Chapter Thirty-Five
“You sent for me?” Rowen greets as I open my bedroom door.
“I did. Were you seen? Were you followed?” I peer past Rowen into the hall.
It’s empty.
He shakes his head. “Of course not. But meeting like this will raise questions. Summoning me to your personal quarters?”
“We don’t have the time to meet elsewhere.” I swing the door wide, stepping aside, and gesture for him to enter. “Please, there are things we need to discuss.”
Rowen purses his lips, hesitating. With a glance over his shoulders, he sweeps into the room and I close the door behind him.
Please don’t let this be a mistake.
Turning, I release a sigh.
“I need your help,” I admit and Rowen turns, eyes widening.
Sporting a full set of polished bronze armor, his green eyes narrow upon meeting mine. The questions he has are clear on his face.
“My help?” He shifts his weight onto the other foot, his head tilting. “What could Netharis’ daughter want with me?”
Eve sits up from her lounging position on the couch near the fireplace, keeping her ear in our direction, making herself known. Rowen’s eyes dart to her before returning to me.
“You hold a contract with my father.” I fold my arms over my chest.
Opening his mouth to argue, I hold up a hand, stopping him. “I’m not here to judge, or to question. I need you to keep Ryc away from me. Doing so will possibly enable me to end your contract early—without you rendering payment.”
His eyes shoot wide as his jaw drops.
“How?” he breathes.
With a small laugh, I smile. “Glad to see I have your full attention.”
Moving across the room, I lean against one of the tall bedposts, folding my arms across my chest.
“Is Alaryc not your mate?” He steps back, throwing a scrutinizing glare in my direction. “Why would you—”
“Because I have to return to the hells,” I answer without letting him finish. I heave sigh. “Mates don’t exist for demons. I don’t know what it is between us. But I know it’s something Netharis will never allow. As long as he exists, he will not relent.”
Rowen stands silent, a slow realization washing over him as he stares at me. “You never had any intention of taking the High Throne,” he laughs to himself, shaking his head.
“If it were possible for me to remain, I would. I would do that for Ryc,” I reply, my voice firm.
Rowen glances across the room at Eve, who sits on the couch by the fireplace watching us intently. She leans back, resting her arms along the back of the couch casually.
The sandy brown hair near his temples is touched with silver. I’d never noticed before. He must be significantly older than I am.
“Then you’ve rallied us behind you for nothing,” he says coldly.
“No. Not for nothing,” I argue heatedly. “To keep Ryc safe. To keep his people safe. If I fail tonight, all of you will need to be here to protect Eldoterra—to protect this realm.”
Rowen bursts into a dry, sharp laugh. “You think you can stand against a god?”
“I do.” My voice sounds more confident than I feel.
Silence.
“But not if Ryc tries to stop me.”
“And he will.” Rowen huffs.
“Consider this an exchange,” I say with a remorseful half-smile. “You ensure Ryc remains engaged in the fighting, and I do my best to free you of your contract.”
Rowen shifts his weight again, his armor surprisingly silent with the motion, his green cloak swinging behind him.
“I can’t promise the outcome,” I add quietly. “But ending him is intention.”
“Do you understand what you’re asking of me?”
I remain silent.
“Alaryc will kill anyone who stands in the way of reaching his dying mate,” Rowen says, his tone softer, sadder. “And when you die, it will destroy him. He will be consumed by madness.”
His words shoot straight through my stomach, and I inhale sharply.
“We spent three centuries realms apart, kept separated by Netharis,” I nearly whisper, my voice trembling. “He will overcome this.”
“He knew about you then?”
Nodding slowly, I answer. “During the Dividing War, the battle in Monora, south of Elias—”
“The Carthon Wilds.” His eyes alight in recognition. “You were there when Thalion died.” Rowen steps back, as if I’m no longer mortal, but a Death Bringer. He looks at me as if he’s seeing a demon for the first time, bewilderment hanging on his sharp features. “You are truly entwined with Nektos.”
Laughing weakly, I say, “I haven’t been given much choice in the matter.”
Rowen moves toward the door, letting his hand fall upon the handle. “I’ll do it. But you have to find a way back to him.”
It’s my eyes that widen now.
“If you somehow kill the god of death, you need to return to him. Alaryc doesn’t deserve the punishment of losing his mate.”
“I won’t be able to return,” I scoff a laugh, letting bitterness win. “I don’t possess that kind of power. I’m not a god, Your Majesty.”
Rowen laughs, a genuine sound. And it’s so much warmer than I ever could have imagined.
“I think at this point you can call me Rowen,” he says quietly as he opens the door. “Don’t fail, Vestaris.”
The door closes behind him and Eve leaps from her seat.
“Are you sure he won’t go running to the Sovereign King?” she asks as she approaches, her stare fixed on the door.
“He might,” I concede, letting my arms fall to my sides. “But with you keeping Cyran at bay, my options are limited.”
I sink onto the bed, Eve settling in beside me.
My leather messenger bag packed with everything I consider mine sits behind me—a couple of books, a couple of obsidian boxes, a few small random things that have more meaning than they should.
Packed away and ready for Eve to hide them.
I won’t be bringing them with me to the hells.
I can’t.
And they shouldn’t be left where anyone can reach them.
We sit in silence for some time before I take her hand and give it a gentle squeeze.
“I swear to the gods, Ves, if you can pull this off…” she trails off.
“No promises,” I whisper softly.
?????????????
With the sun far below the horizon, the stars and universe make themselves known, featuring a moon severed in half by a blood red hue.
It’s then the first screams rise from the city.
Squeezing my eyes shut against the sound, I inhale sharply, continuing to pace blindly.
If I stop moving, I’m going to fall to pieces.
With a drawn sigh, I open my eyes, my attention darting to the open balcony doors. Ollora is blanketed in twilight, and the stench of sulfur has begun to float through the breeze.
They’re here.
Netharis sent demons as promised.
Some stupid, broken part of me hoped he was bluffing.
That regardless of how angry I’ve made him, he wouldn’t risk the balance of an entire realm to punish me.
And like every other time I held out hope in the hells, believing this time might be different—that my father might change—I’m left holding the fractured pieces of my hope in my hands.
Netharis will never change.
It doesn’t benefit him to change.
My skin crawls and I suppress a shudder. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t return, but here I am, faced with my last few moments in the living realm.
Eve steps into my path, forcing me to stop.
“When?” she asks, her tone as anxious as I feel.
“As close to totality as we can manage,” I answer, my voice breathy as I clench my fists to keep my fingers from trembling.
Nodding, Eve swallows hard.
“We can always run, Ves,” Eve says softly and my eyes meet hers.
Her imploring gaze tears at me like blades down my back. I know she would travel anywhere with me. She wants to escape Ollora and I don’t blame her, not after losing Cora.
And now I’m leaving her too.
Who knows where she’ll go once I return to the hells. Surely Druka will consider their contract complete and release her from it.
“You know I can’t.” I manage a meager smile.
Returning my smile with one of her own, she huffs through her nose. “I know. But I had to try.”
Raising the hood of my cloak, I place the cowl over my face, hiding myself away. With a final check, I ensure the bloodstone dagger is strapped to my thigh, securely in place.
Eve and I move onto the balcony. The fleet of soldiers stand ready below. The tension in the air is heavy, palpable—a result of the sounds of fighting in the distance. Screams, cries, the clanging of metal, and upon the balcony, innate use brushes against my skin, causing it to pebble.
I don’t know where Ryc is positioned.
He never told me. But I have to imagine he’s not far from the castle.
Not knowing feeds my apprehension, and I’m doing everything I can to ignore the pull in my chest when I think about him.
The way he calls to me without trying, the way the urge demands I stand beside him seems particularly strong tonight.
Below, on the lawn, a few heads turn. A strange, jittering electricity clings to the air. The scent of sulfur reaches my nose and on instinct I reach for the hilt of my dagger, reassuring myself with it’s presence.
In the center of the north lawn, the first hellfire portal appears.
It tears itself open and streams of demons gush forth.
Commands shouted in Malbolge send the demons into a frenzy.
Scattered throughout the lawn and gardens, several more portals appear and open, tearing through the fabric of the veil.
Hell has broken loose.
The soldiers react instantly. Shouts rise, weapons are unsheathed, and bodies begin to rush toward the portals. Faster than I can draw breath, the north lawn has transformed into a battlefield.
Behind me, Eve shouts.
Whirling on my toes, a portal stands open in the middle of the room, hellfire drenching the room in blazing crimson light. A distorted figure steps through, heavy boots falling onto the floor as the portal closes.
The massive creature would have once been fae.
Now, it only vaguely resembles what it had been in life. The creature is a shambling corpse—elongated and warped, its proportions all wrong. Thinning silver hair falls to its shoulders, it dons bloodied and damaged silver armor. Sunken and cloudy violet eyes meet mine—