all dedicated to my mother. I never understood why until reading Fated Celestials. Many fae view her as their matron goddess, her tragic story demonstrating the power of the mate bond.
I scoff a laugh with the thought.
The mate bond is a foolish notion. Fae believe they’re destined to spend their lives with a partner chosen for them by the goddess of Fate.
Many spend their lives searching and never find them.
Others ignore the expectation and create families with non-mate partners, only to have them destroyed when their mate surfaces.
It’s yet another means for the gods to interfere with the lives of mortals for their own entertainment. One of the few redeeming qualities of being demon, a mate bond is not something I’ll ever have to navigate.
The largest of the Moon Temples lies here in this city, likely because Celesta was born somewhere in Erus. Fated Celestials never stated exactly where. Eight temples, eight moon phases—I’m going to assume each temple represents a phase.
I’ve never seen the temple or the castle up close, always at a distance.
But, following Ylara, headed north, toward the city center. A small sliver of hope flares in my chest, perhaps that changes tonight.
Moving silently along the middle of the street, I raise the hood of my black robes, shrouding my face and hair in shadow.
Tattered and frayed, they’re the same robes I’ve worn for centuries now.
I don’t wear the same finery as Ylara or even Vaelyn, because that means negotiating with Netharis for them, and that’s not something I’m willing to do.
Besides, these robes are familiar, comfortable, and they serve their purpose. I’ve no need for anything else.
As we draw closer to the city center, a few mortals wander along the street. A couple here, a group there. All meandering at a leisurely pace through the night. They chatter and laugh, some walk hand in hand and for a moment, I wonder about the kind of lives they lead.
Lifting my gaze overhead, the peaked spires of Castle Erus reach toward the stars, dark against the deep of the universe overhead.
A few of the windows glow silver in the night, the light from magelights spilling through.
Stumbling in Ylara’s wake in an awe-struck mess as we move forward, I’m forced to lower my attention lest I fall face first in the middle of the street.
Despite my rapidly growing sense of wonder, the lack of hunting instinct is more than strange. Not having the demanding pull in my chest makes this excursion feel wrong. It feels as if I’m breaking rules I shouldn’t be and when I return to the hells, I’ll be met with Netharis’ rage.
Doing my best to sweep the thoughts and feelings aside, my innate vibrates and ripples with each step.
It feeds on the swirling emotions within me—the excitement, awe, fear.
And if I’m not careful, my shadows could overwhelm me and unleash an uncontrollable storm.
Losing control of my magic has landed me in difficult situations more than once, and I would rather tonight not be one of them.
“What name were you given?” I ask, and my half-sister’s eyes swing in my direction. Deep pools of black that could swallow the night.
“Devran O’Rourke,” she answers.
A human name?
In a fae-populated city?
She nods, as if I wore my questions on my face.
“Despite humans migrating west following the Dividing War, Erus remains open to humans,” Ylara explains and my eyes narrow with disbelief. She begins to laugh. “You should really consider reading about mortal histories, Ves.”
“To what end?” I retort as we follow a left bend in the street. “Knowing mortal histories isn’t going to help me.”
She chuckles. “No. It won’t. But don’t you want to know about the souls you’re reaping?”
Not particularly.
“Is that why you read about mortal histories, Ylara? To know about the souls you’re reaping?” I answer her question with ones of my own, prompting her to laugh. “The souls we reap are those foolish enough to sign a contract with Netharis—they don’t deserve my attention.”
“Fair enough,” she deigns with a small shrug.
“But knowing their histories can give you more context into why they may have agreed to Netharis’ offer.
Think about it. A human in a fae-dominated city would be surrounded by creatures stronger, faster, near immortal.
How would a human protect themselves when the standards are ill-matched? ”
“I see Netharis still hasn’t broken you of your empathy,” I scoff a laugh and her brows raise. “Or perhaps you like burdening yourself with such thoughts.”
Her light laughter rings out through the night. “Not empathy, Ves. Curiosity. Devran’s decisions are his to make, and hold no effect upon me. But I am intrigued by what factors may have influenced him to make them.”
Her head snaps forward, her pace quickening.
“This way. We’re close,” she says with a fleeting glance over her shoulder.
Ylara breaks into a sprint, and I give her a judging glare before doing the same.
Too fast.
My time here is going by too fast.
Voices ahead reach me as I watch Ylara dip right, through an open gate and out of sight. Rushing to catch up to her, I slow as I pass through seconds later. I’d expected an alley or another street, not an open courtyard.
My head swings right. Not just any courtyard, it seems.
But a courtyard between Castle Erus and the Moon Temple.
Several yards ahead, Ylara approaches a massive crowd, split down the center, standing at the base of the Moon Temple stairs. On her left stand at least fifty people dressed in silver robes, their hoods raised. On her right, fifty more, in black.
The voices, it had been them.
The sound of their prayers, spoken in unison.
Prayer? In the dead of night?
My innate screams at the base of my skull as I trail behind Ylara. She makes her way up the stairs, toward the four black-robed figures standing behind a waist-high platform. Lying upon it, a silver-robed mortal.
I’m not familiar with Celesta’s demands upon her devoted. Nor do I care to learn, but something about this sits heavily in my stomach. The only things I know about Celesta are things I’ve overheard Netharis mention in passing to the Layer Lords.
According to the god of death, Celesta is a capricious female, the perfect creature to embody the moon and its ever-changing phases.
She’s known as the goddess of change to some mortals, the goddess of deceit to others.
Taking what I know of her with a hefty dose of skepticism, I can’t help but wonder what kind of mortals would devote their lives to such a goddess.
A hundred pairs of hands shoot above their heads, startling me.
“Her light illuminate our heart,” those in silver speak.
“Her shadow reveal our path,” those in black counter.
Repeating the same beck and call, it becomes a rhythmic chant. It fills the courtyard, the night, and resonates within my chest. It doesn’t feel right to witness this.
I feel like an intruder.
Yet I can’t tear my eyes away.
A full moon hangs overhead, partially hidden behind swiftly traveling clouds.
The temple rises to meet it. Though its highest peaks aren’t as tall as Castle Erus, it remains impressive all the same.
Its tallest spire sits centered, featuring a large, round darkened, glass window.
Smaller spires rise on either side, with windows resembling a waning and waxing moon of the same dark glass.
Smooth, white pillars support an intricately carved roof. The overhang adorned with silver inlaid symbols depicting the same three moon phases. Moonflower vines crawl around the pillars, their petals shining a bright white in the light cast by the magelights floating overhead.
Towering dark wood doors provide entry, closed for the time being. My eyes fall to the figures standing before them, at the top of the stairs. Two pairs of black-robed and hooded mortals stand on either side of one in silver.
The one in silver hadn’t been there a moment ago. Where did they come from? Ylara stands at the base of the stairs, motionless. Watching, I realize. Waiting. Listening to the hunting instinct.