chapter nineteen #2
“My king,” Vilder finishes for her. “Or that’s as similar as it gets.”
“Astēr is a king?” Dread crashes over me. I stabbed a king? I could get executed. Die.
“No, La?na,” Seniia says with an exasperated sigh. “He is not a king. He is a god.”
Vilder nods. “He is one of the seven, meaning he is lesser god, but a god nonetheless.”
I freeze, the mug of beer hovering inches from my parted lips. My gaze jumps between Seniia and Vilder. Surely, they must be joking. “I . . .” My throat constricts, a knot forming as I struggle to find my voice.
A god? Astēr? What does a god want with me?
The familiar claw of anxiety squeezes around my chest, making it hard to breathe, and my breath comes out in shallow gasps. Bracing my hands on the table, I close my eyes as a wave of dizziness hits me, but even with my eyes shut, the world keeps spinning.
Seniia moves to sit next to me, gently wrapping her arm around my shoulders.
“Hey, La?na,” she says softly. “Just breathe.” Demonstrating, she takes a deep breath and guides me to do the same, breathing with me.
She places one hand on my chest and the other at the back of my heart.
I cherish the warmth emanating from her palms, melting the anxiety away.
“Nothing happened. You’re going to be all right. ”
“I’m not sure ‘nothing’ is the right word,” Vilder mutters.
I glance toward him where he sits nonchalantly munching on a roll. For some unknown reason, he still seems rather amused. Noticing my gaze, he shrugs. “Don’t worry, La?. You’ll be fine.”
Gradually, the grip of anxiety on my chest begins to loosen, and I rest my head on Seniia’s shoulder, savoring the delicate aroma of flowers that surrounds her.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
For several long moments, we sit in silence. My breathing steadies, but my hands still tremble slightly as I reach for my beer. I take a small sip, letting the cool liquid ground me.
A god. I stabbed a god. The implications of my actions cause cold sweat to prickle at the back of my neck again, and I shut down the thought before I have another anxiety attack.
I debate telling them about the dreams and my meeting with Astēr in Bowen but quickly decide not to.
The dreams are too personal. Too intimate.
As if they’re mine and . . . his. I sigh.
He doesn’t even have to be around to infiltrate my personal space.
He’s already deep under my skin, and I’m sure he knows it too. But why?
“Oh, just forget about it, will you?” I say as I notice the worried glances they keep sending me.
“Kind of hard to forget you getting pinned to the ground by a god,” Vilder says dryly, “or how you stabbed him in his shoulder . . .”
I grab one of the buns from the basket and throw it at his face. He grabs it with his teeth. Ridiculous reflexes indeed.
“You actually stabbed him?” Seniia looks so shocked I can’t help but laugh.
“I don’t know what he said to her, but you should have seen her, Seniia. She went feral.”
I kick him under the table, earning a low growl from Gray where she lies at his feet.
“I don’t know what is happening,” I say. “I’ve basically spent my entire life braced and subdued, but lately I can’t seem to control . . . well, anything.” I shake my head at myself.
Vilder smirks. “Explains a lot.”
I give him another kick.
“I can’t believe you stabbed him.” Seniia purses her lips. “He’s gorgeous. All of the seven are. Makes a regular Reān almost bland.”
What that leaves the humans to look like, I don’t know. And it sure doesn’t make me feel any more attractive.
“Maybe he’ll pin me to the ground next,” she muses.
My lips pull back in a very nonhuman way.
Mine. Just the idea of someone else’s touch on him fills me with a sickening, possessive rage, and I have to grip the table to keep from throwing myself at her.
Seniia is so stunning that anyone would want her.
Surely Astēr would prefer pinning her to the ground over me. I give myself a mental slap.
What’s wrong with you, La?na? Are you pining after gods now? Seriously. I glance at her. She’s almost as beautiful as Nana. And that’s perfect since you don’t want him anywhere near you, remember?
Seniia’s eyes grow wide. “You fancy him?”
“I don’t fancy him,” I say, but I can’t help the blush creeping into my cheeks.
“Oh, you most certainly do.” She cocks her head. “I don’t blame you. I’d be all over him if not for the fact that everyone knows his heart still belongs to his mate. Dead or not.”
“Seniia!” Vilder snaps.
I have to control myself to not lean over and strangle her. And was that a snarl coming out of my mouth?
“Whoa,” Vilder says to my right.
Seniia’s eyes are wide. “You don’t just fancy him . . .”
“Change of topic,” Vilder declares. He empties his mug. “Anyone want another round of beer?”
A double shot of something ridiculously strong is what I need, but I manage a nod.
“Seniia?”
She sticks her tongue out at him but otherwise doesn’t complain, her chair scraping against the floor as she leaves our table.
Vilder turns toward me, concern in his eyes. “Do you know the story?”
Do I know the story? I’ve witnessed it firsthand in my dreams, but I don’t tell him that.
