Chapter Thirty-Two #2
Taking Cenviri’s invitation, Ryc and I approach the table to claim our seats. Ryc pulls a seat for me, taking the seat closest to Cenviri as Eve takes the seat on my left, and Cyran the foot of the table.
“The state of the hells has never been my concern,” I reply, irritation sharpening my tone as I set the black-bound book before me.
“Nor should it be,” Cenviri says with a nod. “Your place isn’t in the hells. It’s here, in this realm. I promise you.”
“Does it not break primordial law for this number of demons to walk among the living?” Cyran asks.
A valid question.
I would argue yes, it does.
Cenviri laughs, shaking his head. “The primordial laws weren’t outlined by the primordials,” he says. “They never intended for the various species to separate. The laws you refer to are a construct of suppression created by the gods.”
“What?” Eve and I breathe in unison.
The smile on Cenviri’s face grows softer. “Once the gods robbed the living realm of the magic needed to sustain the lives of demons, nyraphim and countless others, they claimed the issue out of their hands.”
So it is like Illa Ysari and Aether then…
“How do you know this?” Eve demands. “You speak like you were around when the primordials were.”
“Perhaps not this iteration of me,” Cenviri replies callously. “But I was. You were as well.” He chuckles as he swings a pointed finger between Ryc and me. “I may not remember those lives, but the dead do, and they tend to speak often.”
I can’t imagine the stories the dead would tell. The things they’ve seen, what they’d know—they’d be a wealth of knowledge. Perhaps the centuries spent in Netharis’ library wouldn’t have felt as lonely or isolated if I could have had conversations with those ancient souls.
“My contract with Netharis prevented me from ascending Cal Anore’s High Throne, and I never understood why, until a few months ago,” Cenviri says, scoffing a laugh. “A seated ruler restores Nether to this land—to this realm, making it possible for demons to walk among the living once again.”
Which means… our ascension will allow for nyraphim to do the same… as Ryc said. I may not have put stock in his words then, but upon seeing who walks the halls of Cal Anore…
“What nyraphim would ever want to leave the heavens?” Eve asks, her brows pinching as she folds her arms on the table, giving Cenviri an inquisitive scowl.
“Plenty, I assure you,” Cenviri replies, smiling. “There are dissenters. Those who’ve existed long enough to know how and when all this started. Those who are tired of being caught in the fray of Gaia and Netharis’ battles.”
“Yet she let Vaelyn ascend,” I say, my confusion growing. “The pantheon didn’t force her to return me to the living realm. She offered. It would have served her to make no offer at all.”
“It doesn’t surprise me she didn’t want you to ascend.
Perhaps if you didn’t look so much like Celesta, you would have never met her.
” Cenviri says. “No spurned mate, goddess or not, would commit themselves to an eternity of collaboration with a creature who resembles the mortal responsible for her mate’s downfall. ”
My ribs crush my lungs, and silence sweeps all of the air out of the room. In the centuries I’ve known my father, not once was it ever mentioned he had a mate. A mate he jilted, no less.
The goddess of life.
Light take me.
“What a fucking mess,” Eve succinctly voices the thoughts of everyone at the table and sinks into her seat with a sigh.
Cenviri laughs. “Agreed. And thus you partially understand why the pantheon should cease to exist. Their grievances, petty squabbles, and personal vendettas destroy the lives of mortals.” He shifts in his seat and clasps his hands before him on the table. “It was never meant to be this way.”
“Whatever it is you’re about to suggest, don’t,” I retort, my eyes narrowing. “I’m here on account of my soul crystal. Nothing more.”
If this necromancer is proposing taking on the pantheon of gods, I’ve zero interest in involving myself to any degree. Cenviri is welcome to fight the gods, without me. I won’t stand in his way.
“Fair enough,” Cenviri deigns with a dip of his chin. He extends an arm, laying an upturned hand upon the table. “If I may see the ritual.”
I push the book in his direction and Ryc takes it, handing it to Cenviri. Drawing it close, Cenviri’s hand hovers above the cover. A sharp tingle races down the length of my spine as the cover throws itself open and pages fly.
“I’m sure there’s a copy of the same in my archives,” Cenviri says, mostly to himself. “But I’ve had no reason to search for it yet.”
“You’re confident you’ll be able to perform it?” Ryc asks over the sound of rapidly turning pages.
Pale moss green eyes flick toward Ryc before returning to the book. “If the ritual is beyond me, you will not find another capable.”
Ego isn’t confined to demons or the fae of Eldoterra it seems.
