Chapter 12
The kitchen’s outlet slammed at my back, and I walked into the youth of dawn. Wafts of steam kissed the mug’s rim and rose into the cold air of morning. Ice-crusted foliage cracked beneath my feet.
Apart from the workers stowed away in the kitchen, the estate was in slumber. The Andraelian sun had yet to peak beyond the tree line, the wood suffocating our lives in shadows.
I set myself at the lip of a boulder with the estate and laurel wood at my back. Before me, hills and rolling valleys unfolded then gave way to rocky terrain. Cliffsides warned journeyers of the violent seas ahead. The valleys were barren—a tapestry of grey, wilting fauna sewn together to underwhelm my spirit.
Though still, I appreciated the valley.
Autumn withered the hills, and this was something I could comprehend—warmth to fall to snow to blooming life, over and again. Beasts and foliage were obedient to the change of seasons. The breeze needn’t ask the leaves to rustle, the leaves simply knew their place. Nature remained straddled to command.
The mortar and stones at my back begged a unique tale. Statues bent from rigidity, shadows danced unsummoned, halls disoriented wanderers, and a lord held eyes so black, so scrutinizing, with ambitions I did not know.
If such was not enough to leave me with a disquiet mind and twisting unease, there was a cursed wood behind me, housing corpses that prowled—smelling godly magic in blood. I shot my gaze at the wood, only to know those corpses did not come for me, though the thick blackness between trees told me nothing. For all I knew, the decaying bodies could be there, standing at the edge of the wood, waiting.
I squirmed upon the boulder, looked back at the hills, and took a sip of tea.
Hot to the touch, it scalded my throat.
Deceit wound through my troubled thoughts like a snake in brushwood. You’ve only been here mere days, child. Time is required to fathom your tactic.
I imagined he sat beside me upon the stone, watching the grass dormant beneath frost. He was a blurry figure. Despite being Deceit’s home for all these years, I’d never actually seen him. Setting the mug to my lips, I took another sip as hot as the first, hissed at it, and nearly let it fall to the ground.
I am restless for many reasons, I groaned.
Last night’s dagger was fresh upon my mind. The steel sliding into the assassin’s throat, the gargles, the—
Deceit snatched the memory and stored it away.
Do not think of the assassin, child. No god has greeted him in the Everlaides. He will spend eternity chewing sand.
It is not only—I cut myself short, not wanting to say it. What I’d done. I do not understand this place, Deceit. If the Raven stole the potion’s recipe, than Alistair would be using it. Not assassins.
Unless others have discovered the potion’s properties.
Deceit drummed in my mind, a melody I had come to know well from our years together. It always met me like armor yet soothed me like a lullaby. If there were lyrics, I did not know them, but I always imagined it was something about a god protecting his maiden.
The first time Deceit played this song was the night Gwendolyne had saved me from Sariem’s streets and set me in the guild. I remember the pain that night. Searing pain. Gwendolyne used Beauty’s wine to heal the wound my father had left, and I writhed as flesh boiled and burned and knitted a scar. The god had nestled in the curve of my mind and tapped the tune until the moon was sentenced away by dawn.
It was odd and unrhythmic, but I loved the sound.
The god’s breath filled me, heavy and humid. Remember, Rhoswen, it is not only the potion you must learn. It is the elves. What does the Raven plan for those fabricated from Sentient and Light?
This is all beyond me. I am only one person, Deceit. I feel lost.
You only have not met a lord that challenges your cunning, your masks, my dear. It appears the Raven sees what is not shown. Only, I do not know to what depths he knows.
Deceit’s tail curled around my spine, and I treasured the sensation. He was the only thing that held me steady.
If you were me, what would you do? I asked.
I do not understand the desires of man. My advice would not aid.
Deceit, I begged, Please.
What is it, Rhoswen? His nails scraped my skull. Years, our paths have been as one, but never has your groveling been so… repulsive.
I am alone, Deceit. Tears pressed behind my eyes. I have never been alone before. If this moment were like times before, Vera would be sitting beside me, planning with me. Hendry was supposed to help me, but… I shuddered at the thought of Hendry’s head hitting the stones.
So you wish for me to manifest myself by your side?
I cracked a smile towards the valleys. I would not even recognize you. All I know is you have sharp nails and a tail.
How many do you know with such?
What is your appearance, Deceit? I suppose I have wondered though never asked.
