Chapter Eight #2
“So what, we have three against five?” I chew at my lower lip. The votes of Ryc, Fenryn, and Rowen aren’t going to be enough to keep Rowen on his throne.
Ryc nods.
“Which of the kings have less-than-friendly relationships with Ganus or Eloric?” My mind begins to churn, recalling all too easily how such a problem would be approached by archdemons.
“Start your appeals with them. Emphasize the faults and shortcomings of Ganus and Eloric’s purported solution, and exemplify Rowen’s achievements as leader of the High Council. ”
Ryc’s head tilts back as he laughs. “Have much experience navigating political minefields?” he teases.
“More than I’d like,” I reply, smiling. “Though mostly as a tool and not as a player. Perhaps that worked in my favor. It allowed me to observe the inner workings of the Layer Lords and their constant grasps at power. This feels no different. It’s a masked dagger—they’re reaching for something larger with this attack on Rowen.
But I can’t say what for certain—I don’t know these kings like I know those demons. ”
“Which is why you asked Lilith for information about them,” Ryc says, realization spreading across his features.
I nod.
“You could ask me,” he says with a small shrug. “I’d share everything I know with you.”
No cost.
No barter.
Just given.
I stare at the fae, bewildered for a moment.
“You’re busy enough,” I reply. “I don’t mind my bargain with Lilith.”
Now if only I could fulfill it.
“You bargained… with Lilith?” he doesn’t sound impressed.
Of all the things to not tell Ryc, I’m surprised she chose that.
“Nothing official,” I retort. “Nothing signed. Simply a gentlefae’s agreement—she tells me what she knows, in return… I read this.” I flick a corner of The Joining. “I think she may have gotten the better end of the deal.”
Reaching, Ryc pulls the boring book close to the edge of the table and peers at the open page. “Seems you haven’t gotten far.”
“I’ve tried,” I say, exasperated. “I’ve tried to read the first chapter several times now. My mind is too distracted.”
And can’t be bothered to care about ridiculous fae custom or tradition.
Not now. Not with everything else happening.
“If it helps, the book outlines what the council and faekind will expect,” Ryc replies, turning his golden gaze from the book to lock with mine. “The process of hunting a mate, the purpose of gifting silver, and the promise of the Joining itself.”
He leans close, pressing a soft kiss to my cheek.
“Soulbound, Eve called it,” I say quietly and he nods. “Does the idea of giving another a piece of your soul not scare you?”
Ryc flashes a ridiculously stunning smile, and it threatens to leave my head blank.
“Not at all,” he answers, straightening himself. “Not with you.”
Stunned silent, I stare at him, struggling to find words.
I’ve never had someone so earnestly trust me.
It’s both humbling and horrifying.
The power he holds over me is horrifying. As is the power I have over him. We could wake up tomorrow and utterly ruin one another—destroy all we’ve created together. Set hellfire to this quaint little life for no reason at all.
But I don’t want to.
I don’t believe he wants to either.
And that is humbling. It’s strange and new, this lack of harbored suspicion. The best I can do is enjoy it—enjoy him—while it lasts. Maybe one day he’ll realize his mistake or how wrong Nektos was in pairing us, but until then, I’ll play the part of the fool and give him my heart.
“We could read it together right now if you’d like,” Ryc says, and my eyes swing to the book. “I can imagine the concept of soulbinding is… unnerving.”
To demons the thought of exchanging a piece of one’s own soul… yes to say the least. It’s unnerving and contradicts the inherent selfishness of the species.
I shake my head at his offer. “No, I promised I’d read it. And I will. Once we conclude this business with Rowen and I can focus.”
Contract or not, I can’t not honor the deal I’ve made.
Ryc nods. “Fair enough.” His countenance grows inquisitive. “Tell me, the night of the eclipse, did Rowen approach you regarding his contract?”
I meet his question with a confused stare. “No. I beckoned him. Asked for his help. Why? Did he say otherwise?”
Shaking his head, Ryc sighs. “No. But it could have been argued Rowen regretted his contract and sought you out as a means to correct his mistake. Build his defense on his character.”
“No,” I say with heavy regret. “Rowen was reluctant to meet. And even more reluctant to help until I mentioned the possibility of freeing him.”
“Damn,” Ryc says in a sigh. “Even so, building upon his character is our best course in winning votes in his favor. Ganus and Eloric claim to have evidence of Rowen acting under Netharis’ influence. Rowen won’t say what it is, and if it’s what I think it is… well, I hope to be wrong.”
“And if they present it? Can this still be won?” I shift in my seat, unease settling into my bones.
Are we committing ourselves to a losing battle?
