Chapter 20 Aurelia
Aurelia
Turns out, Nyxarra actually did have gardens. And they were beautiful.
Rows of black roses, moon-pale lilies, and violet blooms kissed with frost stretched out in careful lines.
Vines curled up trellises shaped like wrought-iron wings, while fruit trees loomed beyond—trunks twisted like sentinels, branches heavy with blood-oranges, wine-dark plums, and golden pears left untouched.
Kaelith led me further along the winding path, his fingers tracing idle patterns against the crook of my elbow where our arms remained linked.
The touch felt deliberate—possessive even—as though he wanted to remind me with every step whose stage I was walking on.
My skin prickled beneath his hand, but I kept my mask steady.
Just ahead, a low archway carved from bone-white stone framed another row of flora—this one unlike the rest.
A young woman knelt among the beds, carefully coaxing soil around the base of a black-stemmed bloom.
The mark of Sylvara curled along the side of her neck—a green vine etched into her skin, its tiny leaves glimmering as though dew gathered there.
Stray auburn-brown curls fell loose from her braid, brushing her cheek each time she leaned forward.
“Elpida. Leave,” Kaelith barked.
She rose quickly, clutching her hands to her chest, and slipped past us with her gaze glued to the ground—silent, obedient, and gone within seconds.
Kaelith gestured toward the flowers she’d abandoned. “These,” he said, “are Etherblooms.”
I slowed, eyes drawn to the strange blossoms swaying gently—caught in a breeze I could not feel. They were delicate, star-shaped things, veined in silver and kissed with the faintest blush of blood-red, as though moonlight bled beneath their translucent skin, pooling at the center.
But beneath their beauty writhed danger.
The base of the blooms was tangled with serpents—sleek, glistening bodies coiled between root and stone.
Their scales shimmered in shifting hues of obsidian and garnet, patterns rippling like moving sigils.
Some were tiny as bracelets, others thick as wrists, their tongues flickering over the soil as though tasting the power threaded beneath it.
They didn’t strike or rattle—they watched.
“They only bloom at twilight,” Kaelith said, voice quieter now. “Their roots drink from the ley veins beneath Nyxarra. The veins run like lifeblood through the city—threads of forgotten power. Some say they once fed the divine themselves. Others say they’re what remains of something even older.”
Another serpent coiled tightly around a stem, protecting it, or perhaps claiming it. The way their bodies wound together reminded me of old stories whispered in Synnex: of sisters who betrayed their own, of oaths broken beneath a bleeding moon. Stories Mama said were too dangerous to tell aloud.
“It’s said the Etherbloom listens,” Kaelith continued. “That if you whisper your secrets while it blooms, the flower will remember them long after you’ve forgotten.”
I shivered, unsure whether it was from his words or the bloom’s quiet hum echoing beneath my skin.
“They’re used in the wine, too,” he added, fingers ghosting over a blossom. “To open the mind. Blur the edges of memory and truth.”
He turned back to me, eyes dark and glittering. “Everything in this place has a purpose, Aurelia. Even beauty.”
I slowed near the edge of the path, gaze drifting back to the glowing flowers. “The Etherblooms,” I said softly.
Kaelith tilted his head, watching me too closely. “You’re drawn to them.” Not a question. A truth.
“They’re stranger than I imagined,” I murmured.
“Most beautiful things are.”
Maybe there was more truth to the legends than I’d let myself believe. Something that might actually reach the parts of Aeryn nothing else could.
I hesitated, then glanced at him. “This is what I came for. For my brother.”
His brow lifted. “Ah yes, the brother you mentioned—weak of the mind, is he?”
I flinched before I could stop myself. Just slightly, but enough.
The insult wasn’t new; I’d heard it before back home in Synnex.
But hearing it here, from Kaelith’s lips, with that cold, curious detachment—it struck deeper.
My chest tightened, a spark of fury heating low in my gut.
He was testing me. Waiting to see if grief or fury would crack my mask.
Weighing me the way predators do when they circle the weakest in the herd.
Men like him never asked for what they wanted straight on—they circled it, needled it, carved their way toward it with questions meant to cut.
Kaelith’s expression shifted—almost amused, but something else slithered beneath it. “Bring him here,” he said after a moment. “You’ll be living here now, after all. It only makes sense.”
My spine stiffened at the possessive finality of it. Still, I said nothing.
