Chapter Nineteen
True hatred is a rare thing, but he feels it rushing through his heart like a poison. A vicious venom that burns his veins with a fury that blisters. If not for Anna, for her fate balancing on his every action, he would let it consume him entirely.
EDUN
There is no path.
Anna doesn’t have time to wonder how it works, though.
Not when Marcia’s blade presses between her shoulder blades, urging her forward.
She shadows Khiran’s steps, the golden rope binding his hands swaying between him and the caster as the landscape changes.
The rocky mountainside surrenders to lush greenery, tall evergreen trees slowly disappearing into a patchwork of flora.
Lacy ferns brush her ankles, the pale twisting trunks of banyan trees creating a canopy so thick, Anna can barely see slivered bits of sky between the branches.
Then the ground beneath her shoes changes from rich forest underbrush to snaking roots.
Anna watches where she steps, trying not to trip over the increasingly thick tangle lifting from the soil.
Between the trunks, she catches glimpses of moss covered rock rising around them and realizes why the air feels different and the light seems dim.
They’re in some sort of sinkhole. One large enough to house an entire ecosystem.
Abruptly, Khiran stops, and Anna nearly collides with his back. Then she follows his gaze and understands what made him falter. Rising before them is a tree larger than any giant.
The one from which their immortality stemmed. The one that made a god of man.
It is both everything and nothing like she envisioned.
It climbs higher than the skyscrapers that gather in the heart of New York, its trunk surely just as wide.
At the base, the roots lift from the earth like giant hands cradling the world.
It would be beautiful—should be beautiful—but for all her awe, Anna can’t fight the sense of wrongness.
Because the tree Khiran spun stories about was vibrant and full of life and magic.
The tree in front of her now looks closer to death.
Its branches are barren—skeletal arms reaching across the sky like lightning captured mid strike.
The breeze moves through its limbs, a deep and subtle moan that echoes in her chest like a low note held too long.
The bark is cracked, sap dripping from the wounds like an infection.
In the center of it all is a mass of gnarled roots twisted into a throne.
In its seat, a pale shadow of a man stares down at them.
Silas, Cassius, and Malik line up at his left hand side.
Cassius and Silas stare back at her with masked detachment while Malik sits at their feet, his tiny fingers drawing looping patterns in the dirt, seemingly uninterested.
Remembering the apathy in his expression, the shadows in his eyes as his flames surrounded them, he probably thought their capture was inevitable.
Her eyes lift, catching Silas’ dark gaze, and sees the warnings hiding in his eyes. The First cannot know of their alliance. Any association to her would put both him and his lover in danger. For now, it must be as if she is no more than a stranger.
When she looks to the man on the throne, he’s already returning her stare with quicksilver eyes.
He’s a portrait in grayscale; as if time has bled him of all color.
Pale skin as smooth as one of the Roman statues lining Cassius’ garden, his gray hair so light it looks like strands of silver hanging below the lithe line of his shoulders.
There is a power to him. Anna can feel the weight of it bearing down on her, a shiver trailing up her spine.
It isn’t until his gaze slides away from her that she realizes the air in her lungs has turned stale.
“Where is Dante?” he asks, voice rumbling like thunder.
“Dead,” Marcia chirps. The blade at Anna’s back retreats, replaced by a rough push of her hand. Anna falls forward, catching herself on her hands and knees. Anna can hear the cruel enjoyment in her voice when she says, “She killed him.”
Alabaster lips twist into a scowl, his hands gripping his throne with a strength that makes the roots groan in protest. At his feet, Cassius and Silas share a silent look. “Is that so?”
Marcia’s grin is feral. “She had one of Lin’s blades.” Her eyes slide to Khiran, lip curling in disgust. “Apparently, the Liesmith thought to hide one away before he faced banishment.”
“It is not the only thing that’s been stolen.
” He says, standing. The First walks toward them with a grace—a strength—that seems at odds with the silver in his hair and the paper thin wrinkles lining the corners of his eyes.
He stops in front of Khiran, towering over him once Marcia delivers a kick to the back of Khiran’s leg, forcing him to kneel.
He hisses as his knees crack against the roots blanketing the earth, wincing.
The First reaches into the pocket of his pale robe, retrieving something. It isn’t until he lifts it up to the light, holding it between his thumb and forefinger, that Anna realizes what it is.
Her ring.
The one Khiran sacrificed blood and bone to make, all so she would remain hidden to the eyes bearing down on them now.
Anna’s heart gives a painful lurch, her sharp intake of breath rattling in her lungs. The etchings are dark against the pale bone; stained where her and Khiran’s blood had settled and never flaked away.
“An interesting piece of magic,” he says, studying the runes etched into the bone.
“It must have hurt terribly.” He drops the ring to the ground, his boot grinding it into a patch of earth nestled between the maze of roots.
“Imagine my surprise when Marcia dropped it in my palm with news that the girl you ran off with has tasted a peach from my tree.”
“Be honest,” Khiran mocks, glaring up at the pale god, “are you angry she tasted it, or are you just pissed it was taken without you— the great, all seeing First—ever noticing?”
The First’s eyes narrow, veins mapping the pale skin of his neck like roots.
“Still don’t know when to hold your tongue, I see.
” His eyes slide to Anna, gaze dragging over her as if there are secrets buried beneath her skin, waiting to be carved from her flesh.
“Ah, but maybe I give you too little credit. Perhaps you know exactly when to let that mouth of yours run.”
Khiran’s gaze doesn’t drop, but Anna catches the way his jaw strains. He hasn’t looked at her once since they left the mountains behind them. As if his glance alone could condemn her. “Credit is something you’ve never been generous with.”
The words effectively snare The First’s attention, but there’s a dark amusement pulling at the corners of his mouth that spells danger.
“I suppose not. Perhaps, in the end, you’ve done me a greater service than you intended.
The Tree is dying, our numbers dwindling. And you come bearing fresh blood.”
Khiran’s teeth grind, his hands trembling in their bonds. “She’s of no use to you. She—”
A bored flick of his hand, and Khiran’s voice is gone. Silenced with no more than a thought.
“My,” Cassius hums, leaning against one of the larger roots, “I think this is the first time I’ve seen him speechless.”
The shapeshifter’s responding glare is murderous. Anna reminds herself that the amused tipping of Cassius’ lips is part of his mask.
The First looks over at the small group nestled between The Tree’s great roots, his eyes darkening. “I see Kaia has still failed to heed my call.”
Marcia scoffs, as if the shape of the other woman’s name brings a bad taste to her mouth. “Kaia is as much a traitorous coward as he is. It’s no surprise she chooses to hide despite your summons.”
His lips twist into a smile so sharp, Anna can feel the edge of it like a blade against her pulse.
“She will come,” he says, grabbing Khiran by the back of his neck, dragging him away.
Khiran fights his hold, his mouth moving around a silent snarl, but there is a strength in The First that is deceptively subtle.
For all of Khiran’s efforts, feet planting into the earth, body twisting, The First seems entirely unfazed.
Then Anna sees where he’s taking him—water, crystalline blue against a forest of green off to the side of the great tree. A pond, its waters deceptively deep judging by the way it darkens as it pulls away from the shore.
Anna fights against the hands that hold her, blood rushing in her ears like a riptide fighting to drag her under. “Stop! Leave him alone!”
His steps don’t falter as he walks into the water.
He doesn’t even give her the dignity of his attention, only stopping once the still water reaches his hips, before forcing Khiran’s head under.
“You make things hard for yourself, Kaia!” he calls.
“Come now and come quickly or I’ll hold him under until there’s nothing left for him to scream. ”
The magic that had silenced Khiran earlier is gone.
Anna can make out the garbled sound of his voice as he thrashes against the hands holding him down.
Her efforts to get away from Marcia’s iron grip doubles, desperate to reach him, but her strength is unyielding.
A mountain she can’t move. Shackles she can’t escape.
Khiran stops screaming, out of breath, and Anna is losing herself in his silence, because she can’t sit there and watch him drown.
She can’t. There are begging words in the shape of promises on her tongue—anything, she will do anything, just please stop hurting him—but the water recedes from the shore before she can speak them.