Chapter Thirty-Six
Ryc
Twenty-eight days before the evening of Ashdown
I’ve never felt such terrifying power.
A power capable of destroying the realms.
It ripped through our bond like an avalanche, burying me beneath the heavy desire to smother the living. Had Cenviri not intervened, I wouldn’t have been able to control myself.
Had the realms not trembled in fear, I wouldn’t have believed it.
I still don’t believe it—despite Cenviri’s explanation.
Who she is—what she is… it doesn’t make sense. And yet somehow… it makes all the sense in the world.
She’s the embodiment of Aether.
No.
She is Aether.
The creator and keeper of the veil. The source of old magic. The primordial entity who fell in love with Life and traded her ability to create universes to live among mortals.
She is the reason nyraphim, winged fae, and a plethora of other mystical creatures existed in this realm. And right now, she sleeps peacefully beneath three hovering black candles burning with blue flame. Her breathing comes deep and even, lulled to rest by the spelled candles above.
According to Cenviri, as long as they burn, she sleeps.
And heals.
One candle is enough to suppress the innate of those in this room. Three renders the entire tower a void, nullifying any innate use. Even then, it’s not enough to suppress Ves.
Small vines creep from her fingertips, curling up her fingers. One has reached Eve, having slithered across the bed to wrap itself around her little finger.
Ves loves her.
That’s how I know I made the right choice.
Regardless of what costs may come.
She made her concerns about becoming someone different clear. It may be too early to tell, but she doesn’t feel different—at least, not to me. Not in any negative sense.
But there are changes.
Physical ones.
The most notable lies in the length of her hair. It spills over her shoulders and cascades down the bed. Were she to stand, I’m sure it would sweep the floor.
There’s a glow about her, a new rosiness to her cheeks. She was beautiful before in a haunting, mournful way.
Now she’s utterly ethereal.
More than that, our bond has grown—deepened.
I could fall into it and find her in her dreams if I wished.
It’s a kind of trust she wasn’t willing to give before—that I’ve earned through this. If my adoration and love for her didn’t damn me before, I’m certainly damned now.
Tearing my gaze away from the vines to the other end of the room, my attention settles upon the silver-haired necromancer sitting in one of the high-backed chairs near the raging fireplace.
Druka sits beside him, engaged in low conversation.
She wears a playful smile on her face and occasionally steals covert glimpses in this direction.
If I believe everything Cenviri has shared…
Ves isn’t the only primordial entity sitting in this room.
If I were to believe him… it would explain far too much.
Cyran turns his bloodshot eyes to me from across the bed. Eve lies before him, the slow rise and fall of her chest a welcome sight. Had Cenviri’s healers not been willing to mend the flesh of a corpse, I wouldn’t have been able—
“She’s never going to thank you, Your Majesty,” Cyran says, his voice low.
He sounds tired.
Looks it too.
I imagine we’re all beyond tired. Some of us mask it better than others. I glance at Cenviri.
I huff a small laugh. He could be referring to either Ves or Eve and his sentiment would hold true.
“I don’t need her thanks,” I say quietly. “She doesn’t need to know.”
With any luck, neither she nor Ves will learn the truth of what’s happened. I’m not fond of lying to either, but it serves no one to speak the truth.
Eve wasn’t left to wander the veil long enough for there to be adverse effects—marring on her soul. Ideally, she’ll awake thinking herself gravely injured and having survived—not pulled from death.
She isn’t the first soul I’ve denied the god of death.
But it has been some time since the last.
I wouldn’t consider reviving the raven as adequate practice.
For now, my worries are best kept as my own. Eve isn’t Thalion. She’s not as impulsive, demanding, or self-righteous. And for Ves’ sake, let them continue to share no similarities.
As I lift my gaze from Eve, the colossal succubus’ eyes linger on my wife once again as she presses her lips into a fine line.
“It’s good to see someone fight for her, even if it means fighting her to do it,” she says with a small, lighthearted laugh.
I chuckle, nodding.
I’m confident that beneath my armor I carry more than one healing bruise she’s left upon me.
“She’s had so much taken from her,” the demon adds and her dark brows crease. “I didn’t think it possible for her to have anything left. Not after everything Netharis did.”
A heated blaze of anger flares in my chest at the thought of Netharis.
“You knew her in the hells?” I ask, managing even tones.
Deep, dark pools of black meet my stare.
“For a time I loved her.” She lets her hands fall to the armrests. “Could never tell her though. As I’m sure you’ve learned, demons aren’t the most forthcoming on matters of the heart.”
Cenviri scoffs a small laugh through his nose.
