Chapter Fifteen
Even in the countless hours I spent daydreaming about a life among the living while in the dark depths of the hells, I couldn’t have dreamed yesterday into existence.
So much laughter and adoration and awe.
Today though… today may prove to be a nightmare.
Nyluma, the capital city of Vis, cascades down gentle, sloping hillsides stretching to greet the curving coastline. Clusters of trees, still bedecked with vibrant reds, yellows, and oranges are bright against dark stone buildings with darker slate roofs.
Nyluma is a widespread city, its castle perched high above upon the uppermost bluffs.
The blue waters of the Dewsong Sea glitter under the early morning sun.
A few speeding craft sail across the distance, their sails billowing with color.
The fastest features three masts with forest green, cutting through the waves as if it were sliding across glass.
It heads northeast, likely seeking the open waters of the Clarecier Ocean. Barely visible on the horizon lie the marshy lowlands of Renna—the homeland of the truthtelling Sovereign King, Eloric.
One of the fae bastards responsible for this whole mess.
Thanks to Lilith’s little lesson last week, I’ve learned Ganus, the other king leading the charge against Rowen, and Eloric are cousins.
The glossed over detail lends fair credibility to Rowen’s sentiment regarding their assault being politically motivated while implemented under the guise of altruism.
If Rowen falls, Vis will not be the same by the time a new Sovereign King ascends. And while I’m not particularly invested in Vis or its people, Erus shares a border with Vis and Battalia—Ganus’ lands. Meaning this could bear more than significant weight upon Ryc.
In whom I do have significant investment.
“Should I worry?” Ryc asks, his voice yanking me from my thoughts.
The sea, the city, the sky—they all come back into focus.
“Worry?” I turn from the window, catching his gaze.
“Am I going to lose you to Nyluma?” A teasing grin spreads on his face.
I scoff a dry laugh. “No, not at all.”
My hand seeks his, braiding our fingers together as we stand side by side, waiting in the window-lined hall leading to Rowen’s throne room.
We wait for Fenryn, and I’ve lost myself in the lands in the interim.
My appearance today is not widely known.
Rowen keeps those who have already arrived in the throne room.
Fenryn will be walking beside Ryc and I as we enter.
It sends a message.
Lots of messages being sent today.
Let’s see if they all land.
“Nyluma is beautiful,” I say as I turn my eyes to the window once again. “Ollora is my home.”
A flock of gulls near the shore rise higher, riding the briny updraft. They soar high above rooftops and while I cannot hear them through the glass and over the distance, it takes little to imagine their calls. I watch with curling envy, and my back tenses with the longing to stretch my wings.
“For now,” Ryc replies, his voice quiet.
He’s mourning the loss of Ollora too.
Ascending and moving to this Illa Ysari will be new for us both.
“For now,” I echo, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.
“I must have missed the announcement regarding matching attire,” Fenryn’s jolly greeting carries through the hall. “Though I should have figured. Witherhorns have always been the brooding-in-black type.”
Ryc chuckles as we turn and Fenryn approaches. He dons a white sleeveless robe accented with gold around the collar and waist. His golden hair flows over his shoulders, cascading down his back. Quite the contrast to the version of him I saw yesterday morning.
His Captain of the Royal Guard walks beside him, the same fae in his company a week ago when Rowen visited. He wears the same gilded armor, his auburn hair pulled back into a knot. They look like a pair of sun-kissed gods. The Captain’s green eyes meet mine and he offers me a charming smile.
Fenryn notices. “Riordan is a lot like Cyran, except he knows how to smile,” he says, jutting a thumb in the Captain’s direction.
“Honored to meet you formally, Lady Vestaris,” Riordan greets as they join us near the window. He dips his chin in a respectful nod. “Captain Riordan Hollymist. I’ll be working with Captain Stargarden to ensure your safety today.”
“Where is Cyran?” Fenryn’s head swivels. “He already inside?”
Ryc nods. “Confirming details with Captain Nightgale and Captain Seaclove.”
The Captains of the Royal Guard for Vis and Aeros, though I don’t know enough to decipher who belongs to which. Nor do I know their first names.
Fenryn shifts his eyes to me. “Good. If any of those bastards step out of line, it’ll be a step against at least four countries.”
If that’s supposed to make me feel better about the situation, it doesn’t. My dread sinks deeper. These fae are itching for a fight which may lead to inciting a war—exactly what Vaelyn would want.
My hand curls over my heart.
Fenryn’s eyes widen as a smile sweeps across his face.
“I see congratulations are in order,” he laughs. He glances at Ryc. “I told you she would accept.”
I peer up at the dark-haired fae beside me as he laughs.
“I wasn’t concerned she wouldn’t,” Ryc says and Fenryn scoffs.
“I’ve never seen you more nervous, don’t lie,” he taunts, folding his arms across his chest. His ocean blue eyes meet mine. “Don’t let him lie, Ves. He was terrified. You were all he could talk about yesterday morning. Should’ve heard him.”
Reaching over, Fenryn gives Ryc a friendly clap on the shoulder as Ryc laughs.
“It seems my sage advice worked,” Fenryn smiles. “You can thank me later. I hear Fenryn makes an excellent firstborn name. Male or female.”
I freeze.
Firstborn?
As in offspring?
As in children?
No.
I can barely manage myself, and I’m to be responsible for a newborn creature? Who in the hells would carry it? Birth it? Certainly not me. The difference between mortal births and demon births are worlds apart and I’m not interested in either.
