Chapter Eight #2
“An unexpected honor to meet you, Vestaris,” he says with a warmer, welcoming tone. “Vaelyn speaks fondly of you.”
“Vaelyn has a loose tongue it seems,” I counter and he chuckles, nodding.
“Do not fault him.” Cenviri shakes his head slowly. “Vaelyn and I have worked closely for nearly six centuries. It is impossible not to learn things about one another in such time.”
Vaelyn has shared stories about this dark fae with me.
He is ruthless, merciless, and dominates Cerwiden by leaving any who oppose him a bloodied mess—before reanimating their bodies to serve him in death.
The mortals of Cerwiden grasp at order through chaos, the dominating House often shifting every other century.
But Cenviri has held as the dominant House for the last three hundred years.
“Why have I not seen you about Cerwiden?” he asks, lifting a dark brow.
“I am not assigned to Cerwiden,” I answer rather reluctantly. I’d much rather this dark fae take his souls and leave. But I cannot risk angering him causing him to run to either Vaelyn or worse, Netharis.
“Eldoterra then?” He makes a soft clicking sound with his tongue as he shakes his head. His lips curl into a surprisingly handsome smile. “I doubt those fae revere you as they should. You would be celebrated, praised, worshiped in Cerwiden. Perhaps I can propose the change to Netharis.”
My eyes widen as the blood in my veins turns to ice. “Your kindness and reverence is noted, Cenviri.” I say, keeping my voice from trembling. “I would much rather approach Netharis myself with such a request.”
He nods, pursing his lips as he folds his arms over his chest. “Wise. As a mortal, Netharis is difficult to approach.”
I scoff a quiet laugh. Even as an undead, ethereal creature of the hells Netharis is difficult to approach.
“Light take your enemies, Lord of Blood,” I offer the general well wishing words of the hells.
“Darkness keep you safe, Vessel of Death,” he completes the sentiment with a small bow of his head. “Do not let me hinder your passage any longer. I’ve collected what I require, and my time here is nearly up. I do hope we meet again, Vestaris.”
Cenviri offers a curt bow before grabbing the loose end of the tethered souls. Behind him, a rectangular door opens out of nothingness, revealing the living realm beyond. My eyes catch on his body seated in the middle of a summoning circle on the floor of what looks like a candle-lit cave.
Apparently, he is skilled in soul projecting. An alternate and relatively safer way for mortals to travel through the hells. Granted, safer does not mean safe by any definition of the term.
With a backward step, as he knows it is unwise to turn his back on a Death Bringer, he leaves the hells, pulling the trapped souls with him. A final, fanged smile flashes across his face before the door closes, and I’m left in the pitch black darkness.
A magelight springs to life behind me as Ylara comes sprinting down the hall. Stopping beside me, I meet her gaze.
“He knew you?” Ylara asks, confused.
“He knows Vaelyn,” I reply with a sigh. “Apparently well enough to know Vaelyn has a twin.” If I remember the next time I see him, I have questions about my brother’s acquaintances in Cerwiden.
He should not be telling mortals about the structure of the hells.
Or Netharis’ other children.
It doesn’t matter how long they’ve worked together.
Ylara and I continue down the hall for what feels like a century in silence, arriving at a wide crossroads.
Taking the lead, Ylara presses on and I fall in behind her.
More time passes, and the corridor begins to ascend, relieving my ankles and feet of the disgusting filth I’ve been wading through for over an hour.
She leads us right, and the corridor widens into a chamber-like space.
A strange, low-hanging, green mist cloaks the room, and the scent of bergamot clings to the air. It’s an unexpected scent to stumble upon, which is unnerving in itself. It overpowers the scent of death and decay, masking it away.
This room, like thousands of others on this layer, should sit empty. Nothing should be stored here. Instead, it’s cluttered with shelves, desks, tables, all littered with books, jars, papers, scrolls, and in the center a massive black cauldron rests over a small fire.
Clearly, this shadow hag has made herself quite at home in the god of death’s tower. Whether she’s incredibly brave or incredibly foolish stands to be determined.
Behind the cauldron, a figure in dark gray shifts, and bright yellow eyes pierce through me before sweeping to my right where Ylara stands.
In a rush, the figure dances around the cauldron, eyes wide.
Her moth-eaten and time-worn robes swirl around her feet as she moves, and a lopsided grin appears on her weathered face.
The hag, who might have resembled a human woman at some point in her life, bounds closer with the same energy of a creature centuries younger.
