Chapter 14 #2
“For centuries, those people and Azrakel’s descendants lived in that forest, cut off from the rest of Elysium, from their history, their origins, until they knew nothing else but Calista as their ruler and the enchanted forest teeming with deadly monsters.
Once, I asked her why she didn’t try for something better.
There was talk of a prosperous place beyond all godly territories. ”
His eyes narrow slightly. “She said whatever power was there, it wasn’t something even the gods could handle.
That we shouldn’t look in that direction at all.
And so we lived in that wretched forest, alongside monsters.
Nature provided for us, but the cost was control.
Strict control. Even over who could couple. ”
I stumble slightly, struggling to keep up. “You needed permission to marry?”
“Not permission,” he says coldly. “An order.”
“How awful,” I murmur, glancing at him. “At least here, we have some semblance of choice of when and with whom….” My voice trails off as heat creeps up my neck.
He grunts. “We were free to indulge in… other pleasures.”
I shake my head. “But why?”
“Azrakel’s children carried his magic. Weaker, but still potent.
Calista believed that, in time, that magic would manifest fully in one of his descendants, a new god of Night and Stars.
To hasten it, she bred them with humans, calling those who showed signs of magic Shadebloods.
Her goal was simple: to create a man whose power could rival Azrakel’s, so she could make him her consort again. ”
Kaelzar exhales through his nose, lips curling in quiet derision.
The sentiment, for once, I share. The thought of breeding people turns my stomach.
“Azrakel had been beloved among your people,” he continues.
“When the next Trial of the Bound was to come, and there would be seven gods once more, Calista believed his resurrection would be seen as a holy miracle, one that would earn him countless prayers during the Trial. With those prayers and Azrakel’s return, she hoped to rise higher still, to see him crowned as Sovereign God.
And then, she planned to unleash him upon the gods who had turned their backs on her. ”
The royal Palace looms ahead, its stone towers bathed in moonlight.
I sense the conversation is coming to an end, but there’s still so much I want to know about Elysium, the gods’ lives, their hierarchies. Still, one question gnaws at me the most.
“Is one of those Shadebloods the reason you were so angry about being… bound to me?” I ask, not quite sure why the answer feels so important.
Kaelzar’s face darkens, and for a moment, I think he won’t answer. But then he speaks, voice heavy with resignation.
“I was ordered to couple with a Shadeblood woman as unhinged as she is powerful. I refused. I couldn’t bring a child into that.
But the punishment for disobedience would fall on the weakest in our village.
So, I promised to save them. And I almost succeeded.
” His jaw ticks as he clenches his teeth.
For a moment, silence hums between us. Then he exhales as his shoulders ease just slightly.
When he speaks again, the edge has gone from his voice. “Until a human girl of this realm entered the Trial, needing a Godbeast.” His gaze flicks toward me, flat, but not unkind. “You were a huge inconvenience.”
I flinch at the word, my heart sinking. But before my thoughts spiral, I remind myself that I am not just fighting for my own life or heart. Thousands of Rust Hollow women will suffer if I don’t win.
Yet, knowing the risks Kaelzar has taken, doubt nibbles at me like a festering wound.
Can I truly bear the weight of all those lives, from my realm and his? Or will I prove as useless as I fear?
The weight of the question tightens around my chest like a vise. Fury rises with it, directed at the goddess I swore myself to. The excuses I’ve clung to for Calista’s ancient sins feel paper-thin now, so fragile I can almost see straight through them.
Yes, she was betrayed. Yes, she was heartbroken. But how could one being twist so completely, let her hate fester until it spilled across worlds, across generations?
“Why is she so cruel?” I burst out, my voice trembling with raw frustration. “Why does Calista keep punishing us for something that wasn’t even our fault?”
Kaelzar goes rigid, his eyes flashing with a dangerous glint as he steps back. “Do not speak ill of her,” he growls.
I freeze, blinking at him in confusion. The sharpness of the command stuns me.
It isn’t loyalty that burns in his glare, there’s something else lurking beneath the surface. I want to tear it from him, to force him to reveal the secret he guards so fiercely.
“Why not? There are no Divinity Gazes to spy on us here,” I challenge, gesturing to the shadowed streets around us.
“She is not to be spoken of in such a way in my presence,” he snaps, his voice rising with finality as he turns away from me.
