Chapter Forty-Eight
I sink to the depths of a cool, clear pond. Tiny bubbles of shimmering pink and purple effervesce past my face as I open my eyes and kick, gliding toward the glittering beams of light breaking through the surface.
I pull myself onto the lush green bank, the soft grass so inviting I wish I could lie down and stay here awhile, but my heart slams into my rib cage.
The Key is gone.
So is the Helm.
I scramble to my feet, reaching for the hilt of the Sword, secured at my hip.
The Sword to vanquish the being that guards the passage between realms.
I draw the blade, blinking as I survey my surroundings, anticipating an attack.
But I stand alone in a clearing, pink blossoming trees swaying slightly in the gentle breeze.
Petals fall at my feet, littering the plush carpet of grass, the scent of peppermints easing the knot in my chest. In front of me, wedged between two trees, a set of double doors, the pale wood banded with straps of elaborate ironwork, depicting scenes of flowers and stars and winged beings.
I lift my foot, as if to take a step, when the ground quakes, and an earthen figure rises from out of the grass, blocking my path.
Dirt falls as the being shakes its hair, dusts off its arms, revealing its true form.
Before me stands a young woman clothed in bands of ivy, with skin as pink as the petals that land on her head and eyes like beads of opalescent glass. Translucent wings spread from her back, reminding me of a dragonfly.
I raise the Sword higher, my fists clenched tightly around the hilt.
The woman moves, and I draw back, preparing to strike.
But she drops to her knee and bows her head, stark white hair tumbling over her shoulders.
“Aster Oberon,” she says, her voice as bright as a bell and sweet as birdsong. “We’ve been expecting you.”
I don’t lower the Sword. “How?” I ask. “How did you know that I would come?”
She looks up then, her gossamer eyelashes reflecting the light—light that seems to fracture, as if the sky were made of crystal. But she doesn’t answer. Instead, she turns her back to me, starting toward the doors.
“Wait!” My voice breaks. “I—I thought I would have to fight you! Aren’t you supposed to guard the passageway?”
Still, she doesn’t answer, reaching out to press her hand to the wooden surface.
“My brother died for this Sword!” I seethe, tears rolling down my cheeks. “And—and it was for nothing?”
Her hand grazes the wood, her shoulders sagging, wings drooping. “No,” she says. “Not for nothing.”
She pushes open the doors. Warm golden light spills out, a thick cloud of Manan buzzing in the open frame, obscuring whatever lies beyond.
The woman steps through.
Owen gave his life so that I could obtain this Relic. He sacrificed everything so that I would be able to defeat whatever being guarded the passage between the realms.
Is this some kind of trick? I look around, expecting some kind of monstrous being to step out of the peaceful woods, but I’m alone again. Nothing stands between me and the open doors.
I have no choice but to wipe my tears away, sheathe the Sword at my hip, and follow.
The Manan warms my skin, as bright as the summer sun, buzzing all around me.
I emerge from the doorway onto a wide path paved with pearlescent bricks.
Above, the lavender sky looks as if it’s caught somewhere between day and night, dreaming and awake, glittering with a tapestry of foreign stars that seem too close, winking and tumbling like living things.
From where I stand, the flowering meadow slopes down, toward streams of water that glimmer with blue lights that seem to dance atop the shimmering surface.
Ahead, the path winds up a plush hill, through a grove of weeping willows.
Everything here glows, as if radiating light from within, pulsing with celestial colors I can’t even begin to describe.
“Well?” the young woman says, her wings fluttering. She smiles at me, and the effect it has reminds me of when Liv presses her forehead to mine and I can’t help but feel joyful. “Are you coming?”
I tighten my grip around the hilt of the Sword as I follow the woman up the path. If this is a trap, I won’t let myself be lulled into a false sense of security. Not now. Not when I’m so close to finding a way to stop Morana—to save Elsie from whatever took her from me.
We reach the crest of the hill, and my grip on the hilt of the Sword goes slack.
Nestled in the valley below, the kingdom appears as if it were ripped from the pages of one of the fairy tales Father used to read.
A quaint ivory castle rises out of the center of the town, its stained glass windows reflecting a rainbow of colors on the streets, filled with Myths I’ve never seen—beings I hardly comprehend.
Children with wings like butterflies. People with skin like gemstones.
Elysia.
“This way,” the woman says, leading me down a path that skirts around the village, taking us farther from the castle and the people there, toward a thatched cottage that sits amid a thick garden of flowers that smell like sugar, and fruit-bearing plants that seem to hum a merry tune as we pass.
She raises her fist to knock on the door, but—
“Oh my!” comes a man’s voice from somewhere close by. “There you are!”
He peers out from behind a bush, an old tin watering can in his grasp. His smile crinkles his brown eyes, as rich as the upturned soil of a nearby flower bed. He pushes strands of wavy dark hair from his kind face, his olive-brown skin glittering with gold dust as he extends his hand to me.
