Chapter 33
The young lord never should have come to this place.
Anniliese watched from the shadows as Gabriel Laurent was dragged, bound and gagged, into Khento’s great hall. Blood stained his golden-blond hair and one of his eyes was swollen shut, his lip cracked and bleeding.
“Yet another failure from House Laurent. How disappointing.” Kol lounged upon his temporary throne on the raised dais, black suit perfectly pressed, drumming his fingers on the arm, as if bored.
The rest of the court had gathered in the hall, watching on with nervous glances and the thick lingering scent of fear.
Anniliese had grown quite accustomed to that scent. What she’d first noticed all those months ago in Shawth’s personal wing had spread throughout the castle like a noxious gas. Ever present and suffocating.
She’d also grown used to its effects. No longer did she fear the darkness all around her.
She only felt numb to it.
The crowd hushed as Gabriel lifted his head, meeting the dark god’s gaze.
And spat on the polished tile below the dais.
Kol chuckled. “Such defiance from someone who saw his father executed in this exact spot not even a week ago.”
Gabriel didn’t even flinch. Only kept his chin lifted proudly.
Anniliese had to hand it to him; he was exceptionally brave.
Stupid, but brave.
Kol ran a hand along his jaw. “Why did you help my son escape?”
It was a simple question. A straightforward question. Yet ripples of shock raced through the gathered crowd, murmurs of disbelief. How could the Laurent heir have done such a thing? After everything his family had endured?
It was remarkable watching one of the oldest Onitan families fall from grace so quickly.
Anniliese, though, only shrunk back further into the shadows. She held the full truth close to her heart, tucked beneath her crackling flames.
Gabriel hadn’t been the only one to help Andrian escape. And it was what Kol had wanted all along.
But that information wouldn’t keep the lords scared and obedient.
“He is my brother,” Gabriel croaked, his breaths labored. “Not your son.”
Kol waved off his words. “He is mine in every way that matters. You, on the other hand, hardly knew him.” He leaned forward, dark brow lifting. “Is a shared mother really enough for you to throw everything away? We could have achieved so much together, Gabriel.”
Gabriel only glared up at the dark god, fires burning in his eyes.
“Fine.” Kol sighed. “As regrettable as it is, we still need your house. And that son of yours is unfortunately too young to be of use to me besides motivation.”
Something in Gabriel faltered then. The barest hint of fear that he did all he could to hide away.
It wasn’t enough. Not if Anniliese, hidden in her alcove, still saw it.
Kol gestured a hand, an almost cavalier motion. The crowd shrunk away as two mudae melted from the shadows, leathery wings rustling and claws clicking on the marble. One of them carried a familiar set of black and gold cuffs, bound together by a simple iron chain.
“I have tried to be generous and patient. I keep none of you as captives. Even Andrian Laurent, after raising arms against me and the other lords of this land in defense of the thieving moon-chosen queen, was treated as a guest rather than a prisoner. All I asked was for obedience.” Kol stood, shadows spilling from his shoulders.
“Perhaps this will be enough to show those gathered here what happens when you disobey a god.”
Gabriel’s mask finally slipped, raw fear sliding across his bruised face.
The two mudae approached him with snarling, dripping maws, evil traveling with them.
Whatever foul magic that had created them sped their movements—one was a blur, appearing behind Gabriel before the young lord could scramble away.
His arms were forced in front of his body, struggling helplessly in the demon’s grip.
The second mudae clipped the deistair shackles around his wrists, the iron chain clattering to the floor.
The demon released Gabriel and he slumped forward, barely catching himself on his hands. His arms shook, chest heaving, head hanging.
Kol tsked. “Not so brave without Qhohena’s fire now, are you?” He nearly spat the goddess’s name. “I believe in tailoring punishments to fit the guilty. Perhaps it’s time to show you how much that holy flame can burn, should you continue to follow the wrong path.”
Ksee stepped out of the crowd, a grin spreading across her face. Embers already danced in her open palm. “I know I have sworn off Qhohena’s magic, but I would be honored to do your bidding in this, Your Eminence—”
“No.” Kol’s interruption was short and biting. His red-gold gaze swung across the crowd, landing on a small, dark alcove in an empty area of the hall.
On Anniliese.
She’d thought herself unable to feel more fear.
But when he smiled and the numbness in her cracked, she knew she’d been very, very wrong.
“Anniliese Hareth,” Kol said slowly, pronouncing each syllable of her name. “Please step forward.”
Anniliese didn’t want to obey. She wanted to retreat further into her alcove, to hide amidst the dust and decay and rot of this castle. To be left here, forgotten, for the rest of her life.
She’d never had such luck.
She stepped out of the darkness and into the great hall. It was late afternoon, and the dying sunlight streamed in through the windows, bathing the walls in weeping blood.
Kol smiled as she emerged from the shadows, but it was not the kind, friendly smile he’d given her before. This one was sharp and laced with something deadly, off-kilter, unfocused.
Betrayal. That was what Anniliese saw flickering in the dark god’s red-gold eyes.
He wasn’t betrayed because Anniliese let Andrian go. No, some instinct told her that he was betrayed because he saw her thoughts and knew the real reason why. She hadn’t done it to aid Kol’s plans or to work in his favor.
She’d done it because she wanted Mariah to prove him wrong by ending his reign for good.
“Anniliese was once one of you,” Kol said, addressing the crowd.
“A Lady of a Royal House. Her ancestor sat on the golden throne, one of Onita’s all-powerful queens.
” He snickered, the crowd answering with nervous laughter, the loudest of which rang from Lords Shawth and Donnet near the front of the hall.
Anniliese’s father, standing beside them, was notably silent, his face drawn and pale.
“Now she serves me. She knows those queens have always been nothing more than whimpering pests, ruling by virtue of a power they do not deserve.” Sounds of agreement rolled from Shawth and Donnet.
Anniliese shook as she reached the dais, staring up at Kol. He stared right back, still wearing that smile of dark promises.
“It’s time to prove your loyalty, Priestess.” He swung his gaze to Gabriel, bound and kneeling before them both.
“Burn him.”
Something quaked and choked inside Anniliese. The glowing embers of her magic flickered and thrashed, terror stoking them into a frenzy. Gabriel lifted his head, golden eyes wide with a fear he couldn’t hope to hide.
Anniliese crumbled.
She wished she could go back. All the way back—before her magic had bloomed in her soul, before Kol had pushed through the earth. Before Mariah was taken and Shawth had summoned the Onitan aristocracy to Khento.
When she’d had a chance to tell her father “no” to being involved in the coup against the new queen but had been too proud to do it. She’d seen the temptation of a crown she knew in her heart would never be hers and was too weak and shallow to resist.
Gods, what she wouldn’t give to go back.
She could be happy now. Somewhere far from here, married to a merchant’s son or a minor lordling. Bored out of her mind, but plain and ordinary and safe.
Instead, she found herself staring at a young lord not many years older than herself, tasked with dealing a punishment that would scar them both forever.
Anniliese Hareth lifted a shaky hand, and Kol’s smile widened.
She called her flames forward. They answered far too eagerly. Flickering yellow-gold light surrounded her hand, veiling her fingers in comforting, malleable warmth.
They stayed like that for a moment. Gabriel, panting on his knees. Anniliese, trembling and wreathed in the flames of a goddess she’d never once prayed to.
Slowly, she drew back her flames and lowered her hand. Turned to Kol. Held every ounce of practice, polished grace to herself as she met his gaze.
“I can’t do it, Your Highness.”
“Can’t?” Kol cocked his head. “Nonsense. You will serve, Priestess.” He took three steps down the dais, heels clicking on the marble. Shadows enveloped her as he leaned forward, her body tensing.
“Whether you want to or not.”
When he drew back, smiling darkly again, his shadows struck.
Not her skin; to those observing, they stayed swirling loosely around his form like smoke over an old flame. But in her mind, right at the heart of who she was, she felt them. Thick coils of menacing darkness speared into her consciousness, laughing as they wound and buried in.
She thought she screamed. She thought she doubled over in bellowing agony, every inch of her body in rippling, bleeding, searing pain. There was no way to keep him out; Kol shredded past her sense of self with ancient, malevolent talons.
The quiet, pained man she’d spoken to that night in his study was gone. There was no trace of the god who’d protected her from Shawth’s greedy hands, who’d stood up to Ksee against her torment. All that was left was wrathful betrayal.
She should’ve known better than to stand up to a god.
After what could have been seconds or centuries, Kol withdrew from her wrecked mind. The world around them peeled back into focus, but Anniliese watched it all through a hazy lens.
She could feel the shadows slithering through her limbs. Control of her body was wrenched from her, leaving her all but a prisoner within the confines of her own flesh.
It was like the uxosil but without the blessing of being painless. This was like being a living puppet, hooked to the strings, awake and raw and bleeding.
She was not doubled over or screaming or clawing out of her skin. She simply stood, obedient.
Kol smiled then nodded at Gabriel.
With a sickening wrench, the shadows pulled her forward.
She crossed the space before the dais, her steps not her own. Her body was not hers as it stopped in front of Gabriel. It was not her eyes who gazed down at his, still wide with terror, but also carrying a shattering acceptance for his fate.
Not her eyes, but she saw it all just the same.
Saw it all as her hand lifted; as her fire—those beautiful, pure, scorching flames—were pulled from their home beneath her ribs; as her burning hand was placed on Gabriel’s and the parasite controlling her urged them to consume his smooth, unmarred skin.
Her body didn’t obey her, but those flames certainly did Kol’s bidding.
Golden fire licked and crawled over Gabriel’s arm. A putrid stench filled the great hall, the sickly odor of burning flesh.
The cry that wrenched from Gabriel’s mouth was the worst of all.
A bitter, aching, terrible wail. A mournful cry of pure and unadulterated pain, of knowing you’ve been betrayed by the very element living within you.
Why was it the things we loved that always hurt the most?
The flames ate and ate and ate. Gabriel’s left arm and shoulder and face were now consumed. He fought and thrashed on the marble, begging—pleading—for mercy. For her to put out the flames. For her to stop the pain.
Pleading with Anniliese. Not Kol.
Her.
When Gabriel’s screams grew hoarse, Kol finally sighed. “That’s enough.”
It all stopped.
Not just the flames. The shadows in Anniliese’s veins, too, the dark presence that had settled into her mind. All of it vanished, withdrawing as if it had never been, leaving her empty and full and broken and violated all at once.
Anniliese sank to her knees, gasping for breath as tears streamed down her face. A few feet away, Gabriel lay curled on his side, whimpering softly as smoke drifted from his mottled, brutalized skin.
Kol clapped his hands. “Remember the warning. I will not have my will ignored again.”
The crowd dispersed from the great hall, many gagging against the smell of burnt flesh and tripping over each other to reach the safety of fresh air. Kol and Ksee exited without so much as a backward glance at the two figures still lying on the floor.
A group of priestesses moved out from the shadows to pick up Gabriel, draping his body between them and carrying him from the hall. Save for the shuffles and soft, pained moans, it was a silent affair.
Anniliese remained.
She stayed there, on that cool marble floor, until the sun set and the moons rose in the sky. Their light was foreign and judgmental, scratching at skin that no longer felt like hers.
One of those goddesses had given her this magic. This gift of flame.
This gift of pain.
Anniliese would never forget the sound of Gabriel’s screams.