Keep wondering.
A striking physique? I jested. Like the statues at my father’s house? A growl rattled me inside. Tall and handsome, perhaps?
Nails pierced my mind. I winced, tea splashing to the ground.
Gods, Deceit, a ‘no’ would have sufficed.
His smile was like two needles piercing my skull. Where would be the fun in that?
I sighed. I do often wonder why you stay with me rather than the Everlaides.
Deceit tensed from tightening tail to digging nails and stifled a yell. You cannot find the answers you seek in the estate, so instead you come to me with your damn curiosities?
Deceit—
Get used to disappointment, Princess. He gnashed. You’re not meant to know all.
In a flourish, the god left me, peeling from my distressed mind.
Deceit, I… I did not mean—I quieted. No one was there to listen.
I was utterly alone.
My stomach tightened with a desperation—desperation for someone to know me, or even if I could know someone else in this ungodly land. But I was without. I was the traitor, banished to the outskirts for the loneliness to eat away at me.
Something touched my shoulder, chilling and seeping to my bones. I cut my glare to my side, but no one stood there. The land darkened. Wrath found me. The mug’s handle cracked in my tightening grasp. I reeled back my arm to shatter the mug—make it break into a thousand irreparable pieces.
Tea spilled to the ground, and—
“Good morning, Rhoswen,” hushed from behind, halting my swing.
Maisie approached, wrapped in a wool cloak and fur gloves. Her pale, sandy eyes were haloed by gold. Though when she looked at my cold shoulder, the gold slipped away.
Her lips downturned.
I nearly asked what she saw, but, as the god had said, You’re not meant to know all.
“Good morning.” I tried to smile, but I was far too weary of the lies.
Maisie sat beside me as Vera often would, setting her hand upon my shoulder where the cold burned from skin to bones. It melted away—the cold and the anger. Maisie’s touch was warm.
“Rhoswen, are you all right?” She asked gently. Genuinely.
The tears fell. I hated myself for it. Neither deceivers nor advisors mourn, and yet my words were beyond my control.
“I feel lost here, Maisie. I do not understand this place.”
“Do you have those you miss?”
Scarlet curls sprang in my mind, filling the void Deceit left.
“Desperately.”
“I’m sorry. I know this estate can be lonely.”
“How have you lived here for so many years?” I asked.
“I cannot imagine over a decade in this place.”
Maisie released a drawn sigh as her eyes skimmed the knolls.
“If I am entirely honest with you, I have never enjoyed living here. There are things I cannot understand, and the dark magic feels like water in my lungs.”
Disbelief coursed through me.
“You can feel the dark magic?”
“Every day,” she hushed with a nod. Her black, silken hair slipped over her shoulders, the ends falling just above her collarbone and concealing her face behind the strands.
“You feel it too?”
I spiraled my finger along the mug’s rim, letting my thoughts stir.
“I felt the dark as soon as I arrived. But, I thought it was only me.”
“I do not believe many can feel it. At least, if they do, no one speaks of it. The dark was heavier before the late lord passed away. Though I feel it with Lord Alistair too.”
“Do you know anything about the dark magic?” I asked.
“I hadn’t ever served a lord blessed by the smoke before coming here. I feel there is so much I do not understand.”
A grimace crossed her face, her eyes honed on mine.
“Rhoswen, can I trust you?”
Fear glinted in her sandy eyes once more. But, fear of what, I did not know.
“Yes.” I nodded.
“Of course.”
Her tone deepened.
“Rhoswen, truly. Can I trust you?”
I set my mug upon the boulder and held her hands, the coarse fur of her gloves prickling my skin.
“Maisie, are you all right?”
“No,” she said, so I tightened my hands around hers.
“I am constantly afraid. I have tried telling my sister what I see, but she does not believe me. Catriona says I’m only bored—that I make up tales to distract me, but—” She lapped air and quivered with wide eyes.
“I have seen terrible things.”
I draped my arm over her shoulder and drew her near.
“What have you seen?”
Maisie cleared her throat, straightened her spine, and crafted a grin.
“Forget it, Rhoswen,” she said unsteadily.
“Everything is fine.”
My person split in two. A friend and a god server. I desired to be here for Maisie, to comfort her, but—first and foremost—I was a servant to the gods.
And I was desperate for information.
“Maisie, tell me what you have seen,” I said with a shade of demand.
