Chapter Thirty-Three #2
“Yet,” a voice belonging to a male I don’t know adds.
The floor trembles as crashing fills the room, echoing into the hall. Without eyes in the room, I can only guess as to what is happening—a fight.
Immediately, my heart leaps into my throat.
Surprised shouts and curses rise from the other kings, scuffling feet, blows landing against flesh, and the clatter of things being knocked to the floor creating a cacophony of sound. Wood cracks and splinters before shattering, more glass smashed—
The door throws itself wide, slamming against the wall and a blur of blue and orange flies into the hall. A fae lands on his back, skidding across the marble, his head hitting the wall opposite of me, stopping him with a resounding crack.
I grimace but stare at him through my lashes.
Even with his fae healing, his face is bloodied and battered, as he pulls himself upright, laughing. His sky blue eyes dancing with sheer amusement.
Laughing.
What in the nine hells is wrong with these fae?
Truly, they are the demons of the living realm.
No better than squabbling imps, the lot of them.
As he rubs the back of his head, his eyes dart to mine, and his brows raise. The smile on his face grows wide in delight.
“Nektos’ nightgown, you do look just like her,” the fae laughs, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
Blood smears across his chin and hand, and he ungraciously spits blood onto the floor, continuing to laugh.
Ryc storms into the hall, seeing me immediately.
“Ves.” His eyes widen.
I open my mouth to speak, and incoherent sounds spill forth.
How do I explain lurking in the hallway?
Nothing comes to mind and nonsense continues to come out.
The battered fae stands, adjusting his shirt, running his hands through his orange hair—as if that would restore his now disheveled appearance. The cut near the corner of his eye and on his lower lip fade, leaving only the stains of blood on his pale skin.
“Darin Everbreeze, Sovereign King of Aeros,” the male introduces himself with a lopsided grin.
“Vestaris Moonshadow,” I breathe, finally able to form words, staring at him with wide eyes.
Darin turns to Ryc. “Are you done? Can we have a civilized conversation with potentially opposing views now?”
Ryc scoffs, shooting Darin a scathing glare.
“Give me a minute,” he says firmly, moving toward me.
Darin returns to the room, vanishing from sight.
“Ryc, what are you doing?” I sweep toward him, searching his face for injury.
Clasping my hands in his, he lowers them.
“I’m fine,” he says softly, his smile gentle.
And truthfully, he is fine—no blood, no cuts, no swelling, no bruising.
It’s as if the other fae never touched him.
“I need you to put up a mental ward and not lower it until we’re alone.” The stare he gives me warns me not to argue, and I do as he instructs.
He flashes a particularly handsome smile, revealing his fangs. Too quickly I’m reminded of last night. His mouth, those teeth, his hands against my skin—I’m unable to keep the thought from sending a languid series of shivers down my spine.
“Starting to trust me, I see,” he teases in a way that doesn’t help matters.
I scoff a laugh and shake my head.
“You need to protect your thoughts, your mind,” he murmurs, barely audible to my ears. “Else I’ll be inclined to tear out a fine pair of eyes.”
Fenryn appears beside Ryc. “Darin has informed the others that Ves is here,” he says in low tones, clapping a hand on Ryc’s shoulder. “They wish to speak with her, Eloric especially.”
Pursing his lips, Ryc nods.
Fenryn turns on his heel, leaving us alone in the hall once again.
“Eloric is a truthteller,” Ryc says quietly. “He wants to ask you a series of questions.”
Nodding, I breathe deeply through my nose.
Offering me his arm, Ryc leads me into the room, a large study it seems. It would have been a beautiful space, had it not been recently rendered into a state of disarray. Broken chairs, shattered glass, papers, pens, books, all scattered across the floor.
“Ah, the reason Alaryc is more temperamental than usual,” muses a white-haired male across the room. He sits on the windowsill, arms folded across his chest. “Welcome,” he deigns with a slight nod.
“Liran Firemeadow. Sovereign King of Gersand,” Ryc says quietly beside me.
“Thank you,” I offer softly with a close-lipped smile.
I’m not going to bother remembering their names.
After today, I’ll never see them again.
“Now that Alaryc has destroyed his own office, should we congregate where there’s ample seating for everyone?” Rowen asks, crossing the room.
Ryc releases a deep sigh. “The library is down the hall.”
