Chapter 14
Delia
The Ember Vein Mining Camp, The Broken Plains
Almost an hour has passed since I confronted Alaric and Kael, and after a solid ten minutes of silence, some intense eye contact, and a mutual agreement not to throw anyone into a wall, we finally started talking.
They’re... alright.
I mean, for strange magical beings from another realm.
Okay, Demon Princes.
Lords of every freaking thing.
Supreme Nightfallers.
Whatever.
They’re still just guys, really.
And weirdly? I kinda like them.
They’ve got this ancient-brooding-battle-scarred thing going on, sure—but there’s something else beneath that.
Something oddly human.
Still, I cannot wait to meet their viyellas.
Two other Jersey girls, can you believe that? I can’t either.
What are the odds that three women from the Garden State would wind up in this dream-bent, ember-veined realm of fire and shadows, fated to fall for Princes of literal darkness?
Go figure.
“So... Demon Lords play games?” I ask, raising a brow.
“We do not play games—we wage battle,” Alaric replies as the two go about setting up whatever game they are about to play.
Looks like cornhole, but I’ll reserve judgement for when they begin.
We’re seated on a raised terrace, high above the flickering glow of the campground on one side, with the open wild stretch of the Broken Plains unfurling endlessly on the other.
The sky above us is vast—so vast it makes my lungs tighten just to look at it. Ink-black, velvet-soft, scattered with unfamiliar stars that glint like shards of glass.
They pulse gently, not cold, or distant, but strangely alive.
Watching. Waiting.
And then there’s the moon.
It hangs low and immense on the horizon, so close it feels like I could reach out and touch it.
One side glows pale, the color of old bone.
The other burns with the hue of rusted iron, like blood on ancient steel.
Two faces in one—split down the center like a secret it’s only halfway willing to share.
It casts warped shadows across the land, stretching the jagged obsidian spires into tall, twisted silhouettes.
The light shifts and slides across the black earth like a warning. Or a promise.
“It’s called the Gemini Moon, milady,” Kael says, his voice low.
“Gemini…” I whisper. “Two faces.”
He inclines his head. “Always watching. Always weighing.”
Below us, the world stirs.
The Ember Vein hums beneath the surface, a shift change rolling through it like thunder.
Even up here—even though I’m only human—I can hear it.
The clang of hammers bouncing off stone echoing through cavernous halls, the hiss of pressurized steam escaping through vent towers, the slow, soul-deep groan of the pulleys and levers carrying precious ore up from the deep.
It’s not chaos.
It’s rhythm.
A heartbeat.
The living pulse of a realm that breathes fire and shadow.
And for the first time since Thorne left me aboveground, I don’t feel alone.
Not exactly.
Not entirely.
It feels like the very earth is breathing.
And drifting on that heat-washed wind?
The unmistakable scent of meat cooking over open flame. Spiced and savory, rich with rendered fat and charred herbs.
My stomach actually growls, even though I already ate my weight in spicy dream food earlier. I’m not even hungry.
So yeah, sitting here with these two? This is a good distraction.
Alaric and Kael stand a few feet away, their game is set up now and they begin.
I was right, at first glance this looks a lot like cornhole, but with one tiny, deadly difference.
Instead of bean bags, they’re flinging double-edged, hiltless knives in the air with casual precision—catching them mid-spin with bare hands before launching them at a kind of hovering dartboard that pulses with red sigils and fires the damn blades back like it’s got an attitude problem.
“So, this isn’t a game? This is a battle?” I ask dubiously.
“Of course it is a battle, Lady Delia,” Kael says with mock offense, tossing a blade into the air and catching it so fast I blink. “This is called Steel Chance, a sacred test of reflex, wit, and combat instinct.”
“Right. And cornhole’s an Olympic sport,” I mutter, smirking.
He throws the blade. It hums through the air and hits the target dead center.
Only for the board to glow—and fling the blade straight back at him.
Kael ducks and swears in a language that sounds like fire crackling over glass.
Alaric rumbles something smug and steps up for his turn.
“The point,” he says, slow and dry, “is to show who is the fastest, most cunning, and deadliest with a blade.”
“Sure. And the most likely to accidentally stab themselves in the foot,” I add sweetly.
Kael narrows his eyes at me. “You mock our traditions.”
“I do. With affection.”
For a moment, Kael actually grins.
It transforms him. Makes him look like less of a Prince of Tides and more like the hot older cousin at a backyard barbecue who’d teach you how to cheat at blackjack.
This is the first time I’ve seen either of them like this—less Demon Lord, more frat bro.
It’s disarming.
A few more rounds go by, each ending in cursing and increasingly creative throws.
Finally, Kael throws his hands up with a dramatic sigh and snaps his fingers.
The board and blades blink out of existence in a shimmer of orange light.
Alaric snarls at him.
“Whatever,” Kael says, brushing phantom dust from his robes.
I laugh, and it feels good. Lighter.
“Did your viyella, Phoebe, teach you how to say that?”
“Yes, actually,” he admits with zero shame. “She has taught me many things.”
His voice softens, and a wistful look flickers over his face.
“You must miss her. Both of you must miss your mates.”
Kael nods toward Alaric, who’s turned away now, his massive shoulders drawn tight.
“Especially Alaric,” he says gently. “His viyella is carrying their young.”
I suck in a breath. “She’s pregnant?”
“Indeed,” Kael replies. “A very lucky thing. We have not had a Dragon Lord’s young in an age. The realm stirs in response. Hope is a fragile ember, Lady Delia, but it burns brighter now.”