“Some,” I say vaguely. “And don’t worry, I’m aware of my stature,” I add, trying to avoid his scrutiny. “I’m mortal. He’s a god. Lesser god, whatever.”
“Didn’t stop him from being with Nana,” he says.
“That was different. She was Reān.” I look away and, just on pure reflex, manage to grab the roll he tosses toward my head. “What was that for?”
Vilder just shrugs, his expression thoughtful. “What happened today, La?na? It clearly was not the first time you met.”
The shadowshard’s cool, calming surface is soothing below my thumb as I run it up and down its shaft. “You cannot know that.”
“I’m not blind. I was there.” He leans in, making eye contact unavoidable. “That level of tension implies a significant history.”
“We met in Bowen,” I say. “And again at your initiation ceremony.” And basically every night outside of that.
“It was him you met at Sa’mahtā?”
I nod.
“And do the two of you always want to devour each other when you meet?” Arching an eyebrow, he leans back in his chair.
“Vilder!” I shoot him my most intimidating stare, daring him to utter another word. A glance over my shoulder tells me Seniia is still in line for beers.
“What do you know about him?” I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me.
“Astēr?” Vilder’s eyes narrow. “Well, he’s one of the seven lesser gods, but as the son of Zerex, one of the two primordial deities, he’s the most powerful of the lesser gods by far.
And, if everything goes according to his father’s plan, he will soon have twice the power of the other seven, rising to the ranks of the higher gods.
That is probably the reason he is here, to work out the details of the plan they have for getting back at”—he lowers his voice to a whisper—“Casimir.” I get the impression he doesn’t do it out of fear, but rather to avoid anyone listing in.
“From what I know, the C’elēn and the gods have been planning this for years, and it is this”—he holds his index finger an inch away from his thumb—“close to execution.”
The overheard conversation floods back—Llyr’s guilt, Astēr’s reluctance, their talk of prices too high to pay.
Whatever this plan is, I have a sinking feeling I won’t like it.
The thought sends a chill through me just as the barmaid who keeps eyeing Vilder drops another basket of bread at our table, and he grabs one.
“He is, of course, an exceptionally strong wielder of elēn—you and I both saw the glyphs covering his body—but he also has powers over death, dreams, and endings, and he weaves the strings of fate.” He takes a bite of his bun. “Although that last part is no longer possible for him to do.”
“Strings of fate?”
He nods. “I don’t know this for sure, but the legend says that when his twin brother caused the Darkenin—”
“Wait.” I place a hand on Vilder to stop him. “Astēr is Casimir’s twin brother?” My blood chills at the casual way he killed Nana. How could anyone do such a thing to their own brother?
Vilder takes a sip of his beer and nods.
“Yes. And when Casimir caused the Darkening, our primordial mother goddess, Mah, stripped him of all his celestial powers—leaving him only with the dark powers of the Void. Up until then, Casimir was the keeper of the weave, guarding the fate of Reāns and men alike. As a weaver, Astēr used to have the power to change the pattern of the weave, but since Casimir’s fall, the weave has been in a sort of limbo.
It used to be a collaboration between the two twins of some sort.
To not give Astēr the power to change fates as he saw fit, Casimir had to approve of the change of the pattern he was currently holding, and the goal would always be to weave to the greatest good of all.
I don’t know how they did it—through a merging of twin souls, I believe.
But since Casimir’s fall and the Darkening, there has been no keeper of the weave and no way to control the pattern. ”
“Does this mean that”—my stomach curls—“there’s no free will?” The mere thought makes me nauseous.
His finger taps against the tabletop. “It is not a straightforward yes or no,” he says. “The weave is believed to be branches, crossroads, and as we—humans and Reāns alike—represent the single strands the weave is made out of, every choice we make, good or bad, affects the pattern.”
“The current predicament,” Seniia says as three full mugs of dark, rich beer land on the table, “is that with all the humans and shadowborn turning to the Void, the weave may soon be tipping in its favor.” She slides down into the booth next to me.
“The weave is neither good nor bad, it just is. Casimir and Astēr were its gatekeepers, but now . . .”
Vilder grabs one of the beers and drinks deeply. “I wouldn’t worry about it,” he says, seeing my worried expression. He wipes the foam off his upper lip. “The elder C’elēn and the gods have a plan. They’ve all been around for hundreds of years—I’m sure they know what they are doing.”
I bite down on my lip. With everything going on with Astēr, I've almost forgotten about Llyr and his mind wiping. How many memories has he taken from me over the years? With the power to remove my brace, he could have done it any number of times. At least Llyr hasn’t had his hands on me since I arrived in Reā, and I will make sure it stays that way.
“Sure,” I say, pressing a smile as I meet Vilder’s gaze over my mug of beer, although I’m anything but. What is it that they want with me? A human.
Because there’s one thing I’m certain of, and it’s that those in power always have an agenda.