“Dark one!” she greets with surprising warmth, clapping her hands in excitement as she stops outside the silver glow of the magelight, leaving a wide space between us.
She would be taller than I, were she not hunched over, pitched as if there’s a weight around her neck pulling her forward. Her eyes pin against Ylara, excitement gleaming in the strangely bright color.
Her eyes are the color of the sun, I realize.
“It has been too long.” Her breathing comes in labored heaves.
“Things have been strained these last few weeks,” Ylara answers softly. “It is difficult to move throughout the Tower.”
“Is it because of the quaking? Do you know what caused it?” Sunshine asks, her eyes narrowing as her fingers worry at the ends of the shiny, black, braided rope around her skeleton-thin waist.
Clenching my jaw, I remain silent as my sister slowly glances in my direction. The hag follows the glance, and her eyes sweep over me before widening, as if she’s finally noticed Ylara isn’t alone.
“She was right,” The hag says, her words pouring out of her quick and breathy. “She said I would see you again. I didn’t think I would. But Nektos—Nektos has plans. I have my part to play and play it, I shall.”
“You speak in riddles, hag,” I say coldly, taking a small step back. “I’ve come to barter for information, not to play a role given by any god.”
“Resemblance is uncanny,” she mutters under her breath. “Few differences. Height, eyes—eyes like Aether—wingspan, feathers…”
What in the nine hells is she talking about? It’s as if she’s taking a visual inventory of my appearance. Stepping back again, I shift uncomfortably under the weight of her critical study.
“Sunshine, we need to know if escape from the hells is possible,” Ylara says, and the hag’s wide eyes race to my sister.
The shadow hag bursts into cackling laughter.
How Ylara could ever suggest visiting this hag is beyond me. She’s touched by madness, likely the result of spending too long in the hells.
An unnaturally wide smile stretches across the hag’s face revealing a mouth filled with pointed and jagged teeth as her eyes gleam. In a few steps she closes the remaining distance, and upon stepping into the light, the whole of her mangled face becomes clear.
If she had been beautiful once, no signs of it remain.
With a bulbous, downturned nose, paper-thin lips, and a square jaw, her skin almost appears to drape over her bones, sagging in places it shouldn’t.
“Escape the hells?” she repeats the words, her sparsely haired brows furrowing.
She points a bony finger at me, keeping her eyes on Ylara.
“Her, yes.” Her finger swings to Ylara. “You, not while the veil remains intact. Things must change for you to leave, dark one. You would be both a blessing and a curse upon the living realm.”
Ylara glances over her shoulder at me and our eyes meet. A small twinge of sadness shoots through me. We won’t be escaping together after all. The hag follows her gaze again.
“This one, this one, this one will change the realms,” she says eagerly, “if she ever frees herself of the god of death.”
“How do you know all this?” I ask, suspicion snaking through me.
Her face becomes stern. “Worry not about how I know what I know. Worry about what I know and what you’ll give to learn it.”
“I require a contract, signed for this barter,” I say with more confidence than I possess. “Give me all the information you have that will aid me in my escape from the hells, and I’ll give you this ancient soul.”
Withdrawing the soul crystal from the pouch looped on the belt of my robes, the yellow of the hag’s eyes grows thin, swallowed by the black of her pupils. In an instant the pupils retract, yellow snapping back into existence.
“Not enough.” She shakes her head.
Greedy thing.
I heave a sigh.
“The soul and five minutes in Netharis’ private library to choose one title for keeping,” I amend the offer reluctantly.
“Any title?”
“Any title.”
A smile tilts the corners of her mouth. “Does Netharis know you’re here?”
Icy indignation flows through me and I scowl. “If you believe you can barter a better deal with him, you’re welcome to try. But I assure you, he will not offer you a single second within his library.”
The smile fades from her face as she tears her eyes from the crystal to me. “Prudent of you,” she purrs in amused delight. “Netharis is right to keep a tight leash on you.”
Sunshine steps forward, reaching, and I lean away from her. She takes a tendril of my hair between her fingers. “I’ll sign your contract, demon, but I want this too.”
“My hair?”
“Not all, a small lock,” she smiles, “I want a keepsake.”
Glamouring spells require hair.
“If you seek to walk around wearing my face, you’ll find you’re not as welcome as you’d think,” I reply with a scoff.
“Perhaps,” she smirks. “Will you give it to me?”
Pursing my lips, I nod. If she wants to take on my face for a few hours, so be it.