Chapter Thirty-Six #2
If they are primordials… elder gods, there are more than eight as originally believed. Including Fate, Time, and Judgment makes eleven. The runes on the armrests of the thrones in Illa Ysari accurately listed the primordials after all.
“How they’ve managed to evade the pantheon for eons is both impressive and terrifying,” Cenviri says, chuckling. “With Aether restored, I wouldn’t be surprised should that change.”
“What happens next?” I straighten myself in my seat. “Are the gods going to hunt us?”
“My friend,” Cenviri flashes a broad smile. “The gods have been hunting us. Now we find our ilk and fight for our lives.”
A war of celestial proportions is the last thing the High Council is going to entertain.
The door opens and Zirzol sweeps inside, his face twisted with concern.
“Patriarch, have you looked at the sky?” he asks in Malbolge.
Cenviri gives his First General a pair of dark creased brows as he rises from his seat. Zirzol breezes past him, making for the curtained balcony door beside the fireplace. He draws back the sheer white material, revealing what should be the night sky an hour before dawn in Cal Anore.
Instead, a soft gold, pulsing glow stems from the left.
“Another makes itself known,” Zirzol says.
“What direction is that?” I ask, pulling myself upright and crossing the room.
Cenviri opens the door and steps into the night.
“Northeast,” he says, not turning away from whatever sight lies beyond Cal Anore.
The lingering chill from veilwalking makes the summer night air feel deceptively cold. Suppressing a shiver, I join Cenviri on the balcony, eyes fixed on the night sky.
Colossal branches filled with gilded leaves and crimson crystalline flowers shear across the northern sky towering over the blue-leaved forest of Cal Anore. Rooted in the north, the gold canopy consumes a quarter of the visible universe.
“What do I tell your House, Patriarch?” Zirzol asks in hushed tones. He speaks faster in Malbolge than he does in common tongue. “Many are saying this is Vaelyn.”
Cenviri shakes his head. “For now, advise those who ask or show concern that the situation is being investigated. Until there is need for action, all members of the House are to remain within the walls of Cal Anore.”
“Is this Ves?”
He meets my stare and shakes his head again.
“No, il-akiv’ae cris,” he answers, turning his face to the sky once again. “I believe this is Chaos.”
Chaos, the primordial whose very nature is to destroy.
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Stepping through the doors of Illa Ysari, beams of early morning sunlight cut through the lingering fog. In a couple of hours, it’ll have been a full two days since we stepped onto Illa Ysari.
And in that time, the island has changed.
The fog isn’t as thick anymore. The halls devoid of dust and debris.
I can’t help but think that’s because of Ves.
The old magic constructs are working and preparing the citadel for her.
Despite the fog not being as thick, it’s still impossible to see if the golden branches hang over Illa Ysari. The morning light brightening the world doesn’t help matters either.
A short distance ahead, silvery-blue figures take shape, revealing themselves from the gardens on either side of the stone path. Wearing what appears to be heavy canvas gloves and wide-brimmed hats, several dozen old magic constructs begin to line the walkway.
They turn their shrouded faces in our direction.
Fixing their sightless stares on Ves.
They pause for her.
With a downward glance, I find her still asleep in my arms. She’s been swept into dreams by a dreamweaver and held there by the burning candle Eve carries. Slow-blooming veilflowers emerge as vines creep through her hair, casting a soft blue glow over her face.
One candle won’t be enough to suppress all her Aether, especially here, but it’s enough to keep it from consuming her. The farther we get from these grounds imbued with Aether, the safer she’ll be. It’ll be easier for her to manage who she is without harming herself or those around her.
Cenviri provided two more candles along with the suggestion it would be better to keep her subdued for as long as possible.
Better for whom?
Certainly not Ves.
I’m not going to do that. I’m not keeping her trapped.
The necromancer understood, but made it clear he would not be able to assist in her transition were I to leave Cal Anore. Staying isn’t an option. Ves and I have made promises we’re expected to keep, and I doubt she’ll want to linger here.
But getting her home will be more than a challenge. I didn’t have time to warn the good Captain, nor do I know his schedule, but I’ll make sure he’s compensated for the trek he’s about to undertake. Until we’re far enough away, I cannot let her wake and we cannot ferry.
As the constructs drift toward the path, they line the walkway leading to the docks, clasping their hands before them. They’re seeing us off. Seeing their creator off.
They listen to her, serve her, because she is their mother.
Under their shrouded stares, Eve sweeps ahead, black candle in hand. Its blue flame, unbothered by her swift movement, burns bright. She takes lead, forcing me to follow in her wake else fall outside of the candle’s reach.
