6. Nahomie
Nahomie
“Phantimèssa, wake up.”
My eyes snapped open. A skeletal brush of fingers tap-danced across my shoulders, wrenching me from my sleep.
I popped my jaw on a wide yawn, stretching my limbs like a feline.
Shaking my head until my braids slipped loose from my bonnet, I blinked until sleep fled my eyes and the dimmed sunlight caressed me awake.
“Rise and shine, our lovely Phantimèssa.”
I gasped, looking from side to side.
The skeletal, sing-song voice made me shiver. I couldn’t see who had spoken. I didn’t know where the voice was coming from. Stars. Was I losing my mind? What was happening?
Again, that gentle touch of unseen fingertips brushed along my shoulders, then down my arms, traipsing across my skin. It was both arousing and unnerving. I swallowed through a parched throat, trying to make out who was in this chamber with me.
“Bones,” I whispered.
I dug my fingers into the plush bedcloud, searching for my cinderwolf. Fluffy clouds the color of deep obsidian swayed beneath me as I rocked the bed while looking for my wolf. It was strange to wake up and find him gone. Usually, he was the one who had to drag me out of bed.
“Bones,” I called again.
Looking around, I slipped my legs off the bedcloud and shoved my feet into my slippers.
My toes crammed into a plush rug, bending backward as they pressed hard into the marble floor beneath instead.
I yelped at the sudden rush of pain into my feet.
Leaning down to rub them, I looked around once more.
“Bones Octavius! Stop this nonsense. Where are you?”
I tapped my foot, irritated. What in the stars was happening? I blinked down at the floor, looking for my slippers so I could go find the cinderwolf. A wide, long rug of pearlescent ivory met my confused gaze. I stared at the rug for a long time. I blinked at it once. Twice.
I blinked again.
I didn’t own any ivory rugs.
A raspy chuckle danced around my shoulders. The sound tickled my ears, making the winged tips twitch. I breathed hard, aware that I wasn’t alone.
“Phantimèssa, won’t you bleed for us?”
Absolutely the hèls no, I would not.
Shifting uncomfortably in my seat on the edge of the bedcloud, I looked around.
Poignant terror spiked through my blood.
I gripped the duvet as I registered my surroundings.
A canopy of ivory, velvet drapes tumbled around the corners of the gigantic, four-poster bedcloud I sat on.
I lifted my gaze to the vaulted, gilded ceiling.
An endless pattern of lush florals had been painted into the tapestry, while translucent pillars upheld the lofty ceiling.
Beyond the bedcloud was a pond filled with jewel-toned, colorful fish with gleaming scales that rippled beneath the watery surface.
Iridescent pearls filled the bottom of the pond, while the sides were framed by velvet settees and tumbling golden flowers.
Ethèrlamps hung throughout the suite of a bedchamber, as endless candles burned bright, illuminating the space.
Floor to ceiling windows lined the walls as the sunlight peeked through, letting in warmth and coziness.
“Well, well.” I marveled at the ostentatious beauty all around me. “This is not Nahomie Manor.”
And Bones was nowhere to be found.
Stars. Just where in the skies was my cinderwolf?
I looked down at myself, ready to go look for him.
A sparkly and slightly sheer, crimson gown of silk delicately clung to my curvaceous physique.
The small straps securely gripped my shoulders while the lacy trim of the hem hugged my thighs.
Faded deep in mahogany, I traced the pattern of stars and thorns beneath my skin that branded me as an angel of the Seraphim rank.
A matching robe for my gown was folded across the back of a settee, perched by the head of the bedcloud.
Where was my gown?
Who had dressed me in this?
“Wings high, Madame. It’s good to see you back to yourself.”
The warm voice drew my attention, pulling me to the right, close to the inner doors of the bedchamber.
By the threshold floated an angel. Her shimmery skin, colorful eyes, and four feathered wing pairs branded her a Raephim.
I’d always been fond of the healers from the Ninth Rank.
They were quite rare in Edenael, only appearing when extreme medical assistance was needed.
Raephim were king, gentle, and patient. It was in their healing nature to be the best of most angels throughout the Twelve Ranks.
What a shame I didn’t give a rot about any of that right now. The last thing I remembered was Obsidian flying with Bones and me to Mortevain Island. Everything after that was a blur. And I didn’t like that one bit.
“Where in the Six Hèls am I?”
The Raephim blinked at my blunt language.
She cleared her throat twice before responding.
“You’ve had a long journey, and an even longer recovery, Madame. You’ve been resting for the past week. All twelve dawns.” She gave me a pretty smile. The gesture only ticked me off. “How are you fee?—”
“Where am I?”
“Please, Madame, I’d like to know if you’ve progressed so I can report?—”
“I’m going to ask you one. Last. Time.”
I clipped every word, my voice dropping three octaves.
I looked at the Raephim, my back ramrod straight. I snapped my wings into the columns of my spine. My body thrummed with adrenaline. I was ready to pounce on this stranger, in this strange... whatever I was in.
