9. Nahomie
Nahomie
The Everthorn King clapped all six pairs of his wings together.
On command, every ethèrlamp in the foyer came to life.
Pearl-shaped bulbs burned brightly, dramatizing the space, leaving me speechless.
I released a small gasp, bringing a hand to my mouth, when I saw just how large the antechamber was.
Seven chandeliers bathed the expanse with scintillating light, swaying on an unseen breeze.
I blinked several times before my vision cleared, adjusting to the new display.
Then I looked at the same spot as before, where the figure was shrouded in shadows.
“Holy...”
My jaw dropped.
I stumbled backward in the air.
Tazzias Everthorn, King of Mortevain Island, a thorn in the Empyrean’s side, had been born halfway through the Fifth Age.
He would have looked fitly and handsome, but still elderly and wise.
He’d already lived past his Tenth Millennia.
After so many cycles of life, even for an angel, he would have shown significant signs of aging.
This Hallowed wasn’t old at all.
I languidly tilted my head back, taking in the full measure of the king’s height.
My gaze snagged onto the point of his silver crown, with gleaming steel-blue jewels embedded within each point, before it trailed back down his behemoth of a body.
Like me, the king floated in the air. Unlike me, he was barefoot.
He wore nothing but loose, raven-black slacks that hung around his hips.
Every inch of his velvet brown skin was corded with muscle.
Then there were his endless stitches and scars.
“What in the realms,” I breathed.
Never in all my dawns had I seen an angel who looked like this.
Every inch of his skin was a patchwork of gashes that looked sewn shut by needle and thread.
Along his torso and arms, in several places, he was lighter brown while in others he was darker brown.
His flesh looked like an angelic quilt. Like different parts of him had been removed, rearranged, and sewn back together.
He was a horrific display of permanent bruises, scars, and old wounds.
He looked like a meticulously carved monstrosity.
And I was instantly obsessed with every burning inch of him.
I licked my lips, unable to stop drinking him in.
He was hideously, gloriously perfect.
As handsome as he was broken. As beautiful as he was marred. Blackfire stirred within me, hungry and demanding. I ogled the king, taking in the stitches, the bruises, the muscle.
By the stars.
He was a titan of an angel.
Every inch of earthen skin drew me in like moth to flame.
This was definitely not King Tazzias.
Which meant...
“King Tovares?”
My voice was no more than breath as I lifted my eyes back to his.
The king slipped both hands into his pockets, which made the hem of his slacks slip.
My gaze snagged on the strip of skin newly exposed, that left my stomach in greedy little knots that wanted to see more.
My nostrils flared. Observing my reaction, his eyes danced as his lips curled into a small, sinful smile.
“Wrong twin, Phantimèssa.”
I blinked.
Twin?
When in the rot did the Everthorns have another child? Papi said they had one son who shamed the entire island by reneging his claim to the throne, leaving Mortevain without an heir to rule. My throat went dry.
I opened my mouth to speak and found myself at a loss for words. The king waited patiently, his gaze looking more and more like jewels burning in a fiery furnace. The telltale signs of a Mortent Rank angel whose emotions had stirred their powers from within.
I opened my mouth and tried again.
“Twin.”
The king’s grin stretched. As if he could plainly read my thoughts. Plainly see the wrestling within my mind as multiple truths about Mortevain Island and her history went up in smoke.
My hearts stuttered. The male was magnanimously monstrous and handsome.
A combination my stupid hearts would never survive.
Suddenly the itch to leave so quickly was fading into something else.
Something foolish.
Something dangerous.
“I see your Edenael Presbitari’s did their jobs well.
” He tilted his head, that reckless mouth of his still curved in a wolfish grin.
“Professors revising the history of angels who were betrayed, invaded. Some captured, most slain.” His eyes flashed.
“And to brush away the truth of the son who was taken, and the son forced to run away. Positively brilliant, if you ask me. Really, mi Phantom. What do they teach you over there?”
I felt like my brain was breaking with every second I spent inside this manor. Never in my life would I have guessed I’d end up at the mercy of an Everthorn.
All of this was strange.
I narrowly avoided the dungeons of the Ivory Rain... thanks to a gargoyle. I’d laid eyes on a Nanmiess... only to discover the species was not born of the Six Hèls. Now here I was, floating in this antechamber, in casual conversation... with an Everthorn King.
A king who’d just called me his phantom.
A delicious heat unfurled in my gut.
I almost started giggling like a bumbling idiot.
Too much. This was all too much for one dawn.
“Phantimèssa.” The eerie voice from earlier returned.
My back stiffened. The winged tips of my ears twitched as I jerked away from the king, looking around for the source of the voice.
Burning stars. I felt as if my mind were unraveling.
“Stay. We need your song.” A blood-curdling chuckle. “We need your blood.”
I shivered at the request. I fought to maintain my cool. If I were losing my mind, the Everthorn King would be the last angel alive to learn about it. I thought back to his question and jutted out my chin.
“We are taught enough.” I waved a hand, gesturing to the open foyer. “One son was born. Renounced his claim to the throne. Betrayed his island, his angels, by running off with the Fallen and dooming them all.”
I lifted my nose in defiance. Subtly, I scooted to the right, angling my body towards the doors. The Everthorn King was no fool. He caught the motion and slid over too, effectively blocking my path to the doors.
“Funny how you all traded kidnapping for running off.” His eyes flashed. “I’d love to know what else you were wrongfully told about my family. My island.”
I froze.
He was... kidnapped?
His smile never wavered as he imperceptibly floated closer.
“If only Tovares could hear that Nalyens were mistaking him for me.”
I slipped back.
The king slid closer.
I felt like prey about to be devoured. There was a darkness to this Everthorn that set my nerves on edge, yet thrilled me at the same time.
“In all my dawns, I’ve never heard of you.” I slipped back again. And found my back against a wall. “If you’re not Tazzias nor his son Tovares. Who in the skies are you?”
The king turned his chin, tapping it as if he were in deep thought.
“Who am I, she asks.”
Jeweled eyes found me in the lit chamber, searching my face through an unreadable expression.
A spike of terror lit my blood. I shuddered at the look, suddenly feeling stupid for asking such a brazen question.
But how was I supposed to know what I didn’t know?
Until now, his very existence outside of this island was entirely unknown.
And if he was a twin, where in the stars was the other Everthorn?
The foyer darkened. Drapes rippled shut, completely blocking out the sunlight.
Ethèrlamps dimmed as the candles of the chandeliers began winking out.
The shadows returned, and whispers began their hushed gossip along the columns of the walls.
I shuddered as my curiosity became shrouded in hedging fear.
“Who am I, hm?” the Everthorn King mused. “I am called many things.” A flash of darkness dimmed the light in his eyes. “The Horn of Everthorn.” He slipped closer. “The Ivory Bane.” He drew a hair's breadth away. “The Monster King.”
He grinned wickedly, licking his pearly teeth.
I pressed harder against the wall behind me.
“But to you,” he said, leaning down until his nose was close enough to brush mine. “Tassarion will do, Madame Nahomie.”
His words were easygoing.
The rigidity of his posture and the taut muscles in his neck were not.
“How do you know my name?”
“No one enters my manor without me knowing down to the last detail about who they are.”
Souls swirled around the king. He leaned down even closer, his enormous size both intimidating and tantalizing. I twitched beneath the burn of his gaze.
“You are Nahomie Emélie Namarielle.”
Another flash across his eyes.
“Firstborn of Elder Josèphien and Elderèss Myrlène Namarielle, Chiefs of Okapi Village, Capital of Edenael Island.”
A pulse of his wings once. Twice.
I gulped, my knees wobbling.
“I know you were targeted, hunted, and found by the Ivory Rain.” More souls swarmed him, shrouding us in growing darkness. “My Gargorètti broke you free from their cage; now you’re on the run before they find you.” A beat. “Again.”
The more he spoke, the darker his eyes grew. Something barbaric began contorting his features. His breathing grew ragged. Then, as if wrestling with himself, he seemed to gain some measure of control. He blinked at me, his easy-going nature returning.
That was my cue.
This was fun while it lasted.
“I think it’s time for me to go.”
I slipped my wings free and shimmied to fly past him. His unnaturally powerful hands were around my waist before I could fly any higher into the air.
“On the contrary, Madame.” A chuckle. “You’ve only begun your stay.”
“It’s just Nahomie,” I blurted out before I could stop myself.
The Monster King grinned.
All seven of my hearts squeezed.
“I think I’ll keep you, Nahomie.”
Tassarion Everthorn clapped his wings together and instantly drowned us in darkness as every burning flame in the foyer winked out.
“You’re not going anywhere.”
The bolts on the doors behind him clinked, screwing shut. Then Tassarion Everthorn grabbed me by the waist, tossed me over his broad shoulders, and drug me back into the darkened corridors of the manor as I released a chortling scream.