I flinch at the harshness of his tone, but his intensity only fuels the anger simmering inside me.
“She threatens your people, yet you not only refuse to speak ill of her, you forbid me to do so!” I exclaim, anger thrumming in my ears so loudly I can barely hear my own thoughts.
Kaelzar keeps walking, ignoring me as if my words don’t even reach him. Confusion knots with anger until I can’t tell one from the other, just a pressure building behind my ribs, begging for release.
“Say something!” The shout tears out before I can stop it. He doesn’t even turn. That tiny act of indifference snaps something loose inside me.
“She killed your mother!” I throw the words at his back. “Why do you keep serving her so faithfully?”
He stops so abruptly that my anger stumbles into silence. And in that pause, I realize what I’ve just said, what wound I’ve torn open.
“I didn’t mean to—”
“That memory you saw,” he says quietly, “was when I took a shadow of her hand during our last moment together so I could always have her last touch with me.” His voice tightens.
“I got lucky that the shadow carried her final words as well. It’s the single most precious thing I own.
You—” He exhales sharply, cutting himself off before the next words come rough through his teeth. “You didn’t deserve to see it.”
The flickering light from a nearby streetlamp casts shadows over me, and I brace myself, wondering if he will say something else, return the cruelty in some way.
But he doesn’t. Instead, he takes a step further away from me.
He’s leaving. Now? Panic claws up my throat, the memory of him walking away in the meadow still raw.
I pushed him to go then and I’ve done it again. Guilt sinks its teeth deep. “Please stay,” I say, the words cracking as they leave me. I just want to apologize, to make him understand how sorry I am.
But the black rip in the air is already forming. I can feel the pull of it, the hum that always comes before he vanishes. One breath, and he’ll be gone. And when he comes back, whatever fragile civil thing we’ve built between us will be gone too.
Because of me. Because of my temper. The thought makes my stomach twist.
I can’t let this happen. I won’t.
“I order you—stay.”
Kaelzar freezes, his body snapping back as if yanked by an invisible tether.
“Please, Kaelzar,” I whisper. “Please don’t leave like that.”
He sways, leaning against the stone wall of the bakery, his body trembling. I stare, confusion flooding me.
Have I hurt him somehow by issuing that order?
Kaelzar grunts, collapsing to his knees, his body folding in on itself. A guttural sound escapes him, inhuman, as his powerful form convulses under the dark material of his cloak.
“What’s happening to you?” I ask, running to his side.
“Leave… me,” he hisses through clenched teeth, his jaw locked as dark shadows pool at his feet. Is he creating another shadowy portal to walk through and escape?
“No,” I say quickly, stepping forward and grabbing the edge of his cloak before he can disappear. “Please, just… explain. Don’t walk away this time.”
The fabric slips through my fingers as he jerks back, the cloak shifting just enough to expose what’s beneath.
The words stick in my throat.
The chains wrapped around his body aren’t just binding him—they’re tightening, shrinking, burrowing into his flesh. The jagged links pull taut, cutting deeper, carving into him with a silent, merciless precision.
A sickening tear of flesh. A slow, wet sound.
Kaelzar doesn’t cry out. His jaw clenches, the muscles in his throat shifting as if swallowing the sound before it can escape. He refuses to show it, but his control is fraying.
Darkness keeps pooling at his feet, glistening like oil in the moonlight. At first, I think it’s just his shadows. But then I see it, deep crimson bleeding into the cracks.
Not shadows. Blood. The sight of it uncoils the last of my guilt into panic.
Without thinking, I reach for the chains, only to flinch back as sharp edges slice into my palms. “Gods…” I whisper, my voice trembling. “How can I help?”
The remnants of my Blood magic surge instinctively, sealing my wounds, but it does nothing for him. I watch his fingers lengthen, darkening into razor-edged shadows. The shadowy claws dig into the brick wall, not in an attempt to lash out, but to keep himself still.
His body vibrates with the effort, muscles locked, spine rigid. A quiet, pained breath shudders from his throat, but he won’t let it break.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he grinds out. His clawed hand twitches against the stone, as if resisting the urge to move. “Go.”
The word is little more than a breath. A desperate plea.
“It will stop… eventually. Once… once the hateful thoughts of Calista are gone from my mind. The wounds from these chains,” he hisses, “they heal when it stops.”
