Chapter 51
DIEM
Dawn came, then afternoon, then evening again, and Vance and his men did not return. Besides a visit from a brusque man with our daily flameroot, we were left to stew in our fears—Doriel, for their mate, and me, for the world.
I stood at the bars and watched Ophiucae keep his glowing vigil. He was so still, I might have thought him asleep, if not for the constant movement of his fingers, casting his virulent magic from a distance.
“I’ve got to get that sword,” I murmured.
And that book, I thought.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you about that,” Doriel said, pacing behind me on their thousandth anxious lap of the day. “I locked it in my personal vault after the first attack here, but you had it when you left the island. How did you get it?”
“The Kindred gave it to me.”
They stopped and looked at me. “Why?”
I hesitated. My trust in Doriel was feeble at best, but they might be the only person in Emarion with the answers I needed. “I’m trying to figure that out,” I hedged. “Did you ever study it?”
Their withering stare told me I’d been a fool to ask.
“What do you know about the markings on its blade?” I prodded.
“It’s the Blessed Kindred’s native language. We only have a few examples of it.” Their chest lifted proudly. “Of course, it was more than enough for me to decode.”
“Do you know what it says?”
“I do, though the flameroot has made my memories fuzzy. I remember it was a poem . . . something about love. And a sacrifice, I think. Blood—those old poems are always going on about blood.”
My forehead slumped against the bars. Sacrifice and blood were parts of the spell I was already painfully aware of.
Doriel closed their eyes, pressing their fingers to their temples. “There was a number. Three, perhaps? Maybe five?” They scowled. “Is this how other people live, heads full of details they can’t remember? What’s the point of a memory that you can’t recall when you need it?”
“The same point as a book you can’t read,” I muttered, staring at the object at Ophiucae’s side. “To gather dust for years, then surface at the worst possible moment.”
Suddenly, the light surrounding Ophiucae dimmed and receded into his silvery skin. He sat upright just as his gryvern let out a snarl.
“They’re back,” Doriel said, pointing to a stream of people on the Ring Road. We watched in growing dread as the line kept coming and coming, more returning than had left. The soldiers’ perfect lines and unnatural gait suggested that they hadn’t joined Vance’s army by choice.
“Those are Merosians,” Doriel whispered, voice breaking. “What if they got Obie?”
“Can you sense him through the mating bond?”
Their palm flew to their mark. “I don’t know. The flameroot made everything so . . .”
“Quiet?” I finished. My fingers wandered to my chest, toying at the fabric.
Doriel gave me a curious look. Their brows slowly rose. “You and the Prince?”
My hand jerked down. “No.”
When the group reached the city, I was relieved to see that there were far fewer of them than I would expect from the same kind of attack they’d waged on Sophos. Vance stationed the new arrivals on the outskirts of town, where they stood at attention, eerily still.
The soldier who’d escorted me to my cell jogged to Vance and whispered something that had Vance’s eyes sliding my way and narrowing. Instead of coming for me, he stomped into the hills to Ophiucae.
Their conversation was tense, both men looking deeply annoyed by the other. It ended abruptly when Ophiucae turned from a still-shouting Vance and walked away, while Vance’s glare shot daggers at his back.
The men had brought back casks of Merosian ale to celebrate their victory, and before long, mugs were full and eyes were glassy.
I curled into a tight ball in the corner of my cell and buried my head as Vance’s men warbled tavern songs about the Descended and the retribution they deserved.
I’d sung the same songs countless times over a pint in Mortal City, laughing and dancing with Henri, never really believing the violent words might one day come true.
I couldn’t help searching the crowd for his face.
I spotted Henri seated by the campfire, eyes dark and head low.
Someone offered him a mug and he waved them off, seeming more interested in the flames than the revelry.
He lifted his head and turned it toward Lumnos, and then, a moment later, turned it to me.
I forced myself not to look away, pouring all my rage and betrayal into my glare. He held my eyes for a long time before he finally rose and walked off into the shadowed ruins of the city.
The merriment ended shockingly fast. In less than an hour, the city fell quiet as men with droopy eyelids staggered toward their makeshift beds. Some didn’t even make it indoors before they dropped to the ground and began to snore.
“Victory has made me generous,” Ophiucae announced, striding toward my cell with a smirk and a mug. “I’ve decided to share the spoils of war.”
“I don’t want your ale,” I said.
