Chapter Eight
“Lilith better make this worth it,” Eve says in a low grumble as we approach the dining room doors.
Glancing at her, I smile.
She wears the same black silk dress as I. And like Eve, I’ve come to prefer the mobility of pants. But I’ll never tire of seeing Eve in finer attire. She’s a beautiful sight. Tall, lean, piercing eyes, and graceful in movement—but I can’t help but laugh.
Despite her polished visage, she’s opted to add her own touch to the ensemble: her leather bandolier of daggers lies strapped across her chest.
“Couldn’t leave the daggers?” I ask, grinning.
Her eyes dart in my direction, revealing a sharp mischievous glint. “A General can’t General without her weapons,” she retorts casually with a matching shrug. A mask to hide a threatening-to-emerge smile.
“Ignore the hundreds of Royal Guard in Castle Erus at any given time,” I laugh.
“They won’t stab Lilith should she grow obnoxious,” Eve counters, somehow maintaining a neutral expression. “I will.”
Guards posted beside the dining room doors swing them open as I burst into laughter. They offer a silent dip of their chins as we pass.
“You can’t stab Lilith,” I say in a quieted rush.
She rolls her eyes, turning them forward, and her brows raise.
Following her lead, I find the eyebrow-raising source.
The long dinner table, usually empty save for a few place settings at the far end—on typical nights Lilith, Eve, Cyran, Ryc and I enjoy dinner together—features a decadent array of desserts.
The entire length.
The usual barren landscape sits transformed into an ambrosial feast. Platters, plates, cake stands, and tiered towers—all filled with eye-drawing and mouth-watering sweets.
My steps slow as I take in the sight.
And Eve matches pace.
Chocolates, cakes in the hues of the sunset, truffles, and berry-topped parfaits. Candies, tarts, custards, and iced sweetbreads.
Everything I could eat myself sick on.
And more.
“What in the nine hells, Ves,” Eve breathes in awe.
It’s opulence and gluttony on exquisite display.
I could spend hours alone looking at it. Committing it to memory.
“Now that I have your attention…” Lilith’s voice chimes from across the room.
The Sovereign Queen Emeritus stands beside her usual seat near the end of the table, a glass of pale pink wine in hand. Wearing the same black silk dress—sans daggers, or any weapon for that matter—she offers Eve and me a smile.
“Let me show you how I erase a bad day,” she says and the smile on her face grows as splendid as the table itself.
?????????????
Eating myself sick is exactly what I did.
In fact, it’s what we all did.
And to my infernal surprise, Lilith and Eve didn’t bicker.
Not once.
I didn’t completely forget about the day’s events, but the desserts, the company of Eve and Lilith, their laughter, and a bit of wine did help lessen its sting.
Following dinner—both Lilith and Eve insisted it could still be called that—I sought the solace of the library with the honest intention of reading The Joining.
But, after an hour-long attempt and barely making it through the first chapter before growing bored and distracted, I gave up. Now the table’s grown cluttered, covered with an abundance of strewn-open books—all open to pages featuring my mother.
Heaving a tight sigh, I push The Joining farther aside, making more room for the book with a rather intricate color portrait of the moon goddess. It’s an impressive likeness—capturing many of her finer details. Moreso than many of the others I’ve seen. The artist must have seen her at some point.
The piece features Celesta in her typical navy robes, a silver rope drawn around her waist. My eyes trail up her lifted arms to her left wrist and find it bare. No strange, dark rune on her skin.
I cannot be the only creature to have noticed the marking on her wrist.
All the other portraits and renderings I’ve stumbled across have been the same. None of them show the rune I know I saw. They capture her beauty, her mourning, her ethereal presence, but fail to provide the most important detail—the detail I need.
I can loosely recall the rune—I’ve sketched it hundreds, if not thousands of times by now. But it doesn’t serve me if I’m not recalling it correctly, and in the depths of my soul, I know it’s tied to where she’s gone. I figure out the rune, I find her.
What’s worse is I know I’ve seen it before.
I just can’t remember where.
And none of these books have helped anywhere near enough to be worth the ink and paper used to create them.
A gentle touch on my shoulder startles me, and my knee slams into the underside of the table. Books rattle, Malbolge curses fly, and Ryc’s surprised laughter cuts through the quiet of the library.
Eyes wide, I meet his stare as I rub at my sore knee.
“Y-you’re home,” I say, sounding both surprised and concerned.
I didn’t hear him come in.
