Chapter 7
Nymiria rolled her eyes as she shoved her legs into his breeches.
She’d already pulled one of his tunics over her head, doing her best to remain modest despite its large size and the fact that the low cut of the neckline left very little to the imagination.
She secured it together by cufflinks she found on his desk and though she knew she looked ridiculous drowning in his clothes, she didn’t want to leave him waiting any longer.
Not when he seemed so desperate to get away from her.
Perhaps her nightmare had been more of a premonition—perhaps he now hated her and wanted revenge.
But that seemed slightly ridiculous. He took his job as the God of Death to heart.
It was important to him. Gods and prophecies and her fulfilling that supposed role of hers was a priority.
The fate of the world and the magic that kept the balance of it relied on her and him working together.
He could hate her and teach her at the same time; both could coexist.
Once the six inches of extra fabric was rolled above her ankles and the end of his tunic was tied at her waist, Nymiria exited his sleeping chambers. He was waiting on the balcony, his hands gripping the railing as if he were debating throwing himself over it.
It wouldn’t have been the first time.
She snorted to herself, not realizing that the room had such great acoustics.
The sound of it echoed and Aziel turned, his eyes squinting in the sun.
His hair glistened, blowing into his eyes in the delicate breeze.
The piercings, all of the ones that decorated his ears, and even the black stud on his nose caught the light.
Her heart thudded so harshly that it took everything in her not to bring her hand up and clutch at it.
Aziel was walking towards her now, his body rigid and avoiding her. He passed by her quickly, going into his sleeping chambers without so much as a word, only to return a few moments later with a stack of books.
He plopped them onto the dining table and stepped back, observing them. “We will start here.” He stated. “We have a lot to cover.”
She eyed the tower of books as it swayed, recognizing some of the spines on them as ones he’d had in his room in Yaar.
“Well, I’ve got my learning breeches on and they are extra big—perfect for retaining a lot of information.
” She waved her hand down the length of her legs, stopping to point at the cuffs curled up at the bottom.
His head snapped in her direction. His eyes were squinted at her, but not out of anger. He was trying not to laugh.
“Now isn’t the time for jokes.” He said, his mouth pinching slightly.
Nymiria stepped closer to him, nudging his side with her elbow. “It will not kill you to laugh.”
He watched as she took the book from the top of the stack and flipped it open. “It might.”
Seemingly paying him no mind, she brushed past him and dropped into the chair inches away, propping her feet up onto the table.
Her toes wiggled as she read, her lips pursing and then relaxing again the more focused she became.
Suddenly, she paused and looked at him over the edge of her book.
“The God Stones.” She pointed at the page.
“You said that they were important for channeling the power of the gods through the earth. It’s like an invisible map—lines. ”
Aziel nodded. “Yes. In order to officially claim your godhood, you would need to offer your blood to the stone. The stone, then, would connect you to the lines of your realm of power. In order to maintain balance, Cadiath, the Mother Goddess, gave a certain number of gods to each continent. She hoped this would disperse power equally and reduce bias. She wanted the gods to walk amongst the people and learn their thoughts and feelings—to understand what it was to live, rather than to be purely sentient. From what we know, there are five realms of godhood in Gaellagh. Death, Fate, Purity, and Deception. And, of course, your realm of power being—”
“Life.”
Another nod. “Yes. Amongst a few other things.”
He began to explain in detail exactly what he meant by that.
Nymiria listened. Her realm of power was not just bestowing blessings for good harvest or bringing life to infertile wombs, it delved deeper.
She was to be a figure-head of sorts, the person who reigned over her realm and decided what blessings could be bestowed and which could be denied.
It was crucial to maintain this balance, for her to assess the outcomes of every blessing.
Prayers were handled by the lines, the ethera, as Aziel called them.
The ethera was controlled by her omnipresent, yet sentient form—spirits, in other words.
This, too, was important. Offering blood to the stones gave a piece of her lifeforce to the ethera, allowing her to be present physically and spiritually, in many different places at once.
These spiritual forms of her had her same thought processes, her same moral compass.
“So, it’s akin to that of a sacrifice?” Nymiria mumbled, thumbing back and forth between drawings of the God Stones and their locations. “I remember my Nan mentioning that the old gods were offered blood as a show of loyalty.”
Aziel nodded slowly. “Only by the Elders—the Guardians.”
“What is that?”
He plucked another book from the stack with one hand, using the other to stabilize the rest. She watched as he flipped through the pages and then she placed her own book to the side as he slid his book to her from across the table.
“Guardians are like us. Chosen at birth to protect the gods and the god stones. In giving their blood to the stones, they bind themselves to the gods, as servants and protectors.”
Nymiria’s finger trailed along the fading ink.
Some words were so ruined by time that she could hardly make them out.
She improvised. “Born with a mark upon their brow, declaring the worth of their soul, the integrity of their nature…” Her back straightened as she recalled his mother’s journal, what she’d read. “Oran is a Guardian?”
“Yes.” Aziel nodded again, his gloves hand coming up to rub along his jaw. “As is Trio.”
“Trio?” Nymiria’s brow furrowed. “I’ve never seen their marks.”
“They fade with time. Marked at birth does not necessarily mean that they are marked for life. A lot of Guardians used to get them tattooed onto their brow if they faded.” He moved around the table to where she sat.
Though she tried not to be overly aware of his proximity, she could not control the way her body heated when he placed his hand on her back, nor could she ignore that tart, aromatic scent of cherry blossoms. “Oran’s was hidden when he was born.
According to some other journal entries I have collected, they explain that Camalia, the real Camalia, had sought out a fae witch to glamour the marks. ”
Her chest tightened. “It wasn’t… was it my m—”
Aziel shook his head quickly. “No. It was not her.” He sighed, pressing his finger onto one of the pages at the very end of the book. “It was her.”
The Rune Witch.
Before Phyona assumed her role as the Rune Witch, there had been another.
When Hilla and Lorelei had helped them find the witch to have Nymiria’s witchlocks removed in Yaar, they explained that Dieve had kept the identity of the previous Rune Witch concealed.
If the state of the pages meant anything, the Rune Witch had to have been ancient.
Far older than her mother—far older than any witch that Nymiria had ever known.
And she’d known quite a bit of them, thanks to her mother.
“I suspect something,” Nymiria inquired.
She looked up at Aziel when he didn’t respond, but by the subtle upwards tilt of his brow, she took that as encouragement to continue.
“You may think that this sounds absolutely insane, but do you think that Dieve is more than a simple kitchen witch? She’s been training Phyona to take that position. And Dieve is old.”
Aziel chuckled. “Dieve has always been old. But I do believe it’s a possibility.
But, if we’re being entirely honest, Dieve would be so much more than a mere Rune Witch.
She’s utterly terrifying.” He arched his brow at her.
“Are you perhaps trying to distract yourself with something to avoid the real topic at hand?”
When he slowly turned to her from what he was reading, still leaning over top of her, Nymiria’s face heated.
“Perhaps. Or perhaps I’m just retaining too much information for my learning breeches to properly handle.
” Shielding her face with her hair, she slumped down further in her seat.
“If Dieve were a god and not a witch, which one do you think she’d be? ”
Aziel hummed curiously, the rumble of it spread through her body. “The Goddess of Deception, certainly. I’ve never, once, seen someone that visibly old and wrinkled unless they were human. She’s obviously hiding something.”
“Are there other godlings here?”
“If there are, we haven’t found them yet.” Aziel finally leaned away from her, allowing her to breathe evenly. “But I assume they’ll reveal themselves soon enough. The old gods are almost entirely dead now. Their heirs should be picked and placed by now.”
“Alright,” Nymiria groaned dramatically. “Now I really don’t think these breeches can retain anymore knowledge.”
Once again laughing quietly, Aziel shook his head. “I suppose that will be enough for today, then.” He roused to his full height, gracefully turning on his heel and walking towards his sleeping chambers.
Nymiria quickly closed her book, haphazardly tossing it onto the table before she followed him. “This is quite a bit of pressure to place upon one person, you know? The idea that my moral compass will be the guide for these spiritual versions of myself is a little terrifying.”