“Pity. Vance said it was only for the men. I was looking forward to seeing his face turn red when he watched you drink.” He pushed his hand through the bars, offering it to Doriel. “How about you?”
Doriel eyed both man and mug with heavy trepidation. “I’ll pass.”
Ophiucae’s smile dropped. “Take the mug.”
Doriel looked at me in panic.
I jumped to my feet. “Fine, give it to me. I’ll drink it.”
“No. You’ve rejected my gifts one too many times.” He looked back at Doriel. “Drink.”
His voice was laced with compulsive magic, and Doriel was powerless to refuse. They took the mug and downed its contents in a single gulp.
Ophiucae’s frosty grin returned. “Now the fun has begun.”
“Where is my mate?” Doriel demanded. “Did you kill him like you killed my people?”
Ophiucae looked offended. “I killed no one in Sophos.”
Doriel threw themself against the bars. “You erased all those brilliant minds. You destroyed Emarion’s greatest resource!”
Ophiucae gestured to the library. “I spared your precious books, didn’t I? I’m sure they contain meticulous notes on the research done here. The new generation will be back at work on it in no time.”
“Those people were worth more than their research,” I scolded, shooting them both disappointed looks. “Their lives are not replaceable.”
Doriel looked abashed.
Ophiucae looked annoyed. “Doriel, I hear your people found antidotes for nearly every poison that Descended healing can’t overcome. An impressive accomplishment.”
Doriel stood a little taller. “Indeed. We saved many lives with that work.”
“And the poisons that only affect mortals—did you find cures for those, too?”
Doriel tensed. “Well, you see . . . there are so many. We can’t be expected to solve every ailment that makes mortals ill.”
Ophiucae leaned in closer to the bars. “Were you studying those ailments at all?”
Doriel looked everywhere but at me.
I turned away, disgusted. At Ophiucae, for insisting the Descended were unworthy of being saved. At Doriel, for giving him all the evidence to prove it.
“It’s not that we didn’t care,” Doriel protested. “We prioritized research that could help mortals and Descended.”
“Like a cure for godstone?” Ophiucae said dryly.
I buried my face in my hands.
“Godstone is different,” Doriel sputtered. “It has plagued our people since . . . the time of the Blessed Kindred. We don’t know where . . . it came from or how . . . it works . . . or . . .” Their voice took on a slurred, unsteady cadence. “We don’t . . . the poison . . . it’s . . . poison . . .”
The sound of a shattering mug and a heavy thump rang out behind me. I turned to see Doriel sprawled on the ground, eyes closed. I ran to their side and shook them. They didn’t stir, though their chest still rose and fell with steady strength.
“A sleeping draught,” Ophiucae explained.
He looked out at the city of dozing men.
“I don’t know what’s more surprising, my brother’s kin doing something with ale other than drinking it, or the mortals waiting to bring it back here before they took the bait.
They should have known better than to trust an empty port. ”
My hope soared. If the people of Meros had laid a trap and evacuated Meros City, they must have been warned about what happened in Sophos. Perhaps the warnings had reached the other realms, too.
I looked out at the new arrivals, still standing at attention at the city’s edge. “Then where did they come from?”
“Stragglers. Travelers on the Ring Road and stubborn folk who had refused to leave their homes. A few port arrivals with unlucky timing.”
I walked to the cell bars and clutched them. “If their minds are already gone, then let them die. I am begging you, leave the Descended of this world alone.”
He held my gaze, two pairs of dark grey storms swirling in a tempest of challenge, doubt, and tentative rapport.
His mental talons dragged their claws along the walls of my mind, parchment-thin without my magic to shield them, but he didn’t pierce through.
He was searching for something in me, just as surely as I was searching for something in him.
“Why do you fight so hard to save them?” he asked. “Not just the Descended. The mortals here. Vance. Even me.”
I swallowed hard. “So you are reading my thoughts.”
“I don’t have to. Your thoughts are written in your deeds.” His head gave a curious tilt. “What is it about me you wish to change?”
Not long ago, that answer would have been easy: Everything. His hatred, his vengeance, his coldness, his demand for submission. I’d judged him for all of it. Now . . . too much of how he felt and what he did was starting to make an uncomfortable amount of sense.
A fluttering sound echoed from the city, but before either of us could turn to investigate, Doriel let out a loud moan. Their body began to seize, a greenish liquid foaming at their lips.
