Chapter 1 Aethra #2
At first, I assumed the impressions in the dirt were footprints—Whisper’s, perhaps. Jagged claw marks extended from round hoof marks, smaller in size than Athena’s.
“What is that?” I asked.
“Though the Empty does not spread here, a different kind of danger haunts the darkness,” Phaedrus said. “Seems someone was visited by monsters.”
The only monsters I knew of lived in fairy tales. Worried, I pulled from his grip and trotted forward, but no sign of my friends or our animals appeared.
If they had been attacked, they’d escaped.
“We should camp,” Phaedrus suggested. “Before something else finds us.”
Hurrying to his side, I swallowed nervously. “What kinds of monsters does Duath Nun have?”
“Dragons,” Phaedrus said. “If Seraphim’s tales are to be believed. And creatures distorted by the Empty’s presence. Horrors that should not exist.”
“Oh,” I whispered.
Finding a cluster of trees down the beach, Phaedrus dropped his satchel. “Luckily, they aren’t terribly common. Keep quiet, douse any fires, and we should be fine.”
Pulling a lantern from my belt, I lit the flame and set it down. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“About Ainwir? I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed.” Phaedrus rolled out his bedroll. “Ainwir the spymaster was very much the same man you knew. Stern, harsh. But he would occasionally sneak you a pastry from the kitchen even when your parents said no.”
A grin stretched across my face, imagining Ainwir sneaking a young Seraphim treats.
A rush of tears threatened to spill from my eyes, and I looked away, rubbing them dry. My lips trembled, and I pressed them together, holding back the tide of grief.
“Ainwir did love you,” Phaedrus said softly.
“And you killed him,” I spat, baring my teeth.
The lantern flickered. Cinders danced across Phaedrus’ eyes. “I did not kill him, Aethra. If anything, I was lax in my vigil. He escaped.”
My breath caught as I digested his words. “ . . . what?”
“My men chased him down. They killed him.”
Hope flared in my heart, and I squashed it down. There was no point in hoping for anything.
Phaedrus tilted his head. “You’re right. There isn’t. But I will say this: I never saw his body. They claimed the sea took it.”
My mouth warbled, and I backed up against the tree.
Pulling my knees up, I watched the nobleman from across the flames.
Silence stretched between us as the last daylight fled and night consumed the world, blanketing us in shadow.
Wind rustled through the trees, and waves crashed in the distance, the only reminder we did not sit within the Empty itself.
Calm, still, comforting. Falling asleep, never to wake. No more pain, or sorrow, or anger.
I let my eyes flutter closed, imagining the silence.
Maybe Phaedrus was right. Saving this world wouldn’t save people. Preventing their deaths would only grant them a life of suffering. Of abuse, of rape, of loss. Nothing would change. Those who crawled in the dirt would be trampled by the elite on their gilded steeds.
I gasped. Had Phaedrus forced his emotions onto me? Locking eyes with the redheaded noble, I reconstructed the walls shielding my thoughts.
Taking calming breaths, I felt the despair relent.
Every day we traveled together, he would worm his way into my mind, just as he was doing now. By the time we reached the Acheron . . .
I would destroy this world and proclaim myself its savior.
“Why do you think the Acheron is the key to unleashing the Empty?” I asked.
“Because of how well it’s guarded,” Phaedrus answered, staring into the night. “Duath Nun sealed itself away, we think, because of the Acheron. Because they feared meddlers would try to enter and risk annihilation to save this world.”
“Implying both could be accomplished.”
“Or only destruction,” Phaedrus countered.
Studying the shadows cast by the fire, I tried to imagine what the Acheron might look like. A great black river rushing into an infinite abyss flickered behind my eyes. “What do you think happens then? When the Empty consumes everything?”
“Life ceases. Peace returns to this world.”
“But there is life in the Empty. The Keres. The still sea.”
“And they are the natural order of things. Everything will return to how it was meant to be. If new life can flourish from its depths, I pray it is better than what men have made of this world.”
New life? I reflected on the Keres and the siren who had called to us from the sea. She had felt familiar.
Seth’s accent had felt familiar, too. But I had never set foot in Duath Nun. Nor had Ainwir, though he’d known of the place.
The church spoke of a cycle. One we’d been through before. The Empty would close in, and the Maiden would cleave through the abyss, creating paradise anew for those who remained.
I didn’t believe it. There would be no salvation. For me, or for anyone.
In the Empty’s stillness, we would finally be free. Free from pain, from grief, from illness.
Phaedrus did not force these thoughts upon me. I had never believed in a better tomorrow. But in the release of death . . .
Never again would someone rip out my heart and cast it into the sea.