Chapter 20
Oran wasn’t quite sure what he did to deserve the utterly evil look Aziel was giving him, but he chose to ignore it.
His brother had always been a rather angry individual, not that Oran could fault him for it, but sometimes his hatefulness could be directed at the wrong person.
Oran tended to find himself in the crosshairs, and while he should have been used to it by now, one could never really get used to being visually picked apart by the God of Death.
Even if the God of Death was his big brother.
“I don’t understand why you’re looking at me with such ire,” Oran snapped. “I believe I just delivered some of the best news you’ve probably heard in months.”
Aziel looked down at the letter Oran’s betrothed, Fiernan, had sent him. There were pages and pages of her berating him for not having told her he changed his mind, two pages of a love confession, and the final line that stated:
“If an alliance is needed to stop your father’s reign, Shidosha will lend our troops to assist in any way needed. Just come back to me.”
The young god huffed and slowly pushed the letter back across the desk to his brother. “It’s wonderful news. Thank you.”
Oran scoffed. “Then why are you so angry?”
“You could have just told me the news. But instead, you made me sit here and go through every fine detail of your love life to get to one sentence.” Aziel shoved himself to his feet and strode across the room, rubbing at the pulsing vein on his forehead.
His brother carefully folded the letter and tucked it into the breast pocket of his shirt, frowning. “You can’t, at least, sound a little happy for me?”
Aziel whirled around, plastering a very fake and very unnerving smile across his face. “Look—I’m happy for you!”
“You’re being a prick.” Oran grumbled, eyes narrowing. “Trouble in paradise?”
“I wouldn’t necessarily say that what Nymiria and I have could ever be described as paradise, but sure.
” He began sifting through the letters on his desk, all of them failed correspondences with foreign leaders he’d contacted for Thorn.
While they gained sympathy from neighboring continents, it was hard to find any that were willing to go against an army that was close to settling an alliance with Caddagh.
Caddagh’s reign of terror had spread to nearly every continent in the world.
You wouldn’t find many that were willing to put up a fight, not with how strong they were.
Eadyn’s only hope at winning this war was completely obliterating Yaar before they were able to close a deal.
He could possibly use Tre’ann, but the idea of subjecting the beast to be nothing more than a weapon was something that made Aziel’s stomach churn.
He’d received news, not too long ago, that Tre’ann was now the last drake on the continent of Gaellagh.
What was already an endangered species was now completely eradicated, his own father having blown them all up during one of his attempts at crossing into the South Mists.
He’d hidden the creature away from the world, hoping that something would arise and he could find sanctuary for the creature on another continent where drakes were still thriving. Thus far, he had found none.
There were many things for him to focus on and many things he needed to accomplish.
On all accounts, Aziel was a fairly busy individual.
As would be suspected if one just so happened to be a god.
He would have loved to dip his hands in the bloodshed happening, but his hands were tied.
He was bound by Fate to only take the lives of the people that were listed on his ledger—The Toll, as Teigh once called it.
If he had any say in the direction of this war, he would have ended it the day it was declared.
But with all he had to keep his mind occupied, all of his thoughts circled back to the white-haired woman he found curled up in his bed with his best friend.
Nestled in between their drunken bodies was an empty bottle of absinthe.
Which was really not very surprising to see with Trio being involved, but Aziel worried what had wounded their hearts so deeply that they felt the need to nestle against one another for the night.
Perhaps he only smiled about it for a moment, but that was before he realized that he would, once again, have to sleep on his settee.
Aziel never had a good example of what love was supposed to look like.
The most he’d seen was how Thorn treated Raina.
They were constantly dancing around one another, watching one another, caring for one another.
Aziel knew that Thorn would always keep any woman that came into his life at a distance, but he could see the way the man looked at her, how he tried to show his feelings the best way he knew how.
Which was, unfortunately, at a distance.
After years of building those walls around his heart, Aziel was not used to feeling so vulnerable. Even in those moments when the rot inside of him stole every ounce of emotion away from him, Nymiria was still there—every laugh, every smile, every touch and embrace. It was all still there.
“Men become boys at heart when with the woman they love.”
Aziel remembered when Thorn said it to him for the first time. They’d taken Raven and Raina to a refugee camp near Alvaros and the giant mass of a man decided to grant Raina a dance. He’d smiled in a way that Thorn never smiled, laughed in a way he’d never laughed.
That sort of softness was one that Aziel had reserved for no one.
“Are you listening to a word I’m saying or would I have better luck conversing with the plants?” Oran asked.
Aziel’s head snapped up in his brother’s direction, his brow furrowing. “Apologies. I seem to be rather distracted today.” He sighed, returning to his chair.
“I’d say.” Oran huffed. “I asked if I should request for Fiernan to come here. I also just insinuated that I could be involved in helping overthrow our father, if need be. He’s still intent on me being the heir to the throne.
He believes I’ve been kidnapped.” He leaned forward, pulling more papers from his pockets and placing them in front of Aziel.
The ink had been washed away by water in some places, but it was still legible.
He plucked the papers up, eyes scanning over each sentence with a smile. “You should have started with this.” Aziel hummed, his gloved fingers coming up to his jaw. “And you think that Ovella is a reliable source?”
Oran nodded, combing back the messy brown locks on the top of his head with his fingers.
“Ovella was Mother’s lady’s maid. I tried convincing her to come here when the war started, but she refused.
Her daughter, Clova, is a courtesan. She refused to leave her there, but said she would write as often as possible. ”
“Has she written anything else?” Aziel asked.
His brother shook his head. “This was the first one. Blasted gnome jumped out from behind a tree and handed it to me when I crossed into The Divide outside of O’Shea. Scared the hell out of me.”
Aziel snorted and placed the pages onto his desk. “Why do you want Fiernan here instead of in her own kingdom?”