“Aster Oberon,” he says, his voice like a sunrise and the lull of the waves and the gentle fall of rain all wrapped up in the softest, purest silk. “I’ve been waiting a very long time to meet you.”
My hand falls from the Sword at my hip. “Me?”
He laughs, passing the watering can to the winged woman. “Thank you, Vera,” he says. “Would you mind letting her know that Aster has arrived?”
Her?
“Are you…” I start, but I can’t seem to form words. “You’re him? You’re the True King?”
He laughs again, and the sound sweeps over me like a warm hug. “They’re still calling me that, are they?”
He turns, motioning for me to follow him as he starts down the glittering path that leads around the back of the cottage.
“If that’s not your name,” I say, walking a good distance behind him, still cautious even as I feel my distrust melting away, “then what is?”
“I have many names,” he answers, glancing at me over his shoulder, a twinkle in his eyes. “Many would sound strange to you, I suppose.” As we round the cottage, he makes his way past a small iron table set with three chairs. “When your world was still young, the people called me Rainai.”
Rainai—the ancient word for gardener. Will taught it to me during our nights at the conservatory. He once joked that the pixies used to call him Little Rainai.
It’s then I realize—there’s no crown atop this man’s head, and his skin bears the marks of a life of war. “You’re not a king at all, are you?”
He smiles at that, but there’s a touch of sorrow on his lips. “Not in the way you might think.”
My eyes narrow. “Then… what are you?”
He doesn’t answer at first. He continues to lead me along the path, toward a small pool much like the one I emerged from when I first entered through the gates. Only, it’s not water inside the pool—not really. The surface shimmers with stars and moons and…
I lean over the pool, my eyes wide. “Are those…”
He nods, casting a sidelong glance at me, his expression unreadable. “Other worlds,” he tells me. “Some very much like yours. Some… quite different.” A solemn grin. “To them, I am known as Volition.”
“Volition?” I echo.
“Yes.” He smiles, his eyes softening once more.
“Free will—choice. I was reborn a very, very long time ago, chosen to become what these other worlds call a Titan. In your people’s ancient tongue, that word meant ‘ruler’ or ‘maker,’” he adds with a light chuckle.
“I suppose that’s why, over time, they came to know me as king. ”
I try to make sense of the thoughts streaming through my head, although the longer I stay here, all I wish to do is lie down in the grass and bathe in the sun. I try to focus, blinking away the creeping urge to sleep. “How many worlds are there?”
“Many,” he says, though I feel there’s more to that answer when his brows pinch, as if he were contemplating his next words carefully.
“I’m afraid there are things I cannot discuss.
Your world is still young—still… separate.
It must remain that way, for now. Come,” he says, waving me back down the path from which we entered, toward the table and chairs in the center of his rose garden.
Bloodroses, I realize.
I think of the garden at Castle Grim—decimated. Without the Bloodroses, humans are the only source of Manan left for the Nightweavers.
He gestures for me to sit.
“Why our world?” I ask.
He takes his seat across from me, his posture relaxed even as his brows knit.
“I’ve spent many lifetimes—traveled to many worlds—seeking those who choose goodness.
My… title often prevents me from intervening in the affairs of humans.
But when I find someone who uses their own volition to do good, no matter the cost, I am permitted to give them a gift—power they can use to better their world.
Hildegarde chose to do what was right, even when it was difficult.
” His eyes darken, if only for a moment when he adds, “Oftentimes, others envy these gifts. They believe they’re better suited for such power. ”
He sighs. “By the time I found Morana, her world had been torn apart by chaos,” he says.
“I saw the good in her—saw what she could become, if she made the right choices. But I was a fool. I didn’t know my ranks had been infiltrated by one who was servant to another Titan—a being that spreads discord like a disease throughout the worlds, who bows to the one who strives to bring chaos to all the realms.”
I think of what Will said—about serving another master before Morana. “Azeron?”
He dips his head, his mouth pressed tight.
“I cannot interfere directly with the worlds, but my soldiers battle against the forces of Chaos. Whenever someone chooses good over evil, my armies are strengthened. But even my soldiers can be tempted. And where there is much evil present, there is great temptation.”
I think of the Fall, and how the Nightweavers were cast out of this realm because of the acts they committed during their war with the Underlings.
“Every choice matters,” Rainai tells me, and in his eyes, it’s as if I still see the reflection of that depthless pool of stars and worlds.
Every choice matters. If Morana had chosen differently… what could she have become? And Will… he seemed genuine when he let me leave the Burning Lands. What if it wasn’t all a lie?
What if there’s still time to choose another path? To chase another star?
Owen did. Titus has.
Why not Will?
“Ah, here she is!” Rainai stands, his smile broad as he waves at Vera entering the garden once more, followed by a girl about my age, her long blond hair tied into braids that dust her waist.
Silent tears stream down the girl’s face when she sees me, a disbelieving smile lighting her eyes. “Aster?”
I lurch from my seat, falling to my knees as I reach for her, unable to hold back the sob that bursts from my lips. “Elsie?”