Ophiucae chuckled. “I guess a sleeping draught wasn’t the only thing in that ale. I bet Doriel wishes they’d studied mortal poisons now.”
He sounded amused—he also did not sound the least bit surprised.
In the city, the sleeping men shuddered and writhed as the sounds of choking filled the air. I rolled Doriel on their side, then felt for their pulse—sluggish and slowing.
“If the poison is strong enough to hurt Doriel, your men won’t survive it, either,” I said. “You’ll have to use your Fortos magic to heal them.”
“Why should I? Vance and his men are ungrateful for my aid.” He gestured to Doriel. “I spared their life, and they call me a killer.” Ophiucae shrugged. “Perhaps the people of Emarion should see what happens without me to save them.”
I looked out at the convulsing men littering the streets, and a dark, discomfiting thought rose in my mind.
Vance’s men had killed thousands. They had no intention of stopping until every Descended—and every mortal who opposed them—was dead. Though I sympathized with the anger that had led them to this point, the world they sought to create was even more unjust than the one they wished to leave behind.
It had felt so damn good to deny the Ignios King my blood and let him die. Perhaps it would feel just as righteous to let the men who murdered my father reap the consequences of their own violence, doomed by the poisoned ale they’d enslaved Merosians to get.
Ophiucae watched me closely. Though I felt no presence of him in my mind, he looked as if he could read my every thought. “The world would be safer without them,” he said. “After all they’ve done, it’s what they deserve.”
A year ago, I would have said no one deserved this.
In the months since, I’d endured every possible insult.
I’d held my head high as every bastard in Emarion tried to tear me down.
I’d fought and fought and fought and fucking fought, not for my salvation, but for theirs.
My mercy was mocked and picked apart, my impassioned calls for kindness went ignored.
The only thing my virtue seemed to earn me was a mountain of corpses, the world’s criticism, and a curse that demanded my death to fulfill.
Maybe Ophiucae’s heart wasn’t the one that really needed changing.
I looked up at my sire, and I understood him in a way that terrified me. A way that offered to break my chains and set me free.
The hard angles of his stare softened. “You have nine Crowns. I have the tenth. Together, you and I could do incredible things.” It wasn’t the first time he’d suggested it, but it was the first time he’d said it like that.
Like it was something he wanted—badly. Like it was something he might sacrifice his plans to get.
“We could rid this world of its evil and remake it into whatever we wish it to be. No more fighting or wars. No illnesses, no death. With the heartstone’s power, even the mortals could live forever. Isn’t that what you want?”
Gods, I did. Never having to say goodbye to my family again. Teller could be with Lily, and Luther and I could complete the mating bond. The rest of the mortals could have the peace they always deserved. He’d even offered to spare the Descended, if I asked it.
I’d sworn to keep searching for a way to stop his violence that wouldn’t leave me dead. Ophiucae was offering me that and more. A perfect solution. Everything I’d ever hoped for.
Still, something deep in my heart gave me pause.
At my feet, Doriel stopped moving. A rattling noise rose from lips that had turned a ghastly shade of blue. I sighed and gathered them in my arms, then dragged them to the bars.
“Heal them,” I said. “All of them.”
The warmth faded from Ophiucae’s face. “Again, you spurn me.” He sneered and began to withdraw. I quickly reached through the bars to grab his hand.
“Please, Father.”
Before today, I’d used that word in earnest for one man only. Though I knew Andrei wouldn’t mind—Use whatever weapon you have, he’d say. Guilt is only for survivors.—a million conflicting emotions tied in knots around my heart.
I took Ophiucae’s palm and placed it on Doriel’s cheek, then laid mine atop it. “This world has seen enough bloodshed.”
He held my gaze for so long, I wasn’t sure Doriel would survive to see his answer.
Finally, his magic thrummed against my skin, and Doriel’s chest filled with a sudden, wheezing gasp.
Color returned to their cheeks, and they sank to the ground to catch their breath, leaving Ophiucae’s hand clutched in mine.
“Thank you,” I said, sagging in relief—and no small amount of fear for how close I’d come to giving in.
How close I still might be.
“Tell me, daughter,” he said coolly, “if I had let you grab that sword in the library today . . . where would its blade have ended up?”
I froze, eyes going wide.
He leaned in through the bars, his face an inch from mine. “I will rule this world, one way or another,” he growled. “If you won’t stand with me . . . I’ll find others who will.”