Laughing, Ryc shakes his head. “Not going to happen,” he replies.
Oh, thank the gods, Ryc agrees.
My chest deflates with relief.
What in the nine hells kind of damned creature would Fenryn want to see unleashed upon the realm? Part demon, part nyraphim?
“Well, I suppose we have to live through today first,” Fenryn says with a shrug. “I’ll convince you yet. Watch.”
“If you wish for offspring, I suggest having them yourself,” I counter and Fenryn roars with laughter.
“If I don’t, it won’t be for lack of trying,” he muses with an impish grin.
“I look forward to when it’s your turn to stand before the council,” Ryc says and Fenryn scoffs.
“Things are much more entertaining when it’s you, friend,” Fenryn counters. He glances at me. “Ryc give you details on handling Ganus and Eloric?”
I nod, more than happy to venture far from the subject of offspring. “He did,” I answer.
No eye contact with Ganus. He can’t read my thoughts without it.
Brief answers with Eloric. Fewer words means less chance to trigger his truthtelling innate.
Either way, this has significant potential to go horribly wrong.
Eloric will be the easier of the two to handle.
I’ve handled him and his truthtelling ability once already.
Dancing around the truth is second nature to a demon.
It’s Ganus that leaves me nervous. If he’s observant, he’s bound to notice my reluctance to meet his gaze when I hadn’t hesitated at our first meeting.
If Vaelyn has visited him, my actions could be enough to confirm what he’s been told—if Vaelyn has told him the same as Rowen.
I don’t like it.
There are too many moving pieces at play here. It corrodes what would otherwise be an easy task. Too many aspirations, too many motivations, not enough knowledge.
The value of the demonic practice of having eyes in Houses becomes acutely clear. Of course, I’m not going to suggest Ryc do the same.
“Ganus is the sole reason we maintain mental wards at these meetings,” Fenryn says bitterly. “He’s apparently incapable of controlling his innate. Hogwash. It’s an intimidation tactic.”
“Then let us hope Ganus’ innate doesn’t get away from him today,” Ryc says. “I will claim blood tithe otherwise.”
I don’t have to ask to understand what he means.
Retribution in blood.
Fenryn grins. It’s the kind of lopsided grin laced with both approval and excitement. “I know you will. Can’t wait to see it,” he says.
“Let us also hope seeing Lady Vestaris is enough to sway King Liran,” Riordan adds quietly.
Ryc’s brows crease as his eyes narrow. “We don’t have his support?”
Fenryn shakes his head. “Not fully. Not yet. He claims he wants to wait to hear the arguments.”
I thought integrity only felt like betrayal in the hells.
Seems I was wrong.
Ryc sighs, rubbing at his brow. “At least it’s not a solid no.”
“Yet,” Fenryn huffs. “It’s like the gods don’t want us united.”
Well, I know of at least one god who doesn’t.
The parallels between these fae—these Sovereign Kings—and the Layer Lords are far too many. Replace bickering archdemons with bickering fae and the differences lie in vanity.
“I’m not fond of leaving this much to guesswork, Ryc,” Fenryn says, his voice low. He turns his keen eyes to me. “Especially with you here. Regardless of Ryc beside you.”
“We have to be ready for this to fail,” Ryc says, his tone firm.
“Ever the optimist,” Fenryn muses. He heaves a sigh. “Today is guaranteed to be a shitstorm. If the evidence Ganus claims to have requires this level of theatrics, it isn’t evidence at all. It’s smoke and mirrors.”
Ryc’s silence on the matter is damn near deafening.
Fenryn doesn’t notice.
But I do.
“Let’s get this over with,” Fenryn says in a disgruntled groan.
He gestures toward the throne room doors with an open hand. Turning, Ryc offers me his arm, an offer I take with little hesitation. Fenryn steps in on my right and Riordan falls in behind me.
A daughter of death flanked by two influential and powerful fae.
Quite the message indeed.
“What evidence?” I send the demanding question through our bond as we walk.
A moment of silence hangs between us as Ryc works his lips into a flat line. A much longer moment than I’d like. My eyes narrow as I peer up at him.
“Ganus may have made the same connections I have,” he answers, meeting my piercing stare briefly. “If so, we have to do whatever it takes to keep Ganus from laying it before the council. Otherwise Rowen is damned.” There’s more than a healthy dose of reservation and reluctance in his tone.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
Why is he so reluctant in laying out what he knows?
His jaw tightens.
“If I’m right, we will be protecting a guilty king.”
I walk… stunned silent.
Realization unveils itself—there is no right choice here.
There never was.
My mind whirls.
We’ve made our decision.
No, I made our decision. I pressed to save Rowen on account of Tanila.
“Would you have chosen differently?” I ask, lifting my chin and squaring my shoulders.
He meets my stare before answering.
“No,” Ryc says firmly and the cool wash of relief sears through my blood. “But it doesn’t make the decision any easier to bear.”
No, it doesn’t.
Preserve Rowen, save Tanila. Vis will continue as it has. We may shatter the integrity of the council’s oath, but we’ll gain a powerful ally.
Ahead, the throne room doors open, peeled back by guards clad in polished bronze. They offer the slightest nod of acknowledgment as we pass, closing the doors in silence behind us—trapping me in a room with a council of fae capable of selling their souls for the promise of power.
Ryc lifts my hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the center of my palm.
“Be ready, little love,” Ryc says, his voice soft. “This is not the first trial we’ll face together.”