Inside, though, my thoughts shouted at me.
Bring him here. The idea scraped against every instinct I had.
Nyxarra felt like a cage, and Kaelith was its warden.
To place Aeryn in his reach felt like handing him the knife.
But another part of me whispered—if he was here, at least I could watch over him.
Protect him. Maybe that was the only way to keep him safe.
The ache of homesickness pressed sharp beneath my ribs—our home, candlelight spilling across his books, the comfort of knowing I could keep the world at bay for him. I wanted that back. I wanted him safe. Whatever the cost.
We continued deeper into the garden, past a row of low stone fountains trickling with wine-dark water and tangled trellises heavy with luminous blooms.
Kaelith glanced at me again. “You’re not like the others they’ve brought here.”
He plucked a petal from an Etherbloom, letting it fall. “You’ve seen things. Carried them. I can feel it.” Then, with casual menace: “What of you? Tell me—who do you belong to? What do you know of the power that sings in your blood?”
For a breath, I said nothing, calculating my response.
I hadn’t been permitted to go through the patron ceremony.
I didn’t know what lived inside me, not exactly.
Only that it stirred in the quiet places—in dreams, in silence, in moments when I was pulled from myself into visions or memories—often unable to tell the difference between the two.
It was said my father’s bloodline was blessed by Eryndis and by the Nightmother herself.
Marked as a failsafe—a quiet counterweight, seeded into the mortal world should the other goddesses’ hunger ever tip the balance she intended.
Not rulers. Not weapons. Witnesses who could endure what gods could not, and act only when the world began to fracture.
I didn’t know how much of it was truth and how much was story. Only that it clung to me.
So I turned my gaze on him, voice low. Steady. “Why don’t you tell me? My lineage seems to be of great interest to you.”
He smiled, but it wasn’t warmth I saw in his eyes—it was hunger, the kind that comes just before the pounce.
His gaze swept over me, lingering and slow. “The Moirae line was never ordinary. The old texts say yours was forged of shadow and light together—a bloodline of balance.”
He circled me, voice reverent and wrong in equal measure. “And now all of it leads here. To you.”
His head tilted, eyes gleaming as they drank me in. “You feel it, don’t you? That pull under your skin. That power begging to be used—to be owned. Your blood isn’t stirring for the first time. It’s remembering what it was made for.”
I didn’t respond. I didn’t have to. He liked the sound of his own voice enough for both of us.
“The old prophecy doesn’t name a crown—it names a key. And your bloodline, Aurelia…” his smile curved, “was always the door.”
His hand lifted, almost touched my face, then stilled just shy of my skin.
“Whoever commands the Moirae line commands balance itself. The power of gods, and the silence to unmake them. Imagine it. No rival. No goddess untouchable. That is why I cannot let you go.”
His hand found my chin, tipping my face up to look at him. “That current inside you. That weapon waiting to be drawn. Together, we could wield it. Not just to rule, but to take everything.”
His head tilted, studying me the way one might study a new blade—testing where it gleamed, and where it might bite.
“You don’t speak of it, but it’s there,” he said softly.
“And that kind of power doesn’t lie dormant forever.
That kind of power is a weapon. Used well, it can unmake kingdoms—kill gods and goddesses alike. ”
I didn’t like the implication. I liked the way he looked at me even less. So I pivoted, turned the conversation on its heel before he could corner me any further.
“I want to amend this deal you’re proposing,” I said, folding my hands in front of me.
His smile curved, sharp as a hook. “Is that so? And what made you think—”
I raised my hand, cutting him off. “You’ll have what you want—a Moirae bride at your side.
I’ll play my part. But not for free.” My voice steadied.
“I want my brother left in Synnex. Untouched. I’ll bring him the Etherblooms myself before I return for the ball.
I want the patron ceremony—with all goddesses, as is my right by blood.
And freedom to move through Nyxarra as I please. ”
Kaelith’s gaze sharpened, measuring. “Bold of you.”
“Careful of you,” I corrected smoothly. “You want a pawn, Kaelith? Then I’ll be one, but only if I have room to play the board.”
He watched me, unreadable, his hand still on my chin. “Etherblooms don’t cross the Veil intact,” he said at last, voice almost gentle. “Outside Nyxarra, they’re ash in the lungs. If you want a cure, it’ll need to be made here, administered here.” His smile deepened. “He comes here.”
