Chapter Twenty-One #2
“I’m quite content here, thank you,” I counter as Ryc claps Cyran on the shoulder in a friendly gesture, saying something too low for me to hear.
With a firm nod, Cyran looks to Eve. “Eve,” he calls.
Eve sighs as she peels herself from the wall. “Let’s see if his win goes to his head,” she says, her voice low.
“I can’t help you with that,” I retort. “But I’m confident you can handle him.”
She huffs a laugh, tossing me a glance over her shoulder. As she breezes past Ryc, they exchange silent nods. She and Cyran retreat to the far side of the room, to the center of the second circled mat.
My eyes swing to the glistening, bare chested nyraphim as he approaches.
I’ve only ever seen him gleaming in such a way following exertion of a different nature—one that leaves me breathless beside him.
He snags a small towel from a nearby shelf against the wall, smiling as I continue to openly stare.
Wiping the sweat from his brow and face, he makes his way to me.
“Siren.” The quiet tease is accompanied by my favorite smirk as he claims the place Eve held moments ago.
“Your siren,” I correct and he laughs. I turn to face him, leaning my shoulder against the cool of the stone. “Eve says you used your innate in an innateless fight. Why?”
Ryc’s eyes dart across the room before returning to mine. “A reminder,” he says, his voice low. “To expect nothing, yet anticipate everything. He understands the purpose.”
“Careful,” I say, letting my eyes trail down his form of their own accord. If such a sight is to stand before me, why shouldn’t I enjoy it? “You’re speaking the language of the hells with that sentiment.”
He chuckles, turning to give me a better view. “And you interfered. Why?”
“For amusement,” I answer with a shrug. “And to level the playing field. An eye for an eye and all that.”
Ryc shakes his head as he laughs.
“Cyran is a good captain,” Ryc says, and he brushes his thumb along my jaw. “But I need him to become a great commander.”
Another shimmering ripple of magic washes over my skin as a crystalline blade of ice manifests in Cyran’s hands. Crimson fire flares before Eve, shielding her. The blade shatters, shards raining to the mat.
“Good!” Cyran calls as he swings again, the blade reconstructing itself.
Whirling on her toes, the strike misses, but a couple of her loose braids fall to the mat.
Cyran pauses.
Eve pauses.
Both stares affixed upon the tendrils of severed hair on the ground.
Eve’s head snaps up. “Are you serious?” she shouts, launching herself in his direction.
Ryc, chuckling, glances at me. “Ready to start?” He pulls himself away from the wall.
I can’t say no regardless of how badly I want to witness Eve pummel Cyran. Instead, I nod, letting my arms fall to my sides.
“Why are we here today?” I ask, trailing after him. “The rain’s never stopped us before.”
He glances over his shoulder, tossing the towel aside. “It’s easier to control your emerging innate in here.”
I stop, brows creasing.
“My what?”
Surely, I’ve misheard him.
He turns to face me as I stop beside him. “The veilflowers, Ves,” he says simply—as if that would explain everything.
My scowl deepens. “If this is a joke, you’re missing the mark, Ryc.”
He shakes his head. “Not a joke.”
“The veilflowers—”
“Emerged when you discovered the soul crystal belongs to you,” he interjects, his tone firm. “The vines responded to your touch in the courtyard. They bloomed, little love. And yesterday, they began appearing upon you.” He plants his hands on his hips. “This is your innate. It’s trying to emerge.”
“My innate isn’t—”
Eve shouts and I’m crushed against Ryc’s chest, his arms tight around me. White light fades as I turn to peer over my shoulder.
Beyond a translucent shield of white light, a curtain of shifting green tendrils curl tight around a massive shard of ice, shattering it.
Splinters cascade to the floor, glittering in their descent.
Eve and Cyran rush across the room, stepping around the wall of vines strung between the floor and ceiling.
“Ves,” Eve breathes, lifting her face in awe to stare above.
Stepping back, Ryc’s eyes meet mine.
“You were saying?” He taunts through our bond, giving me an arched brow.
“Lady Ves, are you alright?” Cyran asks, the question apologetic and laced with panic.
“I-I’m fine,” I manage with a tight shake of my head. I’m confused, but fine. “I did not do this. This isn’t me,” I say, giving the vines a wary once over.
They twist and knot, winding themselves into a single, flowerless entity. Leaves unfold, dark green, heart-shaped velvet.
“Do you really believe that?” Ryc asks gently. “Even after this?”
I don’t know what I believe.
But I know what I’ve had for centuries.
And it wasn’t veilflowers.
“My innate manifests as shadows,” I retort, indignant. “Not… not this!” I gesture at the vines with an open hand.
“When did your shadows manifest?” Ryc asks.
In an instant, I’m transported to Netharis’ study—to the moments leading up to the signing of my contract. It lies between my hands upon his desk, the signature line empty. Pressing my left thumb against the parchment leaves a blackened stain and inky fog ebbs beneath my hands.
I never stopped to think about the discovery of my innate because it never mattered.
Only it did matter.
No… I shake my head.
No, not possible.
My hand flies to my brow.
