Tribute To The King
—EDEN
An ache in my chest pulls me into wakefulness. Sage’s arm is heavy over my waist, but his breathing sounds off. Ashán’s shadow is draped across us both, pulled inward, the way you’d press a cloth into a wound.
We’re lying in the nest in our bedroom. I must have been so tired that I slept through them carrying me inside. I ease out from under Sage’s arm. Ashán’s shadow tightens across the nest before it settles. Droot follows me to the bathroom, pulsing a warm amber.
“And how are you feeling this morning, Droot?”
Droot did not sleep well, he chirps. Big Bird and Big Bony Bird kept The Sun out very late.
“They did, didn’t they?” I suppress my giggle. “We’ll have to talk to them about curfew.”
The Sun was screaming, he chirps, glowing an embarrassed shade of red, his tiny ears flopping back in distress. Droot thought The Sun was in trouble, but Big Bony Bird said The Sun was just blooming. And then he gave Droot a whole bowl of skullberries.
“Skullberries?” I smile, leaning down to scoop him into my palms. “Those sound absolutely delicious.”
They are very sweet, Droot hums, his ears twitching as his light shifts from red back to a soft, happy amber. Big Bony Bird said if Droot stayed in the corner and ate his berries like a good Droot, he would make The Sun bloom even brighter. He tilts his fluffy head. Did you bloom bright?
“The Sun is going to talk to the Big Bony Bird when he wakes up,” I mutter.
Nook gets the shower started for me, the water already at the perfect temperature by the time I step inside.
“Thank you, Nook. You take such good care of us.”
Steam curls against the glass, swirling into the shape of a tiny heart. I press my forehead to the warm tile and try to retrace last night through the blur of venom. Ashán almost shifted completely for the very first time. He was so beautiful—
The shower door whispers open behind me, and the scent of freshly sliced cucumbers wafts through the steam. He wraps himself around me from behind. He holds on like the water might steal me away.
“Sage?”
“Please,” he rasps, his voice barely clearing the spray. “Just hold me. Just for a minute. Then I’ll tell you everything. I promise—”
“I’ll hold you as long as you need, Vaelí.” I press a kiss against his ribs. “You don’t have to tell me until you’re ready.”
Subtle tremors shake his body as the water pours down over us both. My arms stretch as far around his waist as they’ll reach. We stay intertwined for so long, my legs start to fall asleep.
“I love you, Sage.”
He squeezes me tighter and lets out a long, shaky exhale.
“Eden,” he murmurs, wiping a hand down his face. “We have to get out.”
“We can stay as long as you—”
“No,” he interrupts, nodding at the bathroom window. “Therael is crossing into the meadow. He’ll be here any minute.”
The next few minutes are chaos. Sage grabs me from the shower and snatches towels with a vine while another lifts my robe off its hook.
By the time I’ve wrung out my hair, the trembling male I was just holding in the shower is gone.
His petals have smoothed, his spine is straight, but the grief is still there. I can feel it as if it’s my own.
“I’m sure he’s checking on you,” I murmur while I slip a dress on. “He was here yesterday. Though I’m sure you don’t remember because of the fever.”
Sage stops combing his hair with his claws. “He was here?”
“For about an hour.” I smooth my dress down. “He’s the one who taught me about the níva loop. You really don’t remember any of it?”
“Not really,” he murmurs. “I thought I dreamed of him.”
I hear the familiar sound of the door opening downstairs.
“Sage, Eden. We are downstairs, and we would like to talk to you whenever you are ready,” Therael calls.
“We?” I squeak. “Who is we?”
Sage closes his eyes and tips his head back, quietly asking the ceiling for strength under his breath.
“Our house smells like chocolate and woodsmoke—which means he brought Damon.”
“Damon. The one who drew the mark on you? The one who hit on you?” I smirk.
“He didn’t—it wasn’t—” Sage pinches the bridge of his nose. “He said he wished I were one of his. I think he meant one of his charges.”
“He totally thought Sage was hot,” Ashán cuts in. “I felt it.”
I stifle a giggle.
Soft purple shadows pool in the corners of the living room.
Therael stands by the hearth, looking composed as ever.
Hovering beside him is one of the most beautiful creatures I’ve ever seen.
His skin is the color of a midnight sky just before the stars fall.
Long black hair spills down his back, random strands cuffed with golden charms that chime faintly.
Two horns rise from his temples. It takes me a few seconds to realize they’re made from thousands of dark feathers.
Across his bare chest sits a golden harness with a single pendant resting against his sternum.
He turns his head as we enter the room, his glowing golden eyes landing on Sage.
“Solvernah,” Damon purrs, pressing one elegant hand to the pendant on his chest. “Still taken, I assume?”
Sage nods once.
“Devastating.” He presses the back of his hand to his brow, the very picture of tragedy. “I’ve barely slept.”
“You do not sleep,” Therael says flatly.
“I’ve barely not slept, then. Grief takes many forms.” His gaze slides from Sage and locks onto me, the gold draining until it deepens into the color of nothing at all. He drifts closer, his charms chiming melodically. “And here she is. The Little Empath who took the meadow’s heart off the market.”
He bends down into a bow so low, I’m surprised he doesn’t tip over. “I’ve heard appallingly little about you. I intend to correct that over breakfast.”
“I’ve heard a little about you.” I chuckle. “You hit on my mate the first time you met him.”
Sage chokes next to me.
Damon freezes at his lowest point, his eyes flashing gold as they flick up at me through the feathered fringe of his horns.
“Ohh,” he says, rising slowly. “Therael, I can see why you’re fond of this one.”
His gaze drops to my stomach, and his charm wavers. The gold of his irises turns into something warmer.
“What a precious soul,” he murmurs.
“You’re staring at my daughter, Afterlife,” Ashán barks.
Damon’s grin widens, his eyes never leaving my stomach. “And you’re growing her out of my element, Little Reaper. I’d say we’re even.”
“Did he just call me little?” Ashán glances around the room. No one answers him. “Eden. Eden?!” He sounds genuinely wounded.
“I heard him, my dark prince,” I say, patting the tendril that’s snaked its way around my belly.
“He’s lucky you cried last time I choked someone with my shadow.”
Damon’s boisterous laugh breaks the tension. He adjusts the harness across his dark chest with a slow sweep of his fingers. “For your sake, I will allow you to continue believing your shadow could injure me.”
“If you two are quite finished.” Therael clears his throat. “I did come here with a purpose.”
He looks over Sage with feigned objectivity. “Yesterday you could barely lift your head,” he murmurs. “You argued with a fern—and you lost.”
“I don’t even remember seeing you.”
“Your color has returned, and your vines look healthy.” Therael’s eyes move over him, patiently inspecting every inch. His hand comes up and rests against the side of Sage’s neck. “Good.”
The tiny nod of affection takes Sage by surprise.
“The níva loop,” Therael continues, stepping backward. “You understand it now? Because if I am summoned to watch you wither a second time, I will plant you in the garden myself and let Eden water you.”
“I understand it. Thank you for yesterday.”
“Mm.” Therael turns to the window.
“I brought danishes from Second Helpings,” Damon announces, producing a pastel pink box from underneath his coat. “Strawberry cream cheese. Poppy is touched by the divine; I’m convinced of it.”
He pops the lid open, and the scent rising from the flaky, golden crust makes my mouth water.
“She made these fresh this morning,” Damon murmurs, his glowing eyes shifting back to me. “I think the Littlest Reaper would fancy a treat. Poppy puts a dash of nutmeg in the cream cheese.”
I slide onto a kitchen stool, my hand smoothing over the shadow still coiled around my stomach. Damon lifts a danish and places it in front of me.
I sink my teeth into the turnover, and an involuntary moan slips out.
Ashán growls in Damon’s direction.
“No comment,” Damon murmurs, throwing his hands up in mock surrender.
His skin looks almost velvety in this lighting.
“I told you they were good. Poppy saves me the last batch on Thursdays,” he murmurs. “She calls me sugar. I would level kingdoms for that woman, and she only charges me four dollars.”
“Speaking of your favorite people,” Therael interrupts. “Where is Damien? His scent is all over this place.”
“Damien’s napping in the spare room,” I say before taking another bite. “He’s been here most days lately. Nook tinted the windows and removed the mirrors.”
Something dark crosses Damon’s face, and a single raven feather falls to the floor.
“He is sleeping?” He quirks a brow. “Hm. Good. That is… good.”
He reaches for his third danish.
“Little Empath, this is the best morning I’ve had in a century, and I once watched Therael get bitten by a swan.”
“It was a cygnet,” Therael corrects. “And it was remarkably aggressive.”
I snort, inhaling a flake of pastry.
A familiar thump-thump-thump comes hurtling down the stairs.
“Oh no,” Sage hums.
Droot rounds the corner at full gallop, ears pinned, his light already cycling through colors like a tiny carnival as his eyes land on the pink box.
The Dark Bird has brought tribute to the King, he chirps.
“He says you’ve brought tribute to the King,” I giggle.
He launches onto the island, and Sage’s hand snaps out on pure reflex, catching him mid-arc over the danish box. Droot hangs there, paddling with indignity.
“Forgive him,” Sage sighs. “He has no fear of Death.”
“Clearly.” Damon chuckles. He leans in, eye level with Droot, gold eyes swimming with delight. “And what kingdom do you rule over, magnificent one?”
Droot puffs out his chest.
“Chirp!” he announces, his nose twitching rapidly.
“He says he rules the kitchen island and the area immediately surrounding the trash can,” I translate, wiping a tear from my eye.
“A King of taste, then,” Damon purrs as Droot swings mid-air, trying to lick the glaze off his knuckles. “Therael, look at him. He has the soul of a conqueror. If you had half his bravery, you wouldn’t have lost to the baby swan.”
Damon breaks a corner off a danish and holds it out like he’s presenting a tribute to an actual throne. “Your Majesty. From the kingdom of the Afterlife, with respect.”
Sage releases Droot, and he accepts it with both paws, immediately stuffing the entire thing in his mouth.
“Chirpet,” he murmurs through bulging cheeks.
“He says the Dark Bird may stay forever.”
“I have been offered many thrones,” Damon says solemnly, hand over his harness. “This is the only one I’ve ever wanted.”
Therael grabs Damon by the ear. “You cannot keep him.”
“I can visit him.”
“It is time to visit Tellian, brother,” Therael drawls.
“Let go of the lobe, Rael. Unless you want these fine people to witness just how much I love it.” He winks.
Therael lets go immediately, wiping his hand on the side of his robe with disgust.
“You are a blight on our lineage,” Therael mutters.
“I am a delight,” Damon corrects, adjusting his golden earrings.
Damon stands from the stool, opening his arms to me, and I’m so charmed I step right in.
He smells like a campfire and chocolate. Almost like a s’more. His feathered coat settles around me. This is so cozy—
Until anguish rips through me like I’ve never felt it. Beneath all the charm is torture worn so long it’s become wrapped around his bones.
My fingers tighten in the feathers of his coat.
He sets his chin on top of my head, so gently. “Now you know why I like your house so much, Little Empath.”
He steps back, his smile already perfectly reassembled, and bursts into a hundred ravens before I can say a single word.