“Not that it would have made a difference if I had. Netharis liked to keep his most prized possessions under lock and key, and within sight.” She taps a long black talon against the polished wood of the armrest. “When the bastard discovered my… interference, I, along with the majority of my House, was forced into hiding.”
“You didn’t fight for her?” I ask as I study the demon.
It’s not a question rooted in any semblance of jealousy. Rather genuine curiosity. I know so little about Ves’ time in the hells. The details she’s shared make it clear those she trusted were few and far between and liable to change on a daily basis.
“How could I?” Druka asks, tossing a single shoulder in a shrug. “If I did, I’d be going against my House and the god of death.” She scoffs a bitter laugh. “Not everyone in this room is an ancient entity.”
The demon’s eyes drift to Eve.
“I did what I could when I learned it was Ves who nearly shattered the hells,” she says. “After that, I knew her escape was imminent. I wanted to make sure she had someone—a soul willing to keep her alive, to always be on her side, no matter the cost.”
So she sent Eve.
“You didn’t strike me as the sentimental type, Druka,” Cenviri says in a quiet tease.
“I’m not,” she attests, leveling a stern glare at the necromancer near half her size.
Cenviri smirks. “Next time consider a better lie. Try blaming it on keeping the company of mortals for months on end.”
With a roll of her eyes she looks at me. “I won’t apologize for surviving,” she drawls in Malbolge. “But she has Eve now,” she adds in common tongue. “And you.”
I’ve not yet mastered speaking the language of the hells. But Eve’s lessons these last few months have certainly made it easier to understand. Hearing the demonic tongue still causes minor discomfort, but thanks to Ves’ vulgar utterances, I’ve established a growing tolerance.
“That’s something you’ll need to consider,” Cenviri says, nodding toward Eve. “Vaelyn will retaliate. He’s due a soul.” He folds his hands in his lap.
“Leaving her wasn’t an option,” I counter.
“Queen Ves would have destroyed Cal Anore,” Cyran says, peering over his shoulder at the necromancer and demon.
“I’m not arguing your decision,” Cenviri says. “In fact, I agree with it. Had I your capability there are many lives I’d gladly return. Unfortunately, I stand as your counterpart. Granting life with my touch is… outside my capabilities.” He offers a sanguine smile.
But taking life isn’t.
Cenviri is Death.
“Do you know of others?” I ask. “Like… us?”
“Aside from the two of you?” Cenviri asks, his brows lifting. “One. Possibly two.”
I keep silent, waiting for him to continue.
“The first is Zuriel. Though I haven’t seen him in some time. Centuries,” he answers. “And like you, I don’t believe he realizes or remembers who he is. Or maybe he does and he wishes to remain hidden as a son to Gaia. Either way, he is Light.”
Zuriel… a son of Gaia…
One of the several fabled siblings Ves has mentioned.
“And the other?” I ask.
The necromancer heaves a reluctant sigh. “I believe I encountered Darkness the night I met il-akiv.” He shifts in his seat, turning to watch the dancing flames. “At the time, I believed il-akiv to be alone in the depths of the Tower. I saw no other with her and felt the draw of the bond.”
“You believed Ves to be your mate?” My brows raise.
The necromancer nods. “For a time, yes.”
A sly smirk curls on Druka’s lips as she settles into her seat, ready to relish in witnessing calamity unfold. At the same time, Cyran unleashes a silent, stern glare upon the necromancer.
Yet no jealousy, no heated anger rises in my chest. Instead, an understanding verging on the cusp of pity grips me. I know, too well, how it feels to hunt for centuries on end.
“I warned him it wasn’t her,” Druka says, lifting a hand to inspect her sharp talons. “Typical fae male. Cen refused to listen.”
Her smile grows more smug.
And she would know. She would know the truth of the matter. Through her demonic channel with Eve, there would be little the succubus wouldn’t have learned about Ves’ life outside the hells.
With a quiet laugh, meeting my stare, Cenviri counters, “Would you trust the words of a demon over what your heart tells you?”
It’s a valid argument.
“He’s already proven he would,” Druka purrs, smiling. “He went as far as marrying the demon.”
Cenviri’s eyes swing to her, set in an unenthused expression. “My point is, I now know il-akiv wasn’t alone that night. Whoever was with her, hiding behind her, was my mate, my Darkness, my cris.”
“Are all the primordials somewhere in the four realms?” Cyran asks.
“It’s possible,” Cenviri answers. “Though the only one who would know for certain is Fate. That being said, Fate, Time, and Judgment have never been seen—not even by the pantheon. Unlike the rest of us, they have never been fractured.”