Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
My neck aches from hours of hunching over reports.
The candles have burned low, casting flickering shadows across endless pages about sewer systems and tax collection.
The unglamorous backbone of ruling that no bard ever sings about.
My head throbs with numbers and complaints and the constant pressure of trying to be so damned regal.
I reach for my tea, which went cold hours ago, when the world around me warps like heated glass.
Shit.
I’ve really gone too far this time. Mother always said if I drank too much tea—
The vision hits without warning.
No gentle lead-in, no courteous tap on the shoulder of my consciousness, no confusing blend with where I already am. Just a violent yank into somewhere—something—else.
My study dissolves.
The neat stack of reports, the polished desk, the comfortable chair.
All gone in an instant.
Images flood my mind. Not clear and precise like Mar’s visions were during my coronation. Those warned about what would happen if I failed in my quest to burn Narc’s bones.
These…I can’t decipher. They’re fractured. Twisted. Smeared.
What am I seeing?
The images are bent and splattered, as if ridden through by muddy hooves. Every time I attempt to focus on crucial details, it’s like looking at words penned with water. The truth might be there, buried under all the obscurity.
I know one way to enhance my ability to see.
With a shrug, I unfurl my wings. They sprout from my back, sweeping up unseen. My vision sharpens, informing me that my eyes have turned golden.
I see a temple.
No. Several temples. Layered over each other. Narc’s, Ziva’s, Zeru’s, Aletheia’s, Cyphero’s, Valk’s. Crystalline growths smother their stone walls and pulse with inner light.
Clear crystals spread like ivy, consuming archways, statues, altars. They grow in straight lines but jut out in crazy angles.
Then the crystals curl. Melt instead of fracture. Bleed away like watercolors in the rain.
The scene shifts.
People kneel in prayer, hands clasped, lips moving. Suddenly, their bodies flatten. They become two-dimensional, paper-thin silhouettes against a backdrop I can’t quite identify. Their bodies wave like shrouds in the wind. They’re not dead. Their prayers continue.
But the people are…changed.
Wrong.
Their mouths still move, but now they pray with the frantic urgency of innocent people facing the gallows.
What are they saying? Who are they praying to?
I strain to hear their words, but the sound is muffled, as if I’m underwater.
The vision changes again.
Three figures hover around a pool. Their features blur like faces viewed through a waterfall, but their posture suggests importance.
Power. Arrogance, even. Divinity?
They each watch the water, never looking away. Their attention is absolute. One reaches toward the pool, trailing their fingers through whatever they see there.
I squint, struggling to spot what has their attention.
The water ripples, yet the reflection remains clear.
Sterling.
My heart stutters, and my mouth goes dry.
He stands alone in a chamber of ancient stone.
Water rises around him and has already reached his knees.
His face appears calm but determined as he studies an inscription on the wall.
He doesn’t see the rising water. Doesn’t notice how it swirls with unnatural purpose, or how it creeps up his thighs with hungry intent.
Not just rising…but climbing him.
I try to call out, to warn him, but my voice doesn’t exist here. I’m just a helpless spectator. The water creeps up to his waist. His eyebrows knit together, his focus still on the writing rather than his element overtaking him.
Then the vision crumples.
As brutally as it started, the scene’s torn from my eyes by an unseen hand.
I come back to myself with a gasp, hands gripping the edge of my desk so hard my knuckles have gone white.
My body shakes with tremors I can’t control.
Feathers slide over feathers, shivering and weak.
Sweat plasters my hair to my temples, and my throat is raw, though I don’t recall screaming out loud.
My eyes burn. Tears run down like sea water. I bow my head, and the tears drip onto the table. I squeeze my eyes shut, wanting to unsee everything I’ve just witnessed.
For several long minutes, all I can do is breathe.
I’m in my study. I’m safe. Sterling’s element is water. There’s no way he could drown.
When my heart stops attempting to hammer its way out of my ribs, I force myself to focus. To analyze what just happened. Without a doubt, that was not Mar’s doing. Even after only one vision, I know the touch of her presence. This wasn’t it.
The crystalline clarity at the edges, the faint sense of apology for the truth she brings. How bright it all was…
Aletheia.
The Goddess of Light and Truth.
As soon as the thought swells up in my mind, I know it’s true. But why such a obscure message? It’s as if someone else deliberately interfered with the vision. The smears…the tears…the blurring…
If someone can distort divine messages…
The implications chill me to the bone. Gods have rules. Limitations. They can’t interfere directly in mortal affairs, so they send visions, omens, and even avatars.
But those communications are sacred. Inviolable.
Or at least, they’re supposed to be.
Someone or something has found a way to tamper with them. Something is very, very wrong with the divine order of things. If gods can’t speak clearly to mortals, if their messages are being intercepted and distorted…
Who would dare to stand against the gods? Who would defy them so blatantly?