I realize, too late, what this is.
This is his secret. The chains that bind him are the torture that comes with every ill thought of the goddess who controls him.
Even here, in a world far from her, Calista still holds him in chains, tearing at his flesh with every rebellious thought.
The realization makes me unsteady. Shadows spill from him like black roots, the same kind that tore through the plaza’s ground. They slither into the cobbled streets, curl around the buildings, twist up the lampposts. They grow more erratic, more violent, with every labored breath he takes.
Is that why he kept disappearing? To protect me and everything around him when the chains activated?
I have to stop this.
My mind scrambles, searching for something that will make him stop thinking about Calista. Something that will force her from his mind.
And then, without any regard for propriety, I throw my hands into the air and start waving them around.
“There once was a chicken,” I begin singing, though the word sing feels far too generous for the sound that escapes me.
Still, I’m desperate to fix my mistake, so I push on with the song I once heard the cook hum in my father’s estate when I was a child. “Who dreamed she could fly.”
My boots scuff and tap against the cobblestones, completely out of rhythm with each other. My movements are graceless.
Kaelzar doesn’t even look up. The chains keep tightening, grinding. His silence only steels my determination to help him.
“She leapt from the fence and flapped to the sky, but her wings were too small, her feathers too plain, and down she fell, again and again.” My voice cracks halfway through, but I keep going, hopping from one foot to the other, arms flapping so haphazardly I nearly strike myself in the face.
My limbs move with no coordination at all, each one seemingly following its own rhythm.
Still nothing. Fine. If I must make a greater fool of myself to keep his mind away from Calista, so be it.
I thrust my arms out and start flapping—wild, graceless, desperate.
That gets his attention. His head lifts sharply, eyes narrowing.
I press on, unwilling to let the fragile distraction fade. I flap my arms wider, mimicking wings.
His brow furrows in what can only be horrified disbelief.
“But the chicken kept trying, and try she did still, till her feathers grew sharper and bent to her will. And one day she rose, the air in her chest, she learned she was never a chicken at best.”
The words tumble faster, my movements wilder, until I can practically feel my dignity shriveling. I can’t even bear to look at him as I continue.
“She wasn’t a chicken, all feathers and fear, but a hawk in disguise, kept earthbound for years. They told her she couldn’t, they needed her small, but she spread her own wings and she outflew them all.”
I finish with a reckless spin that nearly sends me sprawling. When I steady myself, breathless, I realize the grinding of the chains has stopped.
It worked. Gods, it actually worked.
I end with a low bow, dizzy and half-laughing, because the only other option is to cry.
When I straighten, Kaelzar is staring at me, the chains still, fading into their ink form. Blood beads along his chest, but he doesn’t seem to feel it. He just looks at me.
“Be honest,” he rasps. “Did you rehearse that dazzling act, or are you simply a born performer?” His tone is serious, but the mischievous spark flickers in his eyes.
That does it. My composure shatters, and laughter bursts out of me so violently my knees give way. I drop in front of him, laughing until it borders on hysteria, the sound bouncing off the cobblestones.
Kaelzar’s hands find my shoulders, steadying me. His grip is firm and grounding. Then his forehead lowers to meet mine, and that quiet touch settles something deep inside me. My laughter fades, leaving only the tremor of a shuddering breath.
We stay like that, both on our knees, foreheads pressed together, surrounded by the metallic scent of his blood. One of his hands drifts upward, his thumb brushing along my jaw, most likely wiping away a droplet of blood.
The motion is slow and reverent. I inhale and hold my breath, unwilling to move.
“Thank you,” he whispers into the narrow space between our mouths. Then, after a pause, the corner of his mouth lifts. “The memory of your… performance should be enough to sustain me through at least the next few episodes.”
The memory of my ridiculous flapping and singing crashes back with full force, and I jerk away, scrambling to my feet.
“If you tell anyone,” I snap, pointing at him, “I’ll deny it.”
Kaelzar rises after me, that insufferable smirk curving his mouth, rare and entirely too pleased with itself. It should irritate me. It does, a little.
But the sight of it, softening the sharp lines of his usually grim face, steals the sting from my embarrassment.
Somehow, the fact that he’s smiling at me—because of me—makes all my mortification worth it.