I glance across the room and Cyran stands in the doorway, facing the hall. I’ve lost track of time—something tells me I’ve been here longer than an hour staring at these pages.
Ryc twists the chair beside mine as he seats himself.
“I called to you,” he says, reaching for the underside of my chair. He turns me in his direction and the chair groans with resistance. “I didn’t realize you were so lost in thought.”
With a smile, he replaces my hands upon my knee, lending his warm touch to relieve the lingering pain.
“I didn’t mean to surprise you,” he says, his voice apologetic.
I wave his concerns away with a hand. “No, no bother,” I reply. And honestly, it is no bother. There are larger concerns to discuss. Without waiting, I launch into them. “How did the meeting go? Did Rowen have anything to say? The council—what does the council think of all this?”
Ryc chuckles, delight sparking in his topaz eyes as he continues to massage my knee.
“It’s not good news,” he answers and my stare takes on a flattened edge. He chuckles again. “But it’s not bad either. There’s little to be done at current. With the council aware, cities shouldn’t be taken by surprise should anything emerge from the veil.”
I suppose that’s the best we can do for now.
Until Vaelyn does his godly duties.
“It’s not a matter of should,” I reply, my tone firm. “It’s a matter of when.”
Creatures slipping through the veil is bound to happen.
If they haven’t already.
Ryc nods. “Agreed. I’ve already set the order to increase guard in and around Ollora, and I’ll be visiting other strongholds across Erus.”
To ensure the only tear lies over Ollora.
For now.
It’s a logical next step for a Sovereign King. Especially one given the ability to peer into the veil.
“And will you be gone long?” I ask, not without selfish convictions.
Ryc smiles. “No, little death,” he answers. “It’s nothing that can’t be handled over the course of a few days. I’ll be in and out of Ollora. Not much different than typical day to day.”
I know it’s meant to be a comforting answer.
One meant to put my mind at ease.
But I know better than to be lulled into believing that. In his typical day to day, there’s little to no risk of encountering Death Knights, or wraiths, or—
“Rowen did ask about our stance,” he interrupts my spiraling thoughts. “Have you given it further thought?”
Rowen and his request to help him keep his damn throne.
Were it possible to shove it down his throat, I might be inclined to do that. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t have to worry about standing before the council anytime soon.
The thoughts leave me battling bitterness, and I fight not to wear them on my face.
“I have,” I answer, managing a much less bitter tone. “And I’ve come to the conclusion Rowen best serves us if he keeps his throne.”
Surprise flashes across Ryc’s face as his brows raise.
“Serves us?” he asks, a smile curling the corners of his lips. “Rowen is a Sovereign King. He serves his people, not us.”
I understand the nature of his language, the pushback to what I’ve said. But the fact remains.
“And it serves us to keep him where he is,” I say, and he gives me a look as if he’s about to contest the notion.
“It serves Erus. In several ways.” I don’t give him the chance to speak.
“First, if Vis goes without a Sovereign King and its borders are contested, what’s stopping Ganus or Eloric from stretching their reach north?
Second, any kind of war right now bolsters the hells.
I’d like to avoid sending powerful souls straight to my brother. ”
Ryc nods slowly, a smile forming on his lips as he listens.
“Last, but more of a personal note,” I continue and Ryc simply stares, the smile on his face painted there. “Tanila doesn’t deserve to pay for her father’s mistakes. Were Rowen to be the only casualty, perhaps I’d feel differently about the outcome.”
I can’t say I like Tanila, despite our brief meeting.
And my dislike has nothing to do with her previous involvement with Ryc. In that one night, she threatened to destroy the life I sought to build in this realm by revealing my lineage to the council. Had Netharis not shown himself and exposed her father as contracted, she would have.
I’ll never trust her.
But I don’t necessarily want her dead.
“I’ll admit, this isn’t where I expected you to land,” Ryc says and there’s a hint of wonder in his tone. “I hope Rowen appreciates you saving his life a second time.”
I’ve the feeling if I hold my breath in wait, I’ll find the hells sooner.
“I’ll start garnering support for the notion tomorrow,” Ryc says, his voice quiet. “Send word to Rowen and Fenryn, see who we can get.”
“Will that be difficult?” I ask. “Rowen made it seem so.”
Ryc draws a deep breath, pursing his lips. “It might be. But the only reason this is going to a hearing is because the proposition wasn’t supported unanimously earlier this week. Fenryn and I stand opposed, and I think others do too. They just have to be reminded.”
I know better than to ask how.