She met my gaze, eyes filtered red, and sucked a breath.
“Late Lord Eadric.” She paused and looked back at the valley.
“The smoke fell over this home and infested Lord Eadric, Lord Alistair, and a—” Another pause. “One night, I went to the library and heard two voices, but Lord Eadric was the only one there. Then, I saw it.”
“Saw what, Maisie?”
“The smoke. He was speaking to it.”
From on high, Deceit pooled back into my mind, drowning me in godly weight. Talons scratched behind my eyes. In our mutual craving, Deceit and I leaned nearer to Maisie, desperate to know—a god and a mortal tethering to every word.
“What do you mean, speaking to it?” I asked.
Maisie squirmed for a spell.
“His veins were black, and the smoke divided from him.” She stroked her arm from elbow to fingertips then swept the air, as though she was drawing out the smoke from her own veins.
“It had a voice like a deep, airy whisper. It stood at Lord Eadric’s back and spoke to him. It gave him commands.”
“Gave commands?” I asked, my words nearly not forming. If I was understanding Maisie correctly, the smoke was—
A living deity, the god uttered in the dark.
“These are the Shadows, Rhoswen. The smoke was not a spell of dark magic that only causes anger. The smoke was, is, Shadows. They are creatures.”
I fell into myself. Did you know? I asked the god.
He scraped my skull, shaking his head.
How could you not know what the smoke is? The Shadows? You’re a god.
Deceit bit back. I cannot see the work of the dark, child! The gods cannot see.
“Rhoswen,” Maisie choked.
“The Shadow did not die with Lord Eadric.”
My soul shuddered. Deceit growled.
“I see it sometimes,” she said.
“It walks the halls. Searching or listening, I do not know. It is like a jagged shadow. A silhouette of a man, but not only a man, also a beast. It has thin limbs that sway and long nails like blades.”
“You’ve seen this in the estate?”
“Yes. Even at the late lord’s funeral, the Shadow…” Maisie lost her words. Her gaze broke past me, straining behind me, as though terrors manifested at my back. Her cheeks fell ashen. Her lips were dry of color.
“Maisie, what is it?” My heart twisted beneath my chest.
“The Shadow,” she said slowly.
“It follows you, Rhoswen. I can see it now. Watching.”
Deceit hissed, I see nothing.
I did not speak. I was paralyzed, tongue barred. The beat of my heart, the blood in my veins, the air in my lungs—dead.
“Rhoswen, I’m so sorry.” Fear settled onto Maisie’s features.
“I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“My shoulder. You kept seeing it over my shoulder.”
Maisie may as well have nodded yes to my death sentence.
“I have felt something cold in recent days,” I said.
“Something I have never felt before. And… anger. Real anger.” When Maisie did not speak, I trembled.
“Maisie, what does this mean?”
“I’m not sure.”
Deceit?
I do not know, child.
I-I couldn’t have been—I could barely say it. I couldn’t have been marked. I am not marked, am I?
You are chosen by the gods, my dear.
Please, Deceit, tell me I am not marked.
The god said no such thing.
A tear slipped down Maisie’s cheeks.
“I am sorry, Rhoswen.”
What this Shadow meant for me—I was frightened. But Maisie had been witness to the Shadows of this estate without anyone to comfort her. I took her in my arms, my breath ruffling her black hair.
“You have nothing to apologize for, Maisie. I believe you. I do.” I released her and wiped the tear from her cheek as she sniffled.
“I will not betray your trust. I promise.”
“Thank you,” left her lips alongside a final tear.
I looked back at the knolls, the dreary sunlight beginning to catch the mist. The solace of the valley was gone, overtaken by the mysteries of the mortar and the stench of dark magic. I stood, and a cold touch saturated my shoulder.
Only now, I could feel the limbs, the fingers, of the Shadow.
I rolled my shoulders.
“Join me for breakfast?” I asked without appetite. I was too busy chewing on dread.
“Rhoswen.” Maisie clasped my arm and stood beside me.
“May I ask you something?”
I nodded, fearful she was about to tell me the Shadow would infest my blood and make me its puppet. The god snatched the thought and twisted it around his fingers but said nothing to calm my fret.
Maisie set her hand upon her sternum.
“I hope you do not mind my asking, and should you wish not to speak of it, I understand.”
“Maisie, please. What is it?”
