Bonus Scene
Ryc
Heaving a sigh, I set the restoration proposals on the desk and push them aside. It’s become too difficult to focus on them any longer. The city’s recovery has been slow moving, slower than I’d like. The Olloran lords are going to have to understand this is going to take more time.
My mind is filled with her.
The sharp-tongued, silver-eyed creature has utterly consumed my being and destroyed the routine I’ve carefully curated over the last three centuries. It’s been thrown out the window now that I know we’re possible.
She’s not a fabrication or a dream as I once believed.
She exists.
And now, my life no longer feels hazy or lacking direction. It no longer feels pointless or filled with meaningless obligation. Through her, things begin to make sense, begin to fall into place. My Fate no longer sounds like an impossibility.
Eight weeks.
It’s been eight weeks since she’s returned to the hells, and I’ve spent every gods damned moment fighting the urge to go after her. The silence, the not knowing, the severed bond—it’s driving me to madness.
We should not be worlds apart.
With a quick tug, I open the drawer before me and stare at the letter I’ve yet to read. The forest green and gold-crested wax seal and practiced script handwriting tells me it’s a letter from Rowen. I wasn’t ready to read it when I received it. The thought of Rowen causes my blood to heat.
I’m still not ready to read it.
It’s sat in my desk for the last two weeks, untouched. I’ve opened this drawer with the intent to read it hundreds of times now, and each time I can’t. Rowen’s interference the night of the eclipse is not something I’m going to easily forgive, if I can forgive it at all.
I should have killed him.
Fuck the consequences.
Knowing Rowen, the letter is a proposition to resume our previous agreements. One I was never interested in to begin with. One I’ll never agree to now.
The study door opens as I close the drawer.
I’ll try again tomorrow night.
“Burning midnight oil, I see.” Fenryn says, closing the door quietly behind him.
“What are you doing here, Fenryn?” I ask, the irritation in my voice clear.
A useless question, I know why he’s here. He’s taken it upon himself to ensure I don’t give in to the rage and madness seeking to claim me. He’s likely been sent by Lilith who’s made herself scarce over the last few weeks.
Fenryn’s brows raise as he scoffs a laugh. “You’ve lost your mate—”
“She is not lost.” My hands curl into tight fists on the desk.
I may not be able to sense her anymore, but she is not lost. Out of reach for the time being.
Temporary.
This is all temporary.
I have to believe that.
Or I’m going to spend the next several centuries hunting the gods and ending each and every one of them until she’s returned to me.
Fenryn sighs as he lowers himself into one of the chairs on the other side of my desk. He crosses his arms over his chest, giving me a flat stare. It’s a stare I’ve seen from him a multitude of times over the last eight weeks.
“In all other situations, when someone goes to the hells, they are lost, Ryc,” Fenryn says, and a vicious and intractable rage begins to simmer in my chest. “I realize Ves is rather unique, all things considered, but it’s been two months. It may be time to—”
“Do not finish unless you’re looking for a fight,” I growl the warning through my teeth, and he dips his head in a resigned bob with pursed lips. The size he has on me doesn’t matter, not if I lose control.
It’s the only warning I’m going to give him.
And he’s lucky I’m able to give him that.
The blood in my veins screams with white-hot rage with the thought of never seeing her again. Three centuries I waited, only to have her taken after two weeks. It wasn’t enough time.
I failed her.
And I’ll never forgive myself for it.
Leaning forward in his seat, Fenryn withdraws a letter from an interior chest pocket of his robes. With a flick of his wrist, he throws it on the desk, and it slides across the surface toward me.
“That arrived for you earlier today,” he says with a quick point as he leans back. “Lilith would have brought it to you, but you’ve made it impossible for anyone to approach you.”
Heaving a sigh through my nose, I clench my jaw. Lowering my gaze to the desk, to the letter, my name in familiar handwriting greets me. It’s the same handwriting as the unopened letter lying in my desk drawer.
“From Rowen.” Fenryn states what I already know.
Waving my hand in a dismissive gesture, I lean against the back of my chair and rub my brow. “I’ve no interest in anything Rowen has to say.”
Giving me a flat, disbelieving glare, Fenryn reaches and snags the letter back. He breaks the seal as he settles back and unfolds it, clearing his throat.
“Alaryc.” He meets my stare for a moment before returning to the letter.