Necromancers fall victim as well.
The pages stop—falling open to a page littered with runes and casting circles. Chirping crickets from beyond the curtains fill the quiet lingering over the table as Cenviri reads.
“The ritual space must be cleansed, and the ritual itself must be cast while standing in the veil.” His brows lift, surprise rounding his sharp features. “Il-akiv will need a life tether.”
He lifts his gaze and gives Ryc a firm stare.
“Are you willing to serve as her anchor, the thread preventing your cris from answering the call of death?”
I lower my gaze to my lap, hiding the grimace I wear.
“Of course. Without question,” Ryc answers.
“And have you walked in the veil before?”
“No,” Ryc says. He places a warm hand upon my thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“Understand the veil is filled with horrors. Nightmares.” Cenviri meets the stares of Eve and Cyran as he continues to speak.
“They’re lost souls. Promised to neither the heavens nor the hells.
They wander, biding their time until they’re given a new chance at life.
They were all once people. Take care to remember that. ”
It’s one of the first things necromancers learn: bound dead are revered, unbound dead are a threat. And we’re stepping into a realm filled with thousands of unbound dead.
Cenviri turns the page and nods to himself.
“This will not be easy,” he says to me. “And it’s bound to draw the attention of Vaelyn or his Death Bringers.”
“What does it take to walk in the veil?” Eve asks and my head swings her direction. She ignores my silencing glare, choosing to keep her eyes fixed upon Cenviri. “If you expect me to sit on my hands and wait, you’re mistaken,” she says in low tones, the words clearly meant for me.
A smile curls the necromancer’s lips. “Good to see il-akiv has chosen a dedicated First General.” He closes the book. “I’ll have Zirzol answer all your questions, explain the process of descending, and what to expect while veilwalking.”
Behind him, his own First General nods firmly.
Cenviri rises, tucking the book under his arm.
“It will take me a few hours to prepare the ritual space and procure the bindings for the life tether,” he says. “I suggest you take the time to make the preparations you require. Clear your minds. Get rest. You’re welcome to explore the common areas of Cal Anore should you wish.”
Crossing the room, he pulls a door open, pausing.
“I’ll send for you once we’re ready to begin,” he says over his shoulder, and the door closes behind him.
Eve looks to Cyran. “You’ve been quiet, Cyran. What are your thoughts?”
Cyran pulls at his lowered cowl, adjusting it around his neck. “Later,” he answers softly. “First we learn what we need to do to keep our king and queen safe.”
?????????????
A light, gentle rain falls against my upturned palm as I stare at the darkened night sky. The stars, the moon, the universe—they all lie hidden behind a thick veil of shadowed clouds. Below, bright, bold, and bizarre flowers glisten under free-floating magelights, reminding me of summer in Ollora.
Cal Anore sits amid a wilderness I could have never imagined in all of my years. It’s verdant and lush and damp with tall grasses, broad-leaf plants, and curling vines. The trees hoist a canopy of blue leaves in the same star shape as those along the docks of Illa Ysari.
Colossal violet and red unbelievably long, pitcher-shaped flowers emanate the strangest smell—the nectar too sweet—giving the impression its petals would be disastrously sticky.
Lowering my hand, I rest it upon the slick, obsidian rail. The sound of the pattering rain against the stone of the balcony, towers, and covered walkway creates a mellow wash of noise. Distant voices—chatter and laughter—carry, likely coming from the open halls we came through earlier.
None of this—not the lush landscape, the throngs of people going about their lives, or the warm welcome we’ve received—fits any of the notions I have about the dark fae or their lands. It’s not off-putting, but it’s… uncomfortable. And I find myself angry at Netharis and Vaelyn once again.
Why lie?
Unless, of course, all this is the result of Cenviri’s rule following his release from his contract. I’ve so many questions… if Illa Ysari requires the blood of a winged fae or nyraphim, what blood does Cal Anore require?
Cenviri already claimed he isn’t demon.
If demons walk in Cal Anore, does it mean he’s already ascended the throne? Is he High Emperor of Cerwiden—or however the role is titled here?
I’m curious about his Fate. I’m curious about his mate—whoever they might be. What are these gold souls—aside from Fated—and why are they so few? Why have they been fractured and scattered? Why do the gods hunt them?
Through the curtained line of arches behind me, a door closes softly. It’s followed by the sound of rustling paper.
“Where’s Ves?” Eve asks.
“On the balcony,” Cyran answers, keeping his voice low. “Being in here grew to be too much.”
My jaw tightens.
It did.
I didn’t realize it would.