The constructs watch, their chins dipping in reverence as I pass, as if they know she can’t be here now. I can’t explain it, but it feels a lot like a funeral procession, despite Ves breathing in my arms.
Ice blue eyes peer over a shoulder, darting past me to Cyran on my flank.
Eve’s a whole separate obstacle.
She’s angry.
She has right to be. Contract lost and her matron demon refusing to offer another, she’s bitter. It’s something I can understand if the reason the succubus gave is true. The best I can do is give her time. It may seem like it now, but Ves isn’t the only reason I chose to save her.
I did it because she deserves another chance.
She’s paid enough—changed and grown from her mistakes. She’s no longer the arrogant, heartless fae I met long ago. Who she’s become deserves the chance at an unbound life, even if she never sees past her anger to recognize it.
She sweeps up the stone steps to the dock as our surroundings peek through the fog, and I keep close pace. The length of the Jaded Kelpie darkens through the haze, and its Captain and a few crew stand in wait.
“Been here since twilight,” Connak greets with a wave “Didn’t want to risk you thinking we abandoned you.”
His eyes land on Ves.
“What happened?” his tone takes on a concerned edge. “We’ve a healer. Dendrea!” he shouts over his shoulder up at the deck.
Ves stirs, her brows creasing as she curls into me.
The Captain gestures to the gangplank as Eve passes, somewhat taken aback by her blatant disregard to his greeting.
“Is she sick?” Connak asks, studying her. No doubt drawn to the creeping vines and veilflowers. “Are you putting my crew at risk?” His hand darts out, grabbing my shoulder.
Forced to stop, I heave a sigh.
Cyran grabs the Captain’s wrist and removes it from my shoulder, keeping a firm grip. The Captain’s eyes swing from mine to his.
“I advise you keep your hands off anyone in our party,” Cyran says in a low warning.
At this, Eve’s head whirls and the rest of her follows. She storms toward the Captain, candle clutched in her hands, a scowl plastered on her face.
“She won’t be a threat if you get us to Ollora, now,” she near snarls at Connak. “We need to get her off this godsdamned island.”
“And I need to protect my family,” Connak counters, unafraid of the fae female able to stare him square in the eye. “Which means not exposing them to… to whatever this is.” He shakes his head as he gestures at Ves.
“Eve, Cyran,” I say, using a much quieter voice.
Eve huffs through her cowl as Cyran releases his grip.
“I assure you she is not sick—not with anything you or your crew can contract,” I say. “Illa Ysari runs in her blood. She sleeps to prevent consumption.”
Connak’s brown eyes shoot wide. “Winged fae,” he breathes.
Let that be the extent of his understanding.
“You called, Cap’t?” a female voice rings from above.
A mousy-faced female peers over the railing of the ship, her golden braid swinging over a shoulder.
“Keep close, Dendrea,” Connak answers as he takes a step back, putting more space between himself and Eve. “We’re carrying precious cargo today.” He lowers his chin, meeting my stare. “Take her to my office. We’ll have you back to Galyne in no time.”
“No.” I shake my head. “Ollora.”
His eyes narrow. “That’s three days’ travel.”
“And you’ll be paid accordingly,” I reply.
Huffing a tight sigh, Connak flattens his lips, tearing his eyes downward to Ves. “You got that kind of money?” he asks, his voice low. “I’m gonna need some sort of guarantee.”
“You have the word of the Witherhorn family,” I say, noting his quarrelsome demeanor and making toward the gangplank.
I’ll fight with him about logistics after Ves is settled.
Not before.
The number of silent stares as I board grows, and by the time I cross the deck, I’ve earned the eyes of nearly everyone aboard. They undoubtedly heard me give my family name.
This isn’t the impression I wish to leave upon our only means of travel. But we’ve little choice. I’m sure Eve, Cyran, and myself aren’t the only ones on edge right now.
Ahead, Cyran opens the office door.
Setting Ves upon the narrow, low bed, the veilflower vines curled around my arm snap, bursting into blue smoke. As the door swings shut behind Cyran, Connak begins shouting orders to his crew and the ship moves in the seconds following. With a grimace, I hold my breath, waiting to see if Ves wakes.
She heaves a sigh, curling onto her side, and veilflower vines creep from her hair and crawl over the bed.
She remains fast asleep for now. With little care, Eve sweeps an arm across Connak’s desk, clearing it of parchment.
Maps and scrolls tumble over the backside of the desk as she tilts the candle on its side over the center of the desk.