Chapter One #3
“I’ve zero interest in meeting undead,” Eve scoffs as she pulls herself to her feet.
“Imp in the mud,” I mutter in Malbolge as I stand.
“You can stay,” she says and my brows raise. “I’ll make sure not to laugh as your Sovereign King gives you a few choice words about your decision.”
She flicks a piece of slate at me as she pulls herself to her feet.
Snagging it out of the air, I laugh. “You want me to start a House, yet you’d leave me at the first signs of trouble? Some General, Eve.”
“You need me on a battlefield, I’m there,” she retorts with a scoff. “You want me to stand between you and your mate?” She shakes her head, planting her hands on her hips. “I’m not the Sovereign King of Vis.”
Fair enough.
There hasn’t been a week Ryc hasn’t received a letter from Rowen.
Ryc hasn’t opened any of them.
They all find their way into the fire.
“Of course you wouldn’t need me on the battlefield if you attended your sparring lessons,” Eve says with a smirk.
It’s a clear dig.
And I heave a disgruntled sigh.
“I don’t spar,” I retort, bristling. “I didn’t spar in the hells. I’m not going to spar here.” I sneer the word each time I say it.
“Without your innate—”
“I remain hidden,” I interject, not wanting to hear her voice the truth I tell myself every night.
Without my innate, I’m useless.
Without a backward glance I begin east, toward Castle Erus.
“You could at least show up,” Eve counters, her voice soft and low. “Not spar, but observe. Learn that way.”
I remain silent.
There’s nothing I can learn from mortals sparring.
Mortals at war? When there’s desperation and the need to survive… that I’ll watch. It’s then true combative ingenuity makes an appearance and it’s from that I can learn.
Eve sighs. “If you don’t start showing, Cyran is going to say something.”
“Let him,” I reply with a shrug and Eve laughs.
“You say that now.” She shakes her head. “Tomorrow, I start working toward uncovering my innate.”
“What?” The question is more scathing than I’d like.
“The hellfire my contract bestows overrides my natural innate,” Eve says as she leaps to the next roof. “It’s buried, smothered. But I can still feel it. More each day. Cyran believes with the right exercises I can reach it again.”
“I never realized contracted hellfire would bury an innate,” I say mostly to myself as I leap across and land beside her.
“It’s not like my innate is useful in a fight anyway.” She shrugs. “I have Swift Touch.”
My brows furrow.
“I can open any lock.” She purses her lips. “Or could, rather.”
Eve’s rapid rising among the ranks of an ill-reputed thieving guild becomes crystal clear. Surely such an innate would be an invaluable asset—or become dangerous competition.
“Do you miss it?” I ask as we continue walking.
She nods. “I do.” Lifting her chin, she stares ahead. “I may not have used it much during my time in Celesta’s service, but it’s still mine. It’s as much a part of me as my hair, or eyesight. If I can get it back…” she trails off.
She doesn’t need to finish.
I feel the same about my shadows.
It’s a piece of ourselves. And if she can reclaim it, she should. I want her to. I want the same for me.
Which means finding Celesta.
I’ve tried to forget about her—about what she’s done, what she’s stolen. I’ve tried not to deliberate where she could be.
But I can’t let it go.
I can’t let my shadows go.
I’m not sure how my shadows ever belonged to her, but the thought of finding her and getting them back keeps me awake through the night. When I’m alone and Ryc’s asleep and my mind wanders.
Netharis stealing pieces of me is expected.
Celesta doing the same… is unforgivable.
Unfortunately, she hasn’t been seen since the night of the eclipse. With the Olloran temple decimated—no devotees survived the eclipse—people believe her to be in mourning.
Not me.
I believe she’s in hiding.
Netharis’ death means her contract is broken—she’s mortal once again. Her goddesshood revoked and as an instrument leading to Netharis’ death, I imagine Vaelyn isn’t the only god hunting her. The only reason Vaelyn’s blade isn’t poised against my throat is because I left him the hells.
If Fate favors my mother, Vaelyn will find her before I do.
Death will be far kinder than I.
Not wanting to plummet headfirst into hatred, I heave a sigh and turn my attention to Castle Erus.
Towering gray stone spires rise near the center of the city, high above the darkened rooftops of Ollora.
Tendrils of ivy nestle and curl against its walls, the green shifting from verdant to bold crimson in a slow-climbing wash.
It’s as if the castle is being consumed by a slow-spreading hellfire.
A few windows leak silver, keeping the quickly encroaching night at bay for a little while longer.
All of this… Ollora, Castle Erus… it’s become home.
I… have a home.
A home with my quiet and quaint and secretive life. A home beside Ryc, Eve, Lilith, and even Cyran—the miserable sod he is.
It’s almost everything I’ve ever wanted.