“If Rowen, Fenryn, and I garner the support, yes, this can still be won,” Ryc replies, his tone firm. “But to garner that kind of commitment means providing something of worth.”
The dread deepens and curls around my stomach.
“Which means we need to discuss a date for our ascension.” He clasps my hands in his.
The line of logic is too easy to follow.
And I hate that it is.
“We need to incentivize them,” I near groan.
What Sovereign King wouldn’t be incentivized by the promise of verifiable power?
“You gave your word you’d ascend. There’s nothing we can do about that now—not without serious repercussions that would place Erus at risk,” Ryc says and I heave a sigh. “We offer them a date—one in the near future—and they vote to keep Rowen and Tanila alive.”
While I’d given my word, I didn’t commit to a specific date.
I never expected to return to the living realm.
Fulfilling the promise wasn’t something I thought to consider until days after my return. Even then, I’d near forgotten about the hastily made promise entirely until Ryc mentioned keeping my return quiet until necessary.
I hate it.
All of it.
I don’t want to be enmeshed in fae politics.
But I want Ryc in my life and he very much is.
“Alright,” I say, bracing myself. “How soon?”
“I’d like to offer by Ashdown,” he answers.
I don’t know when or what Ashdown is.
“The winter solstice,” he answers my unasked question.
Yet another fae celebration.
“In roughly eight weeks,” he adds.
“Eight weeks?” I ask, my spine growing rod-straight.
Eight weeks is much sooner than the years or decades I thought it possible to hide.
Ryc offers me a soft, apologetic smile. “I realize it’s not the time we wanted. You’re being thrust into a position you didn’t ask for and don’t want. I would understand if—”
“No,” I interject, not wanting him to finish. “I don’t want it. But we promised, Ryc. Never again.”
The night of my return, we promised to never be separated again. I’ve no intention to break that promise. Fae politics be damned.
He holds my stare, slipping his hands beneath mine on my lap. His fingers envelop them in a warm and gentle clasp. For a small moment he steals his eyes, lowing them to my hands before returning to me.
“Never again,” he echoes the same promise.
“If this is what we have to do, then let it be done,” I offer, sounding far more committed than even I expect.
“You don’t have to do anything,” Ryc says with a chuckle. “I’ve stood where you are. I know the thoughts you must have. I had them too. I want—no need—you to make your own choices independent of how they bear upon me or Erus. If a life of this isn’t—”
“I want you in my life, Ryc,” I say, struggling with the words.
But the moment they leave my lips, a weight lifts. It’s a truth I’ve carried for centuries. One I would have never dreamed possible.
I scoff a small laugh. “For as long as you’ll have me,” I add. “Our ascension is inevitable. Might as well try to keep Rowen and Tanila out of the hells in the process.”
Let the records show contrary to well-established knowledge, a demon is capable of noble acts. Even if they are motivated by spite.
Vaelyn isn’t getting Rowen.
Not yet.
“Does a demon dare to give me her heart?” Ryc asks and there’s a hint of teasing in his eyes.
“She’s certainly damned, isn’t she?” I counter and he chuckles.
“At the very least, she won’t be damned alone.”
There’s the truth.
I know where my heart stands. Beside his.
And as new as we are, none of it feels new. Instead, there’s a familiarity, a comfort, a connection that feels ancient and easy. It doesn’t matter if the world falls to chaos around us, Ryc is the steady security I crave.
“We’ll have to marry,” Ryc says, and my ribs grip my heart.
He notices.
“Tonight?” I ask, fighting the sudden surge of panic in my veins.
“No, not tonight, little death,” he says softly and a grin spreads on his face. “But soon.”
He raises my hand to his lips, turning it over to expose the wrist. With a slow dip of his head, he places a kiss upon the sensitive skin of my palm, his eyes never leaving mine. The warmth of his touch races right down my spine, soothing the panic.
A smirk curls his lips. “Not afraid of the council, but afraid to marry?” he asks, returning my hand to my lap.
The council doesn’t get to claim ownership of me.
Marriage to Ryc means Ryc does.
“I’d like to review the marriage contract,” I say and his eyes narrow as if I’ve spoken another language.
He straightens himself, assessing me before scoffing a small laugh.
“There isn’t a contract, little death,” he says with quiet disbelief.
“There is no exchange of power, despite the exchange of gifts.” He nods toward The Joining.
“Those pages detail everything. You’ll see. We’re equals in everything.”
“No… contract?” I ask, sharing his sense of disbelief.
He laughs. “No. You’re free to charm the whole of Erus,” he replies, reminding me of a particular morning upon the rooftops of the North Docks.