My innate cannot be yet another means Netharis used to exert control. I spent centuries learning to control my shadows—fighting the incessant need to kill because Netharis designed it so.
“Do you not remember?” Eve asks, she shifts her weight onto the other foot, shooting a hesitant look in Ryc’s direction.
Ryc shakes his head, a silent, gentle warning to allow me space.
“They were never mine,” I whisper, defeated. “All of us… we all possessed shadows. We were all given shadows.”
A contract bestowed innate, much like hellfire.
Which, thanks to Eve, I’ve learned assumes the place of one’s inherent innate ability. Which means… Ryc is right.
These vines… are mine.
A faint vibration ripples in my chest—one easily missed were I not looking for it. It doesn’t feel like a call or an announcement—hells, it doesn’t feel like an innate.
Stepping forward, I grab at the vine, ripping it toward me. Deep green buds swell around my hand and burst open, revealing sapphire petals that cast me in an ethereal blue light.
I heave a long, defeated sigh. I cannot deny Ryc’s observations—proof stands directly before me. Yanking my hand away, the vines vanish in a rolling billow of dark blue smoke.
As the rest of the vines vanish, it feels like a slap in the face.
A reminder of my shadows.
“All of Netharis’ children have the shadow innate?” Cyran asks.
“Yes.” I nod.
“Why shadows? Why not hellfire?” Eve asks, her brows pinching.
I never stopped to consider one over another. Nor do I have answers for her. I shake my head, remaining silent.
“Why would Celesta take it?” I ask and my feet set off into a pace. “What did she take if not my innate?”
“Is it possible she knew the nature of your contract?” Cyran asks and I can feel his eyes following me. “Perhaps she didn’t take anything at all and instead suppressed your shadows.”
No.
No that’s not it.
“What you’ve given her was not meant for her! You’ve ruined her!” Netharis’ shouting creeps out of the darkened corners of my mind.
Given.
Two things become painstakingly clear…
Celesta took, without a doubt, something Netharis gave.
But what…
Could it have been the innate Netharis bestowed? The magic would have vanished the instant my contract ended. That doesn’t seem like a worthwhile theft.
It has to be something different.
“Celesta is asking you to return the parts of her she’s given you.” Artemise’s voice echoes through my head.
I pivot, turning to face the three of them to retrace my steps, my mind still racing. Ryc moves into my path, his concern plain upon his face. My feet continue in their slow, steady pace.
What in the hells could Celesta have given me that Netharis believes isn’t hers? Or… she shouldn’t have?
“Ves?” My name on Ryc’s lips startles me.
As I draw close, he places his hands on my shoulders, stopping me in my pacing. I step into his embrace, seeking his warmth and closeness, my arms working their way around him.
Clearing my head with a small shake, I scoff a dry laugh. “Forgive me, more pieces to figure out.” I rub at my brow.
“You’re giving Celesta too much credit,” Eve says to Cyran. “She and Netharis deserve one another. There’s no benevolence in anything she chooses to do—especially when it concerns him. She used her own daughter.”
“A daughter she didn’t want,” I add and her eyes swing in my direction.
I can’t imagine bearing children.
Let alone being coerced into doing so.
Part of me doesn’t blame her for doing what she did to strike at my father. She was as much a pawn in the gods’ game as I. It took her centuries, but she watched and learned, and played the only hand she had.
There’s not a soul in this realm who’d do different.
And if they say otherwise, they’re lying.
“Right now, we need to start working toward learning control of your innate,” Ryc says. “It’s bound to manifest in more dangerous ways.”
I pause.
Your innate.
The words clang around in my head.
“It’s not mine,” I whisper.
Eve, appearing beside Ryc shakes her head, confused. “I don’t understand. You should be excited. You’ve an innate,” she says. “It’s what you’ve wanted.”
“It’s not my innate,” I repeat and she heaves a sigh. “It’s not my shadows. This… this belongs to the other half of—
“Your soul,” Eve interjects heatedly. “Making it yours.”
For something that’s mine, it feels entirely foreign.
And out of reach.
“There’s nothing to grasp. Nothing to beckon or summon or bend,” I reply. “It’s—”
“Nothing?” Ryc’s voice echoes through our bond and my eyes snap to his. “The numbing cold when you slipped into the veil? The brumal rage in my study? The searing panic during the council meeting? It’s all connected.”
“Ryc, I believe you’re mistaken.” I choose not to use our bond.
“I don’t,” he says slowly. “I’ve witnessed many innates emerge, little love. Cyran has as well. This is following the same patterns.”
“Have a few cadets experiencing it currently,” Cyran attests with a firm nod.
Ryc lifts a hand, reaching for my temple. He brushes some of the loosened tendrils of my hair out of the way and there’s a small snap—yet no pain. I reel back as he draws his hand between us, holding a small, glowing veilflower pinched between his forefinger and thumb.
“You’ve spent centuries acknowledging, understanding, and learning about half of you who are,” Ryc says, his voice gentle as I stare at the flower, my jaw tight. “You’re more complicated than being simply demon in the same way I’m more complicated than being simply fae.”
Even if I want to argue, I can’t.
He speaks the truth.