“Last night, once everyone had settled in, I could not sleep, so I went to the gardens. Something of the moonlight brings me comfort in this age.” The echo of a smile found her but quickly fled.
“Beneath the moon and stars, I-I saw you go into our lord’s study in the estate’s additional housing. I suppose I am only curious why.”
My heart constricted.
“You what?”
Maisie heaved a breath.
“I’m sorry, I know I should not pry. Please, forget I said anything.”
“Maisie, please, tell me,” I said quickly.
“I did not go to the lord’s study. As soon as we arrived from Tharen Crest, I went to my quarters.”
Her brows shortened at the center.
I begged.
“You must have seen another.”
Maisie’s black hair whisked with the twist of her neck.
“No, Rhoswen. I saw no one but you.”
I hushed.
“That cannot be.”
Maisie’s downturned lips straightened with steady eyes.
“Just as you believe me, I believe you. In this estate, I have seen stranger things than a woman walking where she is not.” Maisie sought my gaze.
“Be careful of yourself. Someone may be attempting to spoil your name.”
“Do you believe someone is taking potions to alter their appearance?”
Maisie’s lips disappeared as she pressed them together.
“I have seen something like this before. One night, I saw a servant in the dining hall. Only moments later, I saw the same servant again in the corridors, leaving the late lord’s quarters. Her hair was styled differently. Her clothes were different.”
“Did you tell anyone of this?”
She shrugged.
“No one believes the things I see. My words only fall on deaf ears.”
The god tapped along my mind. One trades faces to spoil your name, but they know not—your name was spoiled when blood fell upon the castle gardens. The brambles of white roses, marred.
I swatted at the dark. I’m aware. The god in my head won’t stop reminding me.
Deceit burrowed deeper, his laughter battering from one corner of my mind to the other.
Maisie and I left the valley, walking towards the estate. We seemed to breathe in cadence, slow and weighted. I looked behind me for this dark deity, but I saw nothing. Nothing but boulders and mist caressing the valleys.
We passed the laurel trees and old ruins—an arch and stacks of rocks encompassed a clearing. Beyond this stood the statues.
“What can you tell me of the statues?” I asked.
“Are they dark magic?”
Maisie followed my gaze to the throng of chiseled stone.
“No. Why? What have you seen?”
“I thought I’d seen them move.”
Maisie chuckled softly.
“Well, yes, the statues move. You think they’d only stand there, still for centuries?”
“Why do they change?” I asked.
“Statues are meant to be still.”
“They are graves, Rhoswen. Gods, the things you do not know,” she giggled.
A modest scowl took my face, which only brought her a more beautiful grin.
Maisie gestured to the gravesite.
“They are the lord’s ancestors. Those passed are buried with a statue of their likeness. I suppose it is a way of communicating with those in the afterlife. Whatever the statue’s temper, it reflects their soul in the Everlaides. Some days, the statues are happy, and some days they are content. Since the war, they are often angry or sorrowful. Some too belief that, if you speak to the statues, the soul can listen.”
I considered the statue that tangled my bodice’s ribbon in her hand.
“During Lord Eadric’s funeral, the statue of a woman looked at me. She was afraid.”
“Afraid? Perhaps she was only saddened by the late lord’s passing.”
I could practically hear the statue’s cries. Her screams.
“I do not believe so.”
Maisie’s voice rose a note.
“Something I have learned living here, Rhoswen, is that some mysteries reveal more to us than the evident. We only need to ask. Perhaps speak to the statue. She may try to tell you something.”
“Do you believe the statues can listen?”
“I do.” She skipped over a step as we neared the entrance.
“I am surprised you have never heard of the graves before.”
I was not. My father hated his lineage. Weak, he would say. All of them, weak.
There were statues at the castle, yes, but none of them were graves. My ancestors lie forgotten in the crypts. I couldn’t recall paying homage to my forefathers, and I could never imagine my father desiring a connection with those who came before, unless to curse their grave beneath his feet.
I unlatched the door.
“Well, though not all mysteries of the estate can be explained, I am glad there are some secrets with reason.”
The estate towered over us. Its vast shadows were all-encompassing.
Her voice deepened.
“Though many secrets remain without.”
A frigid gust chased my back as we fell into the dark.
…
At a new guest’s arrival, all were summoned to the dining hall for introductions. Crimson tapestries draped the walls and illuminated in the torchlight, flushing us in red. Armor glinted and cast odd shadows, dancing upon the walls. Savory scents of breads and meats were lost on me as I contemplated the Shadows. Deceit hummed along to the tune of my fright.
