Chapter 73 The King
The King
The air in my office suddenly felt heavy, like just before a summer storm unleashes chaos, before I heard the telltale sound of heavy boots stepping toward me.
The pressure abated, my ears popping as everything returned to normal, but I kept my front facing my bookshelves.
The book I’d stolen from the Valley fifteen years ago still refused to unveil its secrets despite the fact that the line of Matriarchs was eliminated.
Even though it was essentially spare parchment at this point, I refused to remove it from its hiding place behind my shelves, especially with the godly presence in the room.
“You’ve grown more disrespectful lately, descendant. It’s almost as if you’ve let that crown go to your head,” Kaos growled, his otherworldly voice rattling the small trinkets I had spaced between my books and tomes.
I suppressed a sigh, the near-constant tension headache returning with a vengeance as I rubbed the circlet that sat on my brow.
Everything was a mess—every move, decision, plan I’d made over the last few decades; every ounce of blood I’d consumed to try and find a drop of truth that sent me further into the maddening clutches of Kaos’ power, everything was hanging by a thin thread.
The reality that my decisions could have played directly into Solace’s hand rather than combating her efforts to control Elyria and, eventually, the cosmos, was almost too large a pill to swallow.
It was better to simply not think about that potential rather than lose myself completely in a spiral of self-loathing and second-guessing.
It’s all done. There is nothing I can do to fix it at this point.
The reality was depressing.
And what did I have to show for it all? A crown I would never be able to use to its full potential, a wife who not only hated me but was sleeping with another man, a reputation as a sadistic maniac, and the loss of friendship from the only person who trusted me implicitly.
Life simply wasn’t fair.
“Alois,” Kaos growled again, “my time is short today.”
I turned around, then, curious as to why Kaos only had finite minutes to disrupt my spiral of self-loathing.
I quirked an eyebrow at him as he frowned, the bumps that comprised his eyebrows nestling together.
“You look sallow, tired. Are you sick?” There was a hint of worry and desperation in his voice, but I was under no pretense that his worry was for me.
If I died, he became mortal; at least mortal enough for Solace or another god to kill him.
He needed me alive as insurance for his own wretched existence. The thought rankled.
“Just . . . overwhelmed,” I admitted. There was no use in hiding that now.
Kaos humphed before cocking his head eerily as if listening to something only he could hear.
“I must leave, but you need to know, King, that Solace is moving. She is angry, and she is coming for you.”
“Me or Vespera?”
“You, Vespera, both. Her goal does not matter—what is imperative is that you are prepared to defend your life by any means necessary. Sacrifice who and what you can, but you must stay alive above all else. I am not ready to face her yet.” The god’s voice faded as he stepped through a portal and out of my office.
It seems we’re both openly admitting weaknesses today.
Normally, I would bask in the satisfaction of wrangling information from the god I descended from, but not today. Today, I needed to ensure that a certain Rune Master was given access to information she so desperately sought.
It might not matter now if all the visions I acted upon were false, but at this point, I was committed to my path and whatever outcome it brought.
I opened the door to my office and poked my head around the corner. “Zaine,” I called, and the Air Mage turned to me with a bow.
“King.”
A tingle swept through me with the honorific, but I ignored it. “Send for Sirak.”
He bowed once more and I shut the door, awaiting the arrival of the librarian. He was old and more than a bit eccentric, but was loyal to me in a way not most were, save Rohak.
When I began my experiments on Mages two decades ago, Sirak was the man in charge. He was originally one of those criminals I showed to Ellowyn—an alchemist with a sadistic side—but his unsavory proclivities showed great promise when I needed them most.
I could have simply killed him once Lex was created and his usefulness was spent, but I allowed him, instead, to live out his remaining days in the shadows of books and tomes.
There were a few other men in black robes who chose to stay with him; others either accepted the poison-laced whiskey or killed themselves.
It was a messy, brutal end to a multi-year experiment, but Sirak had proven useful—especially lately with Fay’s interest in my history.
I tapped the thick, leather-bound journal against my knee as the door creaked open softly, Sirak shuffling in to stand before me.
Stooped back and still donning the black robes he wore in the catacombs beneath the Academy, Sirak looked the same as he did decades ago, just with thinner hair and skin that strongly resembled the leather covers of the books that now surrounded him.
“You called, my king.” His voice rasped from disuse and age.
“Yes. I need you to deliver this book to the Rune Master the next time she comes looking for information.” I held the book between us.
Sirak reached one gnarled hand out and grasped the spine, pulling it to his face before thumbing through the pages quickly.
If he was surprised at its contents, he said nothing.
“An interesting reading choice, to be sure,” he remarked with no hint of emotion.
Fucking crazy sociopath. The man used to drug Vesperans that came to his apothecary and then tortured his victims before dismembering them. He’d found the most precise ways to inflict pain while keeping the subject alive before healing them and beginning again.
He was a necessary evil for my experiments in the catacombs.
“Just make sure she receives it,” I grunted, and he bowed as low as his hunched back would allow. “And don’t redact any of the pages. Don’t influence her in any other way. Simply slip her the journal.”
He paused. “Shall I tell her who sent it?”
I groaned in exasperation, running my hands down my face. “At this point, I don’t give two shits. If you think it would help her read the information faster, then fine. Tell her I asked—demanded—she read it.”
“Very good, sire. Very good,” he grated as his feet shuffled across the floor and out the door, the journal tucked into the folds of his cloak.
Creepy fucking bastard.
I closed my eyes, content to rest for the first time in ages now that the final piece would settle into place.
What was done was done; there was no altering it, no changing the choices I’d made. The only way now was forward and to pray to Fate that I’d made the right decisions.