The firelight from the terrace lanterns catches in his eyes.
For all their brooding and power, these men love deeply. Fiercely. I can feel it in their magic.
I look back toward the plains.
And I miss Thorne so much it aches.
I wonder if he can feel it too—that pulse between us.
That bond neither of us expected, but one I now recognize and hold tighter than I ever thought I would.
He’s down there.
Somewhere beneath all that stone and heat and darkness, hunting something dangerous, something twisted.
And I’m up here.
Watching stars I can’t name.
Waiting.
But not idle.
Because I’ve got stories now. Allies.
And when he returns, I’ll be right here—his for however long he wants me and for whatever comes next.
I shiver at the thought.
Kael watches me, his eyes narrowing slightly.
“Too cold?”
“No,” I lie, though it probably is. “I just… prefer heat.”
“Of course you do,” Kael murmurs, and with a similar flick of his wrist, his own tent materializes—closer now, and maybe larger than before, of course, because men—but I don’t care about that.
Because just inside? There’s an enormous in-ground pool that glows from within.
Steam curls from the surface like it’s been freshly poured from the heart of a volcano.
I gape. “Are you sharing that?”
“If you like, milady,” Kael says with a graceful incline of his head. “It’s yours.”
“I haven’t gone swimming in forever. Back home it’s winter,” I murmur.
“Then I insist you indulge, Lady Delia,” Kael offers with a bow.
But he doesn’t need to persuade.
I’m already nodding like a woman possessed.
“Hell yeah. That thing is calling to me.”
This feels like one of those parties I used to sneak into back in high school.
Where the house was too big, the music too loud, and the drinks probably spiked—but none of that mattered. It was about the feeling.
The rush of being alive.
And right now, here in this weirdly beautiful wasteland filled with ancient warrior men and impossible beasts, I feel happy. Free.
Like I finally found my place.
Alaric excuses himself with a soft smile and a dip of his head. There's something courtly about the way he moves, despite the fact that he could probably flatten a mountain with one hand.
“Please excuse me, Lady Delia. Gotta check in with Jules. She gets twitchy if I go dark for too long.”
My head tilts, curiosity sparked. “Jules?” I ask, even though I have a sneaking suspicion I already know.
“My viyella,” he says, and there it is—that faint glow behind his eyes. Love. Real and unguarded.
“Oh! She’s pregnant, right?” I blurt, a little too enthusiastically.
Because apparently, I’ve forgotten how to be subtle or just, you know, manners in general.
His answering smile is proud and a little shy, like he’s still adjusting to the fact that something so good belongs to him.
“Yes. She is expecting. I would have liked to bring her here, but she cannot ride comfortably. Her stomach is... swollen.”
He says it with reverence, not discomfort.
“Of course it is,” I nod, then shift forward, hands gesturing as I speak. “You know, you can relieve some of the pressure in a pool or bath by holding her from behind and just letting her float. The water supports the belly and spine—it takes the weight off.”
Alaric’s brows lift with interest. “Truly?”
“Yeah. In fact,” I add, warming to the memory of reading an article during a boring on-call shift, “you don’t even need water. Have her stand in front of you, wrap her arms around your neck, then you take a small step back. It shifts her balance, so she’s leaning against you. Then sway a little.”
“Sway?” he repeats, clearly trying to picture it.
“Just enough to move together. It mimics the way a baby’s soothed in the womb. The rhythm helps. And it lets her body rest without actually resting.”
He’s quiet for a beat, and I wonder if I said too much.
But then he nods, slow and thoughtful.
“And this will ease her burden?”
“I mean, it’s not magic,” I say with a wry smile. “But yeah. It helps.”
“I will try it. Thank you, Lady Delia.”
“My pleasure,” I reply. “And please—tell her I said hello. I hope I get to meet her and Phoebe soon.”
“I will tell her,” he promises.
And something about the way he says it—not just polite, but full of certainty—makes me believe it. “I’m sure they will both like to meet you as well.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes,” Kael agrees. “They will like you.”
The words are simple.
But they hit deeper than I expect.
And gods, I hope so. Because I don’t just want to survive in this place anymore. I want to belong. To have sisters, not just cellmates in fate.
I watch him walk off into the shadows, his silhouette swallowed by flickering light, and I realize something else.
I miss Thorne.
And I’m more than a little terrified of what that means.
But still, warmth spreads through me at that.
I’ve never had many female friends. Not real ones.
Not ones who’d show up at midnight with snacks and shitty advice and still love me when I ignored it.
Maybe here it’ll be different.
I retreat into my—no, it’s Thorne’s, or maybe it’s ours—tent for something to wear—though swimwear is not a category that seems to exist in Nightfall.
I settle on a sleeveless white tunic, long enough to cling modestly and thankfully not transparent.
I find a pair of soft drawstring shorts that might be pajamas, might be ceremonial wear.
At this point, who cares? I’m going swimming!
Kael is already lounging on a rock nearby, pointedly looking away when I emerge.
“I’ve heated the water,” he says. “hopefully to your liking.”
“Aren’t you swimming too?” I ask.
“Um, no. I wish you to enjoy the pool, Lady Delia. I’ll be just over here, speaking with my viyella through a mirror link.”
“Mirror link?”
“Think of it as Nightfall’s FaceTime,” he says, and I nod.
“Okay. Thanks,” I murmur, and then I walk down the steps into the pool and—bliss.