Lord Alistair sat as monarch at the end of the table. Low laughter broke from him, razoring along the woodgrains and plaguing us in an eerie tune. He did not sit alone. There was another, hunching his spine with elbows sharp against the wood. His back was to me, and I could not see his face. Alistair looked at him with tight eyes. Focused.
I walked past with no intention of meeting the stranger—my thoughts too busy spiraling—but Alistair found me at the edge of his sight. He called my name with authority, so I left Maisie and deviated my path towards Alistair and the stranger.
Will you help? I asked Deceit. My face was difficult to change, terror all too raw, deception far from me.
A bit of fear, my dear, and you’re too weary to deceive?
A bit of fear? I uttered. A Shadow is following me!
Grovel, grovel, my sweet. Beg and plead to your god.
Never mind. I imagined stripping myself of fear, like peeling off skin, and reached into myself. Digging into the mess of my thoughts, I found a soft smile and forced it upon my lips.
The stranger arose, twisting his spine and positioning himself before me. He was an older man, though not ancient. The crevasses of his skin were aged, though not fragile. Wrapped in expensive wears, he held himself refined—straight back, one arm set just below his chest, and feet planted shoulder-width apart. His short, grey and tan hairs were oiled and combed.
Alistair stood between us.
“Lord Briarwood, meet Miss Fallen.”
Briarwood gave me a look I did not care for—his eyes began at mine and fell down to my feet.
“Miss Fallen,” escaped his lips like tattered silk. He bowed his thin frame.
“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I have heard a great deal of your reputation.” He lifted his bony hand between us.
I accepted, and my skin crawled at his touch. I bent my knees into a curtsy.
“Lord Briarwood, I am honored by your flattery. But, please, the pleasure is mine.”
Briarwood’s reedy lips pressed against the back of my hand.
“You have an exquisite sensuality about you,” he said with eyes raking over me. A dark grin crept over his face.
Chills riled my skin.
“Tell me,” Briarwood continued.
“How is it you came by wine from the Goddess of Beauty?”
I cursed Alistair’s loose tongue within myself and crafted a lie.
“I found the wine in Lord Edward’s estate.”
Briarwood released my hand and held his pointy chin instead, fingers resting upon his shallow cheeks.
“Ah, yes. Lord Edward died some years ago. Murdered, rather. Though I am sure you are aware. Guildmembers infiltrated his estate and laid waste to his home. If I understand correctly, you too served the Calhourn house.”
Secrets spilled without my assent.
“Yes, my lord.”
A breath knocked from Alistair’s lips.
“You served the Calhourns?”
Briarwood continued.
“Another house destroyed by the damned Guild of the Gods.” He reached out to me and twirled a lock of my hair around his finger—gods, it took everything I had not to step back.
“Though there is no need to fret, Miss Fallen. My men found some of those damn rogues and took their heads.”
Cold shoulder. Dark vision. Anger. Such pure anger.
Deceit anchored himself in me.
Briarwood stepped nearer—I smelled the sins on his breath.
“Tell me, Miss Fallen, were you well acquainted with Lord Alistair’s friend, Sir Percival?” He asked and let my hairs fall.
The roots of my heart clenched. Anger lessened and was traded for grief.
I looked at Alistair.
“Percy was your friend?”
The Raven Lord uplifted his mask of stone.
“Percy and I had grown together. Our fathers were close.” He cleared his throat. A flicker of austerity cracked.
“His passing brings an undeniable deficit to the realm.”
Brittle as it was, a sliver of me yearned to reach out. To offer a kindness I had reserved from Alistair. But I was the one who danced Percy’s final dance, leading him straight to Taison’s blade.
I could honestly say.
“I grieve his death.”
Briarwood prodded.
“I have heard rumors, and I must ask—were you close to him?”
I answered plainly, but I wanted to rip out his tongue.
“My lord, it is in my duties to be close to those I serve.”
“That is not my question, Miss Fallen.”
Alistair stepped forward.
“Briarwood—”
I cut in.
“Lord Briarwood, I know exactly what you are insinuating, though how I handle my affairs remains my business. I have served the king’s houses loyally, and I will continue to do so for the duration of my days.”
Briarwood lifted his chin as he looked down at me, marking me from the bridge of his nose.