Was this Everthorn Manor? Or somewhere else?
And where in the stars was Obsidian to explain?
“Where. Am. I?”
The Raephim bit her bottom lip as if contemplating what to respond. I began pushing off of the bedcloud. Fear flashed across her eyes. She threw up her hands, lifting her wings while bowed in an act of peace. Surrender.
“Please, Madame. There’s no need to be rash. I am Raephim Khaziah.” She gave me that pretty smile again that made me want to hurl a rock between her eyes. “You’re in Everthorn Manor.”
I froze.
I didn’t know why I expected her to say somewhere different.
Truly, I was half hoping she’d say I was back home in Edenael and I’d been hallucinating from very surreal dreams. My wings drooped at the news.
I gripped the duvet tighter. I didn’t want to be here.
At all. I wanted to be home. I wanted to be with my villagers. My tribe. Manmi and Papi.
I glared at Khaziah as if it were her fault. The healer twitched on her feet, visibly uncomfortable. I didn’t know what to think. I felt an overwhelming sense of defeat and loss.
And beneath that, a growing sensation of fear.
Stars.
Everthorn Manor.
Home to the Everthorn Kings.
The Everthorns, who’d ruled Mortevain Island since the Fifth Age.
The Everthorns, who were the first, after the Namyens—the angels of Namenthys Island which had been changed to Barrenrock—to reject the Ouanaviel Empyrean.
To reject the Empràr, the Profèt, and the High Farasee.
The first after the Namyens to fight for independence.
To go head to head with the empire and win.
It was said that the Everthorns were Namenthys loyalists.
The Everthorns were close friends with the Valoryens, the Kings of Namenthys, for countless millennia.
When the Empyrean invaded Namenthys and burned it to ash, turning it into Barrenrock, the loyalty of the Everthorns never wavered.
They remained true to their Valoryen friends.
As such, they’d been decreed an enemy of the Empyrean.
By default, the Everthorns were enemies to me.
“Everthorn.” I blinked. “Manor.”
I blinked again, unable to process my spiraling thoughts.
“Yes, Madame. You were brought to the king, Roi Everthorn, by his Gargorètti.”
Khaziah smiled. Really, it was a pleasant sight. I found the ice within my chest thawing. I almost wanted to be cordial. To be pleasant back.
Almost.
“A kindness His Majesty won’t soon forget,” she finished.
Speaking of Gargorètti.
“And just where exactly is Obsidian, anyway?” pushing to my feet.
“I would have words with him. I don’t remember agreeing to being brought into this manor.
” Snatching the robe from the settee, I slipped it on.
“Also, have you seen an onyx, crimson-eyed cinderwolf roaming about? I have words for him, too.” I scrunched my nose, pulling at the ends of the short gown.
“Grateful as I am for this hospitality, I would rather take my leave.”
The Raephim’s eyes widened with shock. Her slight shoulders trembled as she stared at me, bewildered. Confusion flashed across her eyes as she crinkled her nose. She looked at me through bright, calculating eyes.
I stilled.
Had I said something? Stars. Was it Bones?
Had he gotten himself into trouble already?
“How did you learn the name of the King’s Gargorètti?”
I flinched, shifting on the balls of my feet, letting my wings slip out of the column along my spine. I didn’t like her tone. If this Lowerrank wanted to start something, I’d be more than happy to finish it.
“If I remember correctly,” I said, cracking my neck to the left, then to the right.
“The gargoyle told me his name himself. You’d be surprised how much conversation strangers will have when they’re locked away in the same cage.
” I waved a hand. “I shared my name; he shared his. You know,” I glared at her, my tone turning icy.
I rested a hand on my hip to keep from hurling a firebolt at her head. “Pleasantries.“
The Raephim watched me in curious silence so long she looked frozen.
After some time, Khaziah seemed to connect several dots in her mind.
“He told you his name... himself.” She tilted her head.
“Mm. After half a millennium of silence, communicating solely with our Roi...” A pregnant pause.
“Telepathically...” Another pause. “The Gargorètti spoke out loud...” She blinked at me, clearly unconvinced.
“To you.” She looked at me as if I were going through psychosis.
“Are you sure you’re alright? Please, Madame.
Won’t you tell me exactly how you currently feel? ”
I scowled. My hands itched to draw blackfire and burn her to ash from the inside out. Condescending, ignoramus, rotting...
I could feel steam emotionally burning out of my ears.
“I feel like you’re pissing me off, Khaziah,” I sneered. “And those who provoke my anger are often acquainted with my fire.”
I wasn’t crazy.
Delusional.
This imbecile healer wasn’t going to gaslight me into thinking otherwise. Refusing to entertain her any longer, I resolved on figuring out how to get out of this blasted manor.
“I’m ready to take my leave.” I snapped open all seven pairs of my wings. “Now.”
A shadow moved to the center of the bedchamber, slipping out of the walls.
My jaw dropped.
What in the?—
“I’m afraid that will not be possible, Phantimèssa.”