Chapter 10
Chapter
Ten
MORGANA
Day broke as we reached our rendezvous in a meadow nestled between the woodlands on the Payunmar border.
My akadim, still freshly-made and recovering their sense of selves, knew enough to realize the sun was a danger.
Except it wasn’t. Not for them. They all growled, their complaints intensifying the brighter the day became.
They threatened to run, and look for shade.
But they didn’t know how much things had changed. How Aemon, calling upon Moriel’s ancient knowledge, had made it so that no time would restrict them. Their collars glowed silver, and the sun shined golden on their monstrous faces as further proof.
Only Rhyan seemed calm, standing at the forefront of my soturi.
My new Arkturion. He was still and stoic, mentally putting together the pieces before the others did, understanding that no harm could come to him now.
I watched as a few took note, seeing the confidence in his face.
He turned slowly, and gave a small nod to his fellow akadim.
The gesture wasn’t kind, but commanding. Almost like a call for them to relax.
“I give you daylight,” I said, confirming their realization, making sure they knew that their gratitude as well as their allegiance was meant for me.
Rhyan could command them, but only through my will.
“The ability to feed and bathe beneath the light. You may go where you must, and when you need to. You are not like the akadim you knew of before. You are elevated. By me. Now no element of nature shall hold you back.”
The looks of awe in their faces almost made me forget they were demons. Almost.
“But,” I said, amplifying my voice, ensuring that the handful still looking to Rhyan for guidance, were fully reliant upon me. “I am your queen. You are under my command. Mine.”
Parthenay’s eyes shot toward me, a flash of anger in them.
“You have a job to do. One to make your lives better and more fruitful. More free. You are a new breed. Evolved. You will eat what you must to survive. That cannot be changed. You will kill, for you must eat souls to live. But,” my aura darkened around me, rumbling with the magic of my command, pushing it into their collars, “you are mine. And you will not rape. That practice ends now. I forbid it.”
Their growls turned into roars of defiance. Even Rhyan—Rhyan of all people. No, not people. Akadim. But even he looked murderous. He’d been so ravenous and wild when I found him. If he was allowed his freedom, he’d become the most feared akadim to exist. And in all other ways, he still would be.
Parthenay shook her head, blatantly displaying her disagreement. Behind me, Lissa continued to cower as always.
This is insanity. They’ll mutiny, Parthenay pushed the thought into my mind. All the commands in the world will not stop nature from running its course. Look at them even now.
And indeed, there was a sense of violence and lust filling the air, one I swore I could touch. One I would squash.
I sent a burning flame in response to Parthenay’s mind.
She jumped back, her face contorted in pain.
They have the command of a Goddess, I thought. I’m not asking. I’m ordering them.
But there were several grumbling before me, making their displeasure loudly known.
“Silence!” I yelled, my arms raised, the shield catching sunlight until it filled the woods with waves of orange and gold. “We go now to meet your king, your Maraak, and to meet the rest of your fellow soturi.”
I stared them down, Rhyan in particular. He straightened like the soldier he was—even in death, looking over the rest of the akadim, his expression full of expectation. All at once, the rest of them obeyed, following me as they were supposed to, and together we walked into the meadow.
Maraak Moriel, Arkturion Aemon, the man known as the Ready, and my lover, stood in the center of it, tall and glorious, his red cloak blowing gently in the early morning breeze.
He’d retired his Bamarian armor and now wore a chest plate that fully covered his torso.
It was similar in structure to the armor we were familiar with back home.
But he lacked the seraphim wings that traditionally appeared on the shoulders.
My heart skipped a beat as I took him in.
The first time I’d seen him in his new armor—just last night, I’d recognized it at once.
I had seen it in my dreams, in my memories.
It was Moriel’s original chest plate and vest and like all soturion armor, and my shield, it contained blood inside.
Enough for Aemon to form his own Rakashonim with his God-self.
He could now call on the power of Moriel, embodying him.
Fighting with the combined force of the strength of the Ready and ferocity of his past life as a God.
When he decided to call on it again, I pitied whoever faced him. For now, he truly was a God of death made flesh.
He looked exactly like Moriel. Just as he was banished by the Council of Forty-Four, and forced to dwell here.
The armor he’d worn when this all began would be the armor he wore when we finished what had been started.
I carefully eyed the indigo shard—his shard.
Aemon held it triumphantly in his hand. It was the shard I’d kept in my possession for over a month, withholding it, using it to bargain.
I’d used it to dig deeper into my dreams, into my powers, building up my mental walls, learning how to push out thoughts where I wanted them.
And now, I was able to push out pain, and pleasure.
Whatever I needed. It showed me how to work with the akadim, and reminded me of how Ereshya took control of her legions.
Something I knew had to be done. Because I had seen the bigger picture, unraveled the secrets I’d needed to win, thanks to our other ally.
Andromeny, Aemon’s older sister. She was the vorakh responsible for murdering Tristan’s parents, and until recently, she had been the Emperor’s most powerful and coveted chayatim.
She saw not just one future, but all potential possibilities, and the Palace had honed her accuracy until she was elite.
It was the same reason Aemon had chosen Parthenay to join us.
She had been the Palace’s most advanced mind-reader, an equal to Andromeny.
Already I could feel myself surpassing Parthenay’s skill; nearly matching Aemon’s.
But, as far as visions went, I understood something most didn’t.
I’d learned from Meera that even if a vision appeared as a scene that made sense, as a scene that could logically unfold—there was always a deeper meaning disguised within.
Some hidden outcome that needed to be interpreted.
And now, I realized I could interpret Andromeny’s visions.
I had the tools I needed to get what I wanted.
I had my crown. I had my army. My shard. Ereshya’s blood.
Soon, I’d have everything.
My revenge. A broken empire beneath me.
At the moment, Andromeny was in charge of rounding up the vorakh we’d freed and keeping them in line.
There were around fifty of them. Fifty former chayatim.
Mages and soturi who’d been enslaved in the Palace.
Some for decades. They ranged in age and Ka, but they all carried the same look, similar to the one that Andromeny and Parthenay had worn when I first met them.
Exhaustion and worry paired with a brokenness that only came from a life of pain and unspeakable acts.
Having come from the dungeons, the chayatim were also filthy, their tattered clothing hanging from too-thin, malnourished bodies.
They were bruised, scarred. Some looked exhausted after their march through the night to safety.
And I could already tell that many, particularly the women carried wounds that could not be seen.
Wounds I would not reopen with the presence of my akadim.
Jules would look like that, I realized, and my stomach twisted.
She’d escaped. But I didn’t get to see her face.
Didn’t get to see if she was at all okay.
She was with Lyr now, and the thought made my heart pang.
I was looking for her, too—using all my resources to find her.
For the last year and a half, I did nothing else.
And now—I didn’t even get to see her free.
Nor did I have a chance to see Meera. Gods.
For all the foresight I had, and access to secrets and the future, I hadn’t expected that—for Lyr to be the one to liberate Jules.
For her and Meera to end up on Lyr’s side—and not mine.
Especially after all I’d done. For all of them.
My chest felt tight, remembering my last meeting with Lyr in the Throne Room. She was half-crazed in that way she got when she needed to protect someone. When she couldn’t accept the way things were. Couldn’t accept the cruelty of the world.
I’d only seen her like that a handful of times before. At the temple when Jules’s vorakh was revealed and she’d been taken away screaming. When Rhyan had been dragged into the arena, his fate already sealed. Whenever anything threatened to reveal the truth of Meera’s visions.
But not, I remembered bitterly, when my vorakh was revealed.