“At least until all lords of this age have been crushed beneath the guild?”
He’s testing you, Deceit hushed.
“Let us hope such a day never comes,” I said.
“Within this era, Miss Fallen, there is no hope. Only death, though we have yet to know whose blood will spill in the end. Damned servants to the gods or the rightful nobility.”
I clenched my teeth around a growl. Briarwood’s stare was unwavering and unblinking, and it ignited a hostility between us. It was as though he knew something about me. Something I had not given.
“Lord Briarwood,” Alistair began.
“There are others I’d care for you to meet.”
Briarwood’s eyes severed from mine.
“Of course, Alistair.” He measured me with a scoring gaze.
“Miss Fallen.” With another rigid bow, he left me in his shadow.
Another soul destined for the sands of Oldurem. Deceit’s nails curled around my eyeline as we watched Briarwood set himself beside Lucien.
For the gods, it shall be so.
Leaving the lords, I spun halfway. In a blur of vision and a brash step, a servant boy fumbled backwards. Morning wine fell from his tray, flutes turned to shards.
Already on his knees, Ewan began plucking glass from the ground.
“Ewan!” Was cried into the dining hall. The servant, Lilian, charged in after her son.
“Mum, it was an accident!” Ewan kept picking glass, tears tight in his throat.
I knelt beside him, scooping shards onto the tray. A sharp edge cut my finger, but I ignored it.
“It is all right, Ewan,” I said.
“That was entirely my fault. Go to your mother. I can clean this up.”
He sniffled with snot dripping down his nose.
“You aren’t cleaning. Mum says we clean.”
Lilian raced over in the fringe of my sight.
“Go to your mother, Ewan.”
Something broke between us—a bony hand. Ewan’s collar twisted, and Briarwood yanked him from the ground and struck the back of his hand against Ewan’s cheek.
Ewan cried. Lilian cried.
I wanted to strike Briarwood with the back of my hand.
“Are you daft?” Briarwood cursed.
“Spilling the wine of your good lord?” He hit Ewan again.
Ewan cowered.
“Please, I—”
I stood tall.
“Lord Briarwood, put him down.”
“This does not concern you, Fallen.”
“If you are going to hit anyone, let it be me. I spilled our good lord’s wine, not the child.”
Briarwood lifted his hand again.
Rhoswen, do nothing.
I ignored the god and grabbed Briarwood’s wrist. Briarwood halted every movement then craned his neck to me, and gods my skin turned goose flesh. He looked like a starving bear desperate to eat his prey.
Ewan met the ground with a thump and ran to his mother.
Briarwood’s lips splayed open.
“You fucking wench.” He lifted his other hand.
I stayed.
My bones chilled. My vision lost color.
Alistair yelled to Briarwood, but it had no effect.
On one side of Briarwood’s hand, there was ire—he struck me, hand to face—and at the other side, satisfaction.
Blood rushed to my cheek, burning in contrast to the cold upon my shoulder. I used the god’s magic to cloak my face in my natural complexion, not allowing Briarwood the pleasure of his handprint upon my skin.
Alistair stood between us.
“Rhoswen, release your hold.”
It rang foreign—my forename from Alistair’s lips.
I did not let go. My bones, my fingers, were locked.
Alistair came to my side.
He leaned nearer and whispered to me.
“Release your hold, Rhoswen.”
There was a fear clinging to his voice. It drew my gaze to him, and that same fear held itself in his eyes. This—how he looked at me—was new. Perhaps concerned. Something of it untied my hand.
“Of course, my lord,” I said.
“Your command, I will follow.” I looked back at Briarwood with bile on my tongue.
“Pleasure meeting you, Lord Briarwood.”
His lip curled into a haunting grin.
“Oh, Fallen, the pleasure was all mine.”
My skin crawled.
I fled to the kitchen to treat my bleeding hand and rageful heart. Every eye bore my back as I retreated.
Deceit skulked in the void. Davina—
I thrashed my sweltering rage at the god. Do not call me that!
Would you prefer Princess Davina, Your Highness?
Deceit—
CHILD! He ruptured my senses, the realm spinning. You cannot act as though you have the authority of a royal. You have abandoned the name, no? Stop acting like you have value here. You are nothing to them.
Lowly, I vowed. I will rip you in two.
The God of Deception laughed. You will need to shatter your own skull to find me.
The kitchen door shut at my back.