“I’m going to assume by the fact that you’re not in Nyluma demanding to speak, you haven’t read my last letter.
So, I am trying again. I know better than to visit Ollora, visit you, at current.
And were I in your position, I would feel the same.
Let me start by saying I am sorry for my role in how things ended with Vestaris.
For the record, I did not agree with her approach—”
“Her approach?” Ice encases my heart and I force myself to keep an unmoved expression.
Was I mistaken?
Did she want to return to the hells?
Raising a halting finger and not lifting his eyes from the letter, Fenryn continues, “and tried to convince her otherwise, but she would not have it. I agreed, reluctantly, knowing it would drive a wedge between you and I—rightfully so. I agreed because I believed her capable of doing exactly what she promised, and she has. She is the reason I no longer hold a contract with Netharis. It burst into hellfire hours after her death.”
Fenryn pauses, his brows raising as he scans the rest of the letter. “Ryc, Rowen believes Ves killed Netharis and now stands as the goddess of death.”
He sets the letter before me, and snagging it, I read the last paragraph for myself.
No.
She wouldn’t.
I know in the depths of my soul she wouldn’t bind herself to the hells by ascending. Not willingly.
“You said she doesn’t want to ascend the High Throne. If what Rowen says is true, she can’t now,” Fenryn says, keeping his voice low. “The Throne is designed for fae to defend themselves against the gods, not for a god to sit upon it.”
“She hasn’t ascended,” I say and it takes every ounce of control I have to keep myself from destroying this office. “I would have felt the change.”
“You don’t know that,” he argues and I throw him a cold stare.
He sighs.
I do know that.
“And what happens when the goddess of death shows up in Ollora?” he asks, keeping his voice low. “Will she still be your mate? We’ve all heard the stories about the changes Celesta went through during her ascension.”
“If Ves ascends, it will be because she is forced to. But if Netharis is no longer, there is no god capable of forcing such a thing,” I mull through my thoughts aloud, and saying her name causes my chest to tighten.
“Gaia,” Fenryn says my mother’s name quietly.
Not going to happen. My jaw clenches tight.
He arches a brow as he studies me. “There are other things you need to start considering or preparing for, Ryc.” He folds his hands in his lap.
“Ves exposed herself to the council so you wouldn’t have to.
But, it’s a matter of time before the council starts questioning why you are mated to a being like her. ”
Pushing myself from my seat, I sigh. “The council will be too distracted with Rowen’s trial.” A weak deflection at best, but it’s all I have right now.
Nonetheless, he’s right.
Sooner or later the council is going to start questioning why my mate is a demi-god knowing Nektos pairs mates equal in everything.
I’ve carefully hidden my lineage for eleven centuries, with only a handful of others knowing the truth—Fenryn being one of them.
Should the council ever learn the truth, I’ll be forced to ascend with or without Vestaris.
Why Gaia would choose my father, I’ll never understand. If she had chosen someone else, none of this would be an issue.
Snatching my cloak from the back of my chair and crossing the room, I open the door.
“I need air,” I say without a backward glance as I move into the hall, leaving the door open behind me.
I don’t need air.
I need her.
And as if Nektos or Gaia has finally heard me, a sudden pull in my chest urges my feet faster down the stairs and through the castle. Before long, I’m sprinting through the grand foyer, entirely focused on where the bond is telling me to go.
Guards posted at the front door pull the doors open with haste, moving out of the way quickly. Ignoring their concerned and surprised faces, I barrel down the steps into the center courtyard as the pull continues to coax me to her.
Slowing to a halt near the center, I find myself standing under a moonless sky, staring at the temple. Barely breathing, I wait, my heart thundering.
I feel her once again.
“Never again,” I send the thought through our shimmering bond as I stand waiting. The bond has become this craved source of comfort and familiarity—one I’ve been without for the last eight weeks. “Never again can we be separated, little death.”
One of the towering doors groans as it opens, drawing my eyes up the stairs and after what feels like an eternity, my mate steps into the night. In an instant, silver eyes reflecting the shine of the stars find mine and the universe ceases to exist.
She blinks away crystalline tears and I shudder a breath, nearly falling to my knees as she begins to run toward me. Her hair billows behind her, shimmering like the silver light of the moon itself.
“Never again,” her silken voice rings in my mind like the song of a siren I’ve no desire to resist as I fold my arms around her. “Never again will we be separated, my light.”