Chapter 33
Nyssa
“Me.”
The single word is not as shocking as one might think. It makes a sick kind of sense. It makes everything else make sense. It isn’t devouring this world because it’s waiting for me to possess so he can rule it. As me. A woman. With no dick and tits.
I wonder what he will make of that…
My overactive, over-tired imagination runs wild for a moment, but then Voren snaps his fingers under my nose.
“You have figured it out?”
I jolt back to the situation at hand. “Err, yeah. He thinks he can stuff his world-eating void into my body to become the ruler of the universe.”
“But only if the First Law is passed. It’s why he’s waiting,” Voren murmurs.
“Yeah, figured that part out as well,” I say cheerfully. Too cheerfully. Which doesn’t hide the absolute fear that rushes through me now that the initial surprise has worn off.
“You currently have no authority,” Tabitha says. “The First Law suppressed your power.”
“Must we in front of the ghost?” I ask sarcastically. I don’t really want that bitch knowing all my problems.
Tabitha shrugs it off. “You are missing the point. If you don’t pass the test, you will never have those powers returned. You will never be able to hold the weight of the void.”
I catch the look that Dreven shoots Voren and Dastian.
“Right. So, my options are to pass the test and be possessed or fail, and we have a Devourer on the loose, probably mightily pissed off, and the world will end.”
“Pretty much,” Dastian mutters.
“Have I mentioned lately how much I hate you all?” I ask and sit back down, dropping my blade onto the floor. How did this become my life?
“There might be another way,” Voren says slowly, eyes fixated on fresh air.
I’m guessing he’s staring at Aethel.
“She can’t help. She’s useless,” I spit out, purely out of spite.
“Actually, she might be able to.”
Silence.
“Oh, yes,” he says. “We will figure out the way.”
“The way to what?” I ask, thoroughly lost.
“He is suggesting, albeit in a very Voren way, that we find a way to bring Aethel back, have her regain her powers, have the Devourer enter her and then you stab her in the face again,” Dreven says. “Am I right?”
“Quite right,” Voren says. “I’m pretty sure that if we find a way to resurrect Aethel, her power will revert to her automatically, bypassing the First Law because it’s nothing to do with her.”
“But then she has my power,” I say, knowing how petulant that sounds.
“Not for long.”
“It won’t work,” I insist. “I have the Wraith Crown. That is his power. She won’t have that.”
“She might not need it. Isn’t it worth a try?”
“It’s a flimsy theory at best,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. “And it relies on the Devourer being stupid enough to mistake a has-been tyrant for me.”
“The Devourer isn’t focused on you, Nyssa, but on the power to hold it in a physical presence.”
“Make me feel special, why don’t you? This isn’t going to work. We have too many variables floating up in the air. The main two being first the Judge and the second the Devourer. Throwing resurrecting an ancient hag into the mix is a complication we don’t need.”
“And yet,” Voren counters, turning his gaze back to the empty space where the dead queen hovers, “she is the only other being with a divine signature strong enough to distract it.”
“She is dead,” I remind him. “Let’s keep her that way. I worked hard to put her in the ground.”
Tabitha sets her mug down with a sharp clink. “Resurrection is a violation of the natural order. It requires a sacrifice of equal value. Who exactly are you planning to trade for a dead tyrant?”
“No one,” I point out. “We aren’t doing this. It’s Plan… Z, at best.”
“Plan Z is still a plan,” Voren says, but I think he is talking to Aethel.
Tabitha picks up her mug and twirls it. “Then we return to the original problem. The Devourer waits. The Judge approaches. And you,” she points a manicured finger at me, “are currently powerless to stop either.”
“I have my blade,” I point out, gesturing to the blade on the floor.
“A blade is useless against the First Law.”
The cottage lights flicker. It isn’t the chaotic pulse Dastian emits when he is bored, but a slow, rhythmic dimming. The shadows in the corners of the room stretch, ignoring the light source, and pool in the centre of the rug.
“Speaking of which,” Dastian murmurs, the humour dropping from his face.
The air pressure drops. My ears pop painfully.
“It’s here,” Voren says. “Don’t even think about it,” he adds to Aethel.
I stand up, my heart hammering against my ribs. “The Judge?”
“When you least expect it,” Dreven reminds me.
A knock sounds at the door. It is polite, firm, and absolutely terrifying.
I stare at the door. The wood looks perfectly normal, but the air around it vibrates with a frequency that makes my head ache.
“I’ll get it,” I say, my voice sounding far steadier than I feel.
Dreven shifts, his body angling to intercept me, but I hold up a hand. “No. The slab said I have no authority. Hiding behind you won’t help my case.”
He stops, but his jaw clenches tight. Dastian’s hands stop sparking, though he looks ready to burn the cottage down at the first sign of trouble. Voren just watches, his stillness more unnerving than Dastian’s motion.
I walk across the rug. My boots feel heavy on the floorboards. I reach out and grip the handle. The metal is cold against my palm. I take a breath, hold it, and pull the door open.
A woman stands on my welcome mat.
She looks entirely ordinary. She wears a beige raincoat buttoned to her chin and sensible brown shoes. She isn’t wet, despite the deluge hammering down just inches behind her heels. She holds a clipboard.
“Nyssa Vale?” she asks.
“That’s me,” I reply.
She ticks a box on her clipboard with a silver pen. “Come with me.”
“Where to?”
She looks over my shoulder with a raised eyebrow at the hovering gods and Order witch. “You may choose a champion.”
“Why?”
Her gaze pins mine with such intensity, I decide knowing isn’t really necessary. “Tabitha.”
Dreven snarls as the witch steps up next to me. “Nyssa,” he warns.
“The defendant has chosen correctly,” the woman says. “Follow me.”
Dreven moves to intercept us, his expression furious. “You cannot go alone with her. She is Order. She will sacrifice you to balance the books.”
The woman with the clipboard doesn’t even look up. She simply taps the air with her pen. A wall of invisible force slams Dreven back a step. It isn’t violent; it is simply absolute.
“The selection is locked,” she states. “Interference will result in immediate forfeiture.”
“Stay here,” I tell him, though my voice shakes. “If I fail, you know what to do.”
“Nyssa,” Dastian starts, the red sparks on his hands dying out. