Chapter 11
ARAN
Iwatch as Daisy’s fire engulfs Maelkar, her fury burning white-hot after he quite clearly provoked her.
I don’t know what words he used, but judging by the rage twisting her face, he was being his usual Shadowtongue self—an unrepentant bastard.
It’s not how I would have trained her. I’d use patience, control, and strategy.
Not cruelty and goading. But damn it, it’s working.
The protective part of me wants to break his jaw for making her hurt like that.
But even I know we don’t have the luxury of fragility anymore.
Not now. Not with Velentha lost as our spy and the Six making armies.
I glance back over my shoulder, into the quiet of the chamber behind me.
She’s still sleeping soundly, her short black hair spilling over her face in soft strands.
She looks peaceful. From the outside, it almost looks like she’s entirely untouched by the chaos clawing at us from all sides. If only that were true.
Gods, I love her so much it aches. Despite the cost to our plans, I’m glad she can no longer return to those parasites.
Every time she slipped away, fear consumed me.
I was terrified they’d catch her. That they’d expose her and then destroy her.
And they almost did. They got so close to killing her.
I thanked the healers personally after Daisy released me from the dungeons. Since then, I’ve hardly let Velentha out of my sight. She says I’m driving her insane, but I can’t help it. I almost lost my wife, my mate, my aeshira.
She’s trapped in this room, caged by necessity.
The balcony’s the farthest we dare let her go, and even that’s a risk.
One glance up from the wrong pair of eyes, one whisper that a member of the Divine Six hides in Zeriavoss, and everything would unravel.
Chaos would take over, and the trust Daisy is slowly building would crumble within seconds.
My gaze pulls back to the sparring ring.
Daisy is back on her feet after falling to her knees, and Maelkar has the audacity to pull her into an embrace.
My jaw tightens. If he dares try anything beyond training, I swear to the unseen gods, I’ll end him.
That man knows no boundaries at all when it comes to women and men alike.
So I keep watching closely, quickly realising he’s not trying to seduce her at all—he’s consoling her.
Apologising, maybe. For once, his embrace looks genuine and not at all like he’s being a slimy prick.
I tear my attention away and lower my eyes to the grimoire in my hands.
The Saerathi’s legacy, stolen and butchered by the Divine Six.
The deeper I read, the more gaps I find.
Whole enchantments missing. Spells ripped clean out.
Only scraps remain of the most dangerous pages.
Waking the Dormant and Godbinding. Torn out almost entirely from the book.
Velentha was right. There would be no other reason for those pages to be missing, other than if they had been trying to master them.
The thought makes my blood run cold. Even with seven realms prepared to band together, facing such power will be a slaughter.
With Waking the Dormant, they could rouse ancient beings best left buried.
With Godbinding as well? The power is beyond comprehension.
They don’t even need thousands. A handful of those creatures created by the Saerathi spells would be enough to tip the war.
A shiver creeps along my spine at the thought.
And still, it isn’t only their spells we must fear.
It’s the traitors. Fear is the sharpest weapon they wield, sharper than any blade.
Already, whispers are spreading through the dominions.
People believe siding with the Divine Six will spare them.
But those fools don’t understand that if the Six win, mercy will be extinct.
They’ll make slaves of us all, just as they made puppets of the gods they once swore to serve.
Part of me aches for something I can never seem to touch as I glance down again at the book.
I wish I could remember more of my life before swearing myself to be Korithax’s right-hand.
Despite the odd flicker, the brief flashes of something ancient in my blood, I remember only what Saevyn has allowed me to remember.
She bound me in silence, wrapped my own past in shadows, and no matter how many times I’ve clawed at the walls of her spell, I cannot break free.
I’ve tried. Gods, I’ve tried.
I’ve stood at the base of the Council Spires, begging them for answers. Prayed to the forgotten echoes that perhaps some trace of our kind remained in their records. But of course, they had nothing. Hardly anyone knows the Saerathi exist.
The grimoire feels like a cruel joke in my hands.
I read it as if for the first time, when I know—deep down, I know—I should not need to.
The words stir a sense of recognition that slips from my grasp the moment I reach for it, like ash scattering in the wind.
Velentha knows more than I do. She’s always known.
But she can’t speak it. Saevyn’s spell sealed her tongue, just as it sealed my memory.
She even tried to write it once, but the words just became impossible to form.
I clench my jaw, fighting the surge of frustration.
Even my foresight, once so sharp, bends around this void.
I see fragments of futures, armies, battlefields drenched in blood, but when it comes to the Saerathi—when it comes to us—I see nothing but fog.
Like something is there, vast and blinding, but hidden from me by a veil I cannot pierce.
And so, I’m left here. Half a man. Half a Saerathi.
Leading Daisy into a war I can only half prepare her for, praying that when the time comes, the truth of what I truly am, doesn’t arrive too late.
I close the book, jaw set. Today is the true test. Daisy and I will tour the dominions of Hell.
She will stand before the rulers, the councillors, and the villages.
They will scrutinise her every word, every movement.
If she falters, they lose faith in her, and we are finished before the war even begins.
And gods help me—because I fear she has no idea how high the stakes truly are.
I walk back into the chambers from the balcony and slide the grimoire into the desk drawer, locking it before slipping the key into my pocket. Velentha has a key as well, but it needs to stay bound if it isn’t in one of our hands. Just in case.
Crossing the room, I sink onto the bed beside her and brush a strand of hair from her face. Her silver eyes flutter open, soft and shining as she smiles up at me.
“Good morning, beautiful,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to her rosy lips.
She kisses me back, threading her fingers through my black, slicked-back hair. “Good morning,” she mumbles against my mouth.
When her fingers graze the base of my horns, a shiver jolts through me, a growl climbing unbidden from my throat.
She laughs softly, knowing exactly what that touch does to me.
Some loathe anyone near their horns. For me, it’s lightning, straight to the core—igniting a need already clawing at my restraint.
“Velentha,” I groan in warning, trailing kisses along her jaw.
“Mhmm?” She hums, stroking a finger slowly from the base of one horn to the tip.
I seize her wrists, pinning her hands to the pillow above her head as I glare down at her. “No,” I growl. “You’re still healing.”
She frowns, huffing. “I am perfectly fine, Aran. Stop being such a mother hen.”
Leaning down, I nip her bottom lip gently, still holding her firm. “No. The healer said another week.”
She rolls her hips against me, dragging another groan from my throat.
Gods, I want her. I want the taste of her, the feel of her beneath me, the sweet ruin only she can bring.
But I force myself back, climbing off the bed and even going as far as moving a few inches away.
Discipline is agony, but I won’t risk her recovery.
She pouts, pushing up on her elbows. “Spoilsport.”
“Yes, I am,” I laugh, shifting uncomfortably at the ache she leaves in her wake. “I have to take Daisy on a tour of the dominions today, to speak with the leaders of Hell. I wanted to wake you before I left, so you wouldn’t be alone and worried.”
She rises from the bed, the thin nightgown she wears hugging her curves as she stalks towards me with mischief in her eyes.
This is the side of Velentha only I get to see.
And I love it. In front of everyone else, for centuries, she’s had to act like the crazy woman who speaks in riddles.
All to hide her true self from the parasites surrounding her.
But this woman in front of me right now?
This is truly her. Playful, fun, and utterly breathtaking.
On tiptoes, she tugs my face down into another kiss. “Are you sure I can’t convince you to stay?” she purrs.
Gods, she is temptation wrapped in black silk. My own little slice of sin and seduction that will never satiate me. I will always want more.
“My love,” I murmur against her lips. “I’d give anything to lay you down and worship you like the deity you are. But you are healing. And I have duties.”
She tuts, slipping away towards the bathing room. “Fine. Have it your way.” The nightgown slides off her shoulders, pooling at her feet as she sways her hips with deliberate cruelty. I bite my knuckles, groaning at the sight of her round backside swaying as she goes.
She glances back over her shoulder, silver eyes glinting as her mouth curves into a wicked smile. “As the stars remember the dark.”
“So do I remember you,” I answer breathlessly, watching her vanish into the bathing room.
I let my head fall back on an exasperated sigh. She’s going to be the death of me one day.
I pace down the hall towards Daisy’s chambers. She will have finished her morning sparring with Maelkar by now, and should be preparing for the day ahead.
My own nerves are pounding, utterly restless beneath my skin.
If I feel this way, gods only know what must be going through her mind.
I pause outside her door, pressing a steadying breath through my lungs.
I need to push every lingering thought of Velentha from my head—her touch, her smile, the way she makes me weak.
She’s the only one who sees that side of me, just as I’m the only one who sees hers.
But Daisy can’t see me like that. Not now.
Not today. When I walk through this door, I have to wear the mask again: the dutiful right-hand, the composed strategist. Not the man grieving his brother.
Not the lover consumed by longing. Just Aran.
Korithax’s former assistant. The Queen’s shield.
I knock once, crisp and deliberate.
“Come in,” Daisy calls, nerves threading her voice.
I push the door open and I’m instantly greeted with her smile.
It’s radiant, almost convincing, but her eyes betray her.
I know Daisy, almost too well. I know the subtle tells: the stiff set of her shoulders, the too-bright curve of her lips, the tremor in her hands when she thinks no one’s looking.
She wears her mask well, but I see her. I have always seen her.
“Aran,” she says warmly.
“Daisy,” I return, stepping forward and pulling her into an embrace.
She stiffens for half a heartbeat before sinking against me, exhaling a shaky breath against my chest. My poor, broken little ray of sunshine. I wish I could take her pain and carry it for her, but I can’t. All I can do is be the shoulder she leans on.
When she releases me, I hold her at arm’s length, letting myself take her in.
She looks absolutely radiant. Breathtaking, even.
Though, the current of her anxiety all but hums in the air around her, creating something of a nervous atmosphere that’s infectious, and causes my heart rate to spike ever so slightly.
She’s dressed in a deep crimson gown that pools like blood at her feet—the sweetheart neckline is modest, and the sleeves cuff neatly at her wrists.
Her hair is tied into a long braid, with two curled strands framing her face, with subtle makeup highlighting her features.
No sigils adorn her dress today. A plain canvas.
But if I know Daisy—and I do—Korithax’s dagger will be sitting snug against her thigh.
“I have something for you,” I tell her, slipping a rectangular box from the inside of my jacket and pressing it into her hands. “So the poor seamstress doesn’t need to keep stitching symbols into every gown you wear.” I chuckle softly.
Her frown is slight, curious, her hands trembling just a little as she lifts the lid. I watch the moment her eyes widen, the moment tears pool against the ocean blue. “Oh, Aran.” Her voice breaks, fragile as glass. “It’s beautiful.”
A single tear escapes before she blinks the rest away, brushing it from her cheek with the back of her hand quickly, as if refusing to let me see her fragility. She beams at me through it anyway, her smile luminous. “Truly. Thank you.”
I smile back and hold out my hand. “May I?” She nods, passing me the box. She turns and I lift the chain carefully, fastening it around her throat. The circular golden pendant rests against her collarbone—Korithax’s sigil engraved on the front, hers on the back.
“Perfect,” I murmur. “Now he’s always with you. Other than the dagger strapped to your thigh, of course.”
She laughs softly, the sound easing some of the tightness in my chest as she turns back around. “Am I really that predictable?”
“Quite the opposite,” I answer with a smile. “I’ve just come to know you very well.”
She exhales, the sound trembling but steadier than before.
“Ready?” I ask.
She meets my gaze, her blue eyes shining. “Readier than I’ll ever be, I guess.”