Chapter Thirty-Three #3
“I will not be wielded as a weapon against dormant entities who may not even realize who they are,” Cenviri says with a small, victorious smile. “If the gods wish to find them, they’re welcome to hunt on their own.”
Moss green eyes swing from mine to the doorway and I turn. Zirzol greets us with a dip of his chin and a fist over his heart.
“Patriarch, your Generals have gathered and the ritual site is ready,” he says.
Cenviri breezes past, sweeping around Ryc and me. “Very well then,” he says. Stopping by the door, he turns. “Gather what you and your party will use and be ready. It won’t be long now.”
?????????????
I close the door behind me as Ryc crosses the room and sets the canvas bag filled with bloodstone weapons upon the table. The blades, sheathed in leather, remain silent.
Eve pulls her feet down from the table and sits up in her seat, exchanging a confused glance with Cyran sitting beside her. “What’s this?” she asks.
Ryc unloads several small daggers—I made sure to grab a full set of throwing daggers for Eve—and places them next to the bag. He doesn’t look up from the bag as he answers.
“Weapons for the veil,” he says. “The kind capable of ending the dead.”
Wearing her scrutiny upon her face, her eyes swing to me as I join Ryc. “What does he mean?” she asks.
“Bloodstone,” I reply. “Cenviri doesn’t want to take any risks during our time in the veil. We need to be prepared for the worst.”
The worst being Death Bringers storming the ritual space.
I’ve not once seriously considered killing my siblings.
But I shall if they interfere during my soul mending.
Eve’s hand darts across the table, snatching one of the daggers from the pile, pulling it from its sheath. She tilts it into the light, the darkness of the black blade growing more intense despite it.
“Way different than your dagger,” she says, the awe in her voice genuine.
I imagine she’s never seen pure bloodstone before.
“Take care not to cut yourself,” I warn. “Unless you wish to find the void.”
“Druka came by while you were with Cenviri,” Cyran says and both Ryc and I pause, turning worried glances to Eve.
Eve sighs, leveling an annoyed look to her right. “It’s fine. We’re fine. There’s nothing to worry about. Nothing happened.”
I’m not convinced.
Nor am I surprised Druka would take the opportunity to speak with Eve outside my company.
“What did she want?” I ask, trying not to sound annoyed.
“That’s the thing,” Eve answers with a confused shrug. “I don’t know. She came in here, sat at the table, stared at Cyran and me, heaved a sigh, and left.”
She gestures to the seat across from her. Unlike the rest of the empty seats tucked neatly against the table, it sits farther away—as if the occupant left in a hurry.
“She’s not quite what I expected.” Eve shrugs again. “The whole exchange was rather off-putting.”
“Maybe she’s just as bewildered to meet Eve?” Ryc offers, though it’s clear he doesn’t quite believe the suggestion either.
I shake my head, staring at the empty seat.
The behavior doesn’t sound like Druka.
No, the succubus who greeted us at the Ferry Gate—the seductive smiles, batted lashes, and flirtatious wit—that’s Druka.
“It was like she wanted to say something but didn’t know how,” Cyran notes quietly.
“How long ago was she here?” I ask, glancing at the door.
“I’m surprised you didn’t see her on your way back,” Eve says.
“If it’s important, she’ll return,” I say, turning to the table as I reach for the pair of daggers I tucked into the bag.
Truth be told, I’d rather her not return even if it is.
I’ve not the time or mental wherewithal to argue with a past lover over things wholly unrelated to the task at hand.
Wrapping the belt around my hip, I move toward the open veranda. It’s still raining, harder than before, and the curtains billow with the warm breeze. Warm summer nights here, while Erus sits under a shining blanket of snow.
Part of me wonders what the demons here think of the realm. Are they as enthralled or enamored as I am? Do they, too, stare at the night sky? Does Druka?
There’s a whole conversation hanging over Druka and I—one that will eventually need to take place. And despite having nearly two centuries to think on what happened, the way things ended, I still don’t know what to say.
Were she to blame me for everything, I’d understand. Seeing her again dredges up thoughts and feelings I’ve tried to forget. Guilt and shame. I loved her for what she was, knowing we were bound to fail.
Strong arms drape over my shoulders and tuck me against a firm chest. Curling into Ryc’s embrace, I let my head fall to the side, resting against his arm.
“Where does your mind wander, little love?” he asks, his voice gentle.
I heave a sigh, my lips becoming a tight line.
I’m not doing that again. I’m not going to make the same mistakes. Not this time. Not with Ryc. He’s neither Kassil nor Druka.
“To a past serving as a reminder,” I answer quietly.
Pitching myself slightly, I peer at the table, and find it empty. Both Cyran and Eve gone.
“They’re in the hall,” Ryc says, resting his cheek against the top of my head. “I asked for a moment with you.”
A moment of closeness before we’re separated—potentially forever.
He curls himself around me as I curl my fingers around his arm, tucking them beside my chin.
“I don’t know how this will unfold,” his gentle voice unfurls in my mind. “Not knowing. It’s killing me. I’ve only just found you again, and now there’s chance of losing you?”
The worry in his last few words is enough to tear holes through my heart. My grip tightens as I fix my stare through the curtains into the night.
“I wish I could tell you… what the outcome will be.” I melt into him, absorbing as much of his touch as I can. “I wish I knew how this will change me.”
Change me, change us, change our lives.
“That doesn’t matter,” he says, giving me a firm but gentle squeeze. “We’re all bound to change… in one way or another. I promise to love each iteration of you.”
If the fae is seeking to turn my heart bloodied, he’s succeeding.
“I do not deserve you,” I reply and my jaw tightens. “But I promise to try to.”
Ryc chuckles, shifting to press a kiss against my temple. “I’d much rather you promise to return to me. Let me show you how wrong you are. Let me spend eternity showing you.”
Shifting in his embrace, I turn to face him, and he rests his brow against mine.
“Eternity,” I whisper.