“Are you sure you want to put that at risk?” Darin teases, his eyes gleaming.
Ryc smirks. “Keep your mouth shut and it won’t be a concern.”
Fenryn and a few of the other kings chuckle, suppressing their laughter as we all file into the hall. We retrace my steps, headed toward the stairs, but instead of taking the staircase on the right, we move in the opposite direction, and Ryc opens the first set of doors on the left.
Revealing a massive library.
It’s at least twice the size of the one in the hells, but I would wager it houses five times as many books.
Slipping past him, I wander into the space, my eyes immediately drawn heavenward to the brightly lit stained glass windows in the ceiling. They rain down beams of red, yellow, blue, green, and even violet. The designs depict various flowers and ivy.
I’d thought the library in the hells was impressive, then the library in the Moon Temple, but this…
Nothing will ever compare to this.
Ryc and the entourage of kings behind me fall away from the universe as I’m drawn forward, my fingers trailing along the ends of the countless dark wood bookshelves lining the room. They tower up to the ceiling, easily twenty—no perhaps thirty—feet.
It would take me centuries to read through everything in this library.
This would be my favorite place in all of Ollora.
Breathing deep, the scent of old pages, dried ink, leather, and dust greets me, soothing the very essence of me. In the far corner of the room sits a black marble fireplace, empty currently, but surrounded by furniture that begs to be curled into with a book.
Whirling, I find Ryc trailing in my wake, behind him, the Sovereign Kings seated at a long rectangular table near the library entrance. My eyes dart to Ryc’s and he offers me a small smile.
“You like to read?” he asks, his voice low.
“Yes.” I return his smile with one of my own. “Very much.”
He takes my hands in his, lifting them to his lips. “I look forward to learning all these things about you, little death.”
He places a gentle kiss, his eyes never leaving mine.
My heart tears itself in half.
This fae has me in a chokehold.
Because I’m nothing short of a damned foolish demon.
Leading me to the table, he pulls out a chair for me. Seating myself, he seats himself beside me, on my right, Fenryn sits on my left. A demi-god positioned between two powerful fae figures sends a message in itself.
“Be ready for a fiasco, Ves,” Fenryn whispers leaning close, “These meetings are usually a carnival of events.”
Chuckling, I nod. “I gathered as much.”
Across the table, a male rises, peeling himself from his seat, his bright yellow eyes meeting mine. They remind me of some of the flowers found in the temple garden.
What had Cora called them?
Tansies.
“Would you mind starting by introducing yourself?” he asks, his voice soft.
“Should I stand?” I whisper hastily to Ryc and he smiles.
“Only if you want to,” he replies.
Turning my attention to the table, I swallow hard, trying to ignore the eight pairs of eyes focused on me. It’s too reminiscent of the hells, standing in the throne room with Netharis and the Layer Lords.
They continue to stare, waiting for me to speak.
Shoving the sinking feeling aside, I say, “My name is Vestaris Moonshadow.”
The male nods silently. “Truth.”
My eyes widen.
He is the truthteller.
“Where are you from, Vestaris?” he asks.
I stammer for a moment, glancing nervously around the table. Meeting the various eyes that watch me.
“The hells,” I answer tersely.
He nods again and a few brows raise.
“Who is your mother?”
My face pinches. “I don’t understand the purpose of questions like these.” I retort, my tone cold.
“I have my reasons,” Eloric responds with a tight lipped smile.
The response rubs against my skin like coarse sand and indignation flares to life in my chest. I stand from my seat.
“And you’re wasting time by asking them,” I counter icily. “You should all be concerned about Netharis and the demons he will send through the veil tonight.”
Glancing over the table, I shake my head. “What makes you think the demons will stop once they’ve destroyed and pillaged Ollora? They won’t. Netharis will give them free reign to do as they please for as long as they exist in this realm.”
“Not if we give Netharis what he’s—”
Ryc sits up suddenly, and I swing my hand out, placing it on his shoulder.
“Ryc, please,” I plead. “My death is something that has to be considered.”
“No.” His entire body tenses with his refusal.
“He’s going to get worse until you accept the bond,” Eloric laughs, and my face pinches with confusion. “It’s something all fae males experience when their mate is discovered. We become rather… territorial.”
“Our bond is not the discussion we’re having,” Ryc says, his voice a low growl.
Leaving my hand on Ryc’s shoulder, I loose a sigh. “You want the truth of who and what I am, correct?”
Eloric nods.
“Fine.” I purse my lips, preparing to expose everything I am for all these Sovereign Kings to dissect and assess.
“My mother is Celesta, my father Netharis. I am half demon, half winged fae. I’ve existed in the hells for the last twelve centuries, serving Netharis as a Death Bringer.
I fled the hells two weeks ago with the help of Celesta and a Life Bringer to avoid an arranged marriage to an archdemon, as Netharis has a desire to keep me out of the reach of my mother.
I do possess a set of wings. They’ve been glamoured away since coming to the living realm under the direction of the High Priestess to keep my arrival secret.
Hidden from all of you.” The disdain is clear in my voice by the last few words.
Eloric nods. “All truth,” he says quietly.
“Now will you support Ryc?” I ask of the table, desperation fueling the question.
“All of this reeks of Nektos,” the white-haired fae, Liran, says with a scowl on his face. “I, for one, don’t appreciate the gods getting us mixed up in their affairs. You’ll have the support of Gersand after all, Alaryc.”
Ryc nods firmly. “Thank you, Liran.”
“If we fight for you, will you take the High Throne?” a russet-skinned male on my left, on the other side of Ryc, asks. His deep violet eyes lock with mine.
Anger begins to build in my chest, and I clench my teeth to keep my snide remark to myself.
“Who is asking?” I instead demand, and his brows raise at my tone.
He chuckles, his violet eyes gleaming as he nods. “Fair enough. Ganus Lightblossom, Sovereign King of Battalia.”
“Why is this so important to you?” I glance across the table, meeting a few intense stares.
“It has been fifteen centuries since our last High Emperor and Empress,” Ryc answers quietly. “Surely, you can wait for another to come along.”
“Our nations deserve to be united,” yet another male I don’t know speaks, his black eyes locking with mine. “Something that will only happen when a winged fae ascends.”
The blatant disregard for who they’re speaking to fuels my growing irritation.
“You requested I make myself known, and yet you speak to me without returning the gesture.” I shoot him a withering glare and he shifts uncomfortably. “I never would have expected fae to have less decorum than demons.”
Fenryn laughs, unabashed, all faces turning in his direction. His ocean blue eyes watch me with genuine intrigue and amusement.
“Netharis’ daughter indeed.” He continues to laugh, looking around the table. “And you all want her on the High Throne? It is clear she is no meek creature. She is half demon. And you lot want to put her on the most powerful throne in Eldoterra.”
“It’s the only way they’ll be granted access to their second innate,” Ryc says with a scoff. “They don’t care who ascends, as long as they carry winged fae blood.”
“How very fae,” I snarl the words, my disgust clear.
They’re no better than demons scrambling for status, trying to better their demonic House. Always thirsting for more power.
“Curious coming from a demon,” Rowen muses dryly.
As I swing left, his forest green eyes pierce through me.
“Curiouser still coming from a fae holding a contract with my father,” I quip with a wicked grin.
“Rowen, is this true?” Darin leans forward in his seat, bracing his hands on the table with wide eyes.
“It is.” Fenryn nods. “Along with Ves and Ryc, I witnessed the exchange between Rowen and Netharis last night. Netharis made it very clear Rowen holds a contract.”
Glances are exchanged, and while I don’t know much about fae politics, something tells me Rowen may no longer find himself Sovereign King in the near future.
“I bet you’ve learned the same lessons I have.” My laughter is bitter. “Netharis always wins.”
Rowen purses his lips, lowering his stare as he nods.
Eloric clears his throat, pulling the table’s attention.
“Vestaris, if you would answer the question,” he says softly, his yellow eyes finding mine.
They want me to take the High Throne in exchange for assisting Ryc. It’s not enough to simply know I’m a winged fae, they want the guarantee.
Honestly, I can’t say I blame them.
I would be asking the same were I in their shoes.
Laughing to myself, I shake my head, lowering myself into my seat.
But if telling them I’ll take the throne means they’ll fight, I’ll tell them exactly what they want to hear.
Because if I don’t, they’re all damned anyway.
“If you fight alongside Ryc, I will ascend your throne.”
“Ves.” Ryc turns to me, confusion on his face. “You don’t have to do this.”
Yes, I do.
Eloric purses his lips, but he nods.
I didn’t lie.
They’re just not asking the right questions.