The words hit like cold water. Of course he’d built the trap into the remedy.
“These things take time,” he said. “Preparation. Precision.”
I understood then what he was offering—and what he was taking. Time. Distance. Leverage. Control. If I had to walk into the cage to save Aeryn, I would. But I would not forget where the door was.
“I’ll come back,” I said. “Willingly. So long as you agree to save him.”
Kaelith’s hand slid from my chin to my throat, closing the space between us. “That sounds like a promise.”
Unease crawled up my throat. I swallowed it.
“Very well.” His fingers tightened, pressure blooming against my pulse. “You may fetch him yourself. You have until the last day of Darkfrost. Malachi will accompany you, along with whomever he deems necessary. You’ll get your patron ceremony.”
He lifted his other hand, and with a small turn of his wrist, shadows unfurled between his fingers—fine as spun silk, black as a starless sky.
They wove themselves into a thin band that gleamed faintly red where the light struck it, as though threads of blood and starlight had been braided together.
“A gift,” he murmured, catching my wrist before I could pull away. The gold band slid cold against my skin, tightening until it fit as if it had always been there. “So the city knows you’re… mine,” he finished softly. “And so I can feel where you wander.”
His smile sharpened, a hook setting. “Break your word, and your brother, your faithful guard in Synnex—everyone you love—belongs to me. One way or another, Aurelia, I will have you.”
I went still. How did he know about Hayat? Lysara’s warning echoed in my mind. He wanted to rattle me, to own the moment. I forced a smile, sharp as glass.
“If you think threats will bind me tighter, you’re wrong. All they do is make me sharper. You want me at your side? Then take what I offer, but don’t mistake it for ownership.”
At that, he growled, baring his teeth before seizing my face and forcing my head back to bare my throat.
His fangs sank into the pulse there, sharp fire lancing through my skin.
I went rigid as his mouth dragged deep at my neck.
I felt paralyzed. A sound tore from him—half hunger, half triumph—as his hand pinned me in place, the hardness of him pressing into my stomach.
The world narrowed to teeth, to pressure, to the iron grip that pinned me. My body wouldn’t move. My voice wouldn’t rise. Fury roared in my chest, but he swallowed even that.
When he finally drew back, blood wet on his mouth, his eyes shifted, amber flaring gold, then drowning to pitch-black. A flash of something ancient. Something not entirely him.
He exhaled, shuddering, a ripple of stolen power running through him. “You’re confused. I already own you.” His hand slid lower, possessive. “And I’ll have all of you.”
The world tilted, heartbeat loud in my throat. Heat and nausea tangled, shame threading through rage until I couldn’t tell them apart. For a breath, I wanted to claw my own skin clean.
My mask cracked. I swung at his throat, but he caught my wrist, twisting me with effortless speed until my back slammed against his chest.
“You want it all?” My voice came out quiet, venom-laced, steady only because fury steadied it.
“Then give me your word. I leave to bring my brother here. I have access to the Etherblooms. And I can move freely in Nyxarra. Try to claim anything else, and I swear—the next time you bleed, it won’t heal. ”
A pause. Then he laughed.
“There she is,” he said, and shoved me forward, breaking contact as abruptly as he’d taken it. “You’ll leave after the ball.”
I stumbled a half step before catching myself. My fingers rose instinctively to my throat, to the place where his hand had been, pulse racing beneath my skin.
I dipped my head in mock deference, my spine straight as steel. But inside, I was already setting fire to every word I’d spoken. I had been burning my whole life. What was one more fire?
I would never let him be the first.
My thoughts betrayed me then, turning to Hayat. The dream I’d had of him—the warmth of his mouth, the steadiness of his hands, the way his touch had felt achingly real even in sleep. The ache of choice, of what could’ve been. I could have chosen him—the way he chose me, again and again.
Kaelith would never be that. He would take joy in domination, not devotion. He would conquer, not connect. And I would not let my body become another of his trophies.
I turned from him with the same poise I’d worn all night, every brick of my wall slotting back into place, every step measured though my legs wanted to run.
My skin still burned where his fingers had touched me.
Warm stickiness trailed down my neck—an echo I refused to wipe away, even as it marked me.
But as the garden gates closed behind me and the dark swallowed my steps, the mask settled heavy in my bones. Pretending had a cost. And it was already bleeding me dry.