“She’d be safer with you. If I trusted anyone to keep the woman I love safe, it would be a god. Luckily, I know two of them.” He smirked.
He wouldn’t deny him that. If he was determined to have Fiernan close and protected, Aziel would provide that. “So you intend on going back to Yaar and playing the perfect prince to win our father’s trust again. What happens after that?”
Oran was silent. Though Aziel was certain that his brother had contemplated this a thousand times in his head, he also knew that Oran was not a killer.
Perhaps he’d dreamed of ending their father’s life, but there were hundreds, if not thousands, who had also dreamed that very same dream and never thought to attempt it.
It was a risky plan, considering the people that Dorid surrounded himself with.
Their father only found Mystics to be beneficial to society when they benefitted him.
And from what Aziel had heard, the moment the sounds of pounding boots and blood filled the streets of Yaar, those who were terrified of Dorid’s wrath saddled up to him rather quickly.
“Do you want to be the one to kill him?” Aziel asked gently.
“That would be the perfect ending, wouldn’t it?” Oran asked with a solemn laugh. “The golden child killing the monster that created him.”
Aziel glanced at the window, noting the height of the sun.
“I’ve seen that ending before. And it doesn’t always erase what has been done.
The stories always tell about the victory, but never the devastation that the villains leave behind.
” When he looked at Oran again, Aziel realized just how much they looked alike.
Perhaps not by the shape of their noses or the form of their mouths, but they had the same eyes.
Their father’s eyes.
“Should we do it together?” Oran offered. “He killed your mother, too.”
Yes. Aziel would never be able to outrun that nightmare of memory. Not when he bore the scars of his terror.
He and Oran spent the majority of their childhoods separated by station.
The Heir and the Bastard. Never the Spare.
Always the errand boy, the assassin, the stain on the bloodline.
And Oran, though paraded around in finery and gifted with everything a young prince could ever want, also had his fair share of grievances.
They’d only been fifteen when Oran was caught with the young Mystic servant—forced to watch her be stoned to death in the middle of the city, her brutalized body burned to ash.
Seven years. It took seven years for Oran to be able to hope for a connection with someone.
Whether it was conversation or simply fucking, it’d taken that long.
Even now, it was still hard for the man to even say her name.
It was no wonder why he wanted Fiernan protected in all of this.
Their father knew that the women his sons loved were the very things that could be their ruin.
Looking at their lives now, Aziel did not see that there was much of a difference between the two of them at all.
The palace was eerily quiet when he returned. He wasn’t sure what he expected to hear when he walked through that door, but he’d hoped that he would hear the patter of Nymiria’s feet against the stone flooring. Or birds chirping. Or Hilla chastising Trio for carrying in dirt from his boots.
But it was silent.
Aziel’s body tensed as he climbed the stairs, every sense in his body telling him that something was not right.
He continued on towards his rooms, glancing towards the opposite end of the hall, eyes roving over Nymiria’s closed door before turning towards the one they shared.
It was open just a crack, no sounds of life coming from within, and when he walked inside, there was a sort of chill in the air that had the hairs on the back of his neck standing on-end.
There, on the dining table, was a note.
I won’t offer myself to them. But I need to make things right. I want to create my own legacy. One that I can be proud of. One that the people of Eadyn can respect.
Yours,
Nymiria
Aziel stared at those letters until they began to blur. He read them again and again, wondering what she could have meant, but when accompanied by the feeling of dread deep in his gut, he knew that there was something wrong.
He dropped the note back onto the dark stone table and walked towards the balcony. On the table by the opening, there was a silver disk that held white chalks of various sizes. Aziel grabbed one of them, and knelt down to the ground.
He began to draw the sigil that would open his portal, starting with three connected circles—one at the top, two at the bottom—before he started to draw the three connecting lines that would outline their shape.
Around it, was another circle with two lines sticking out on either side, one with the point of an arrow and the other with the curve of a crescent moon, accompanied by another set of two small lines.
When he rose to his feet at the center of the sigil, his body transformed.
His hair turned black as pitch, matching the two curved horns that stuck out on either side of his head.
Darkened veins pulsed to life under his eyes, the blacks within them expanding until there was only a small ring of blue surrounding them.
Aziel drew in a deep breath, muttering the chant that would spark life into the sigil and carry him to the Otherworld.
He closed his eyes, knowing that the circle had already started to glow with a beautiful silver light.
The sound of his name being called broke his focus. The circle flickered and dimmed around him, his jaw going rigid as he stepped out of the sigil. He hadn’t even made it to the door before it flew open and Trio burst into the room.
“The shadows can’t get into the palace.” There was nothing but raw anger in Trio’s eyes, his usually friendly features were now as cold and harsh as stone. “Nymiria went there to discuss new terms of an alliance with the Alvarians. I can’t see what’s happening.”
The rage that flooded through Aziel was akin to what he’d felt that day in the throne room in Yaar—the desire for blood clouding his vision, dulling all sense of rationality.
It seeped from his pores, his magic spilling out and touching everything in its path.
The flowers on the balcony wilted, the fires in the hearths snuffed out like someone blowing out a candle.
As he crossed the lawn and headed towards the city, every blade of grass and every tree shivered, browning and crumbling.
Everything decayed. Everything rotted.
Save for the palace in which Nymiria currently resided.
The ward that’d been set around Thorn’s palace was impenetrable, even by him. Even by the sentient version of himself that he’d dispelled in hopes to break through. There was only one way something like this could happen—that someone was strong enough to overpower the might of a god.
Aziel turned to Trio, teeth dripping with the urge to kill. “There is another god in Eadyn.”
The world around them spun and shifted, all of the air leaving his lungs. It felt like a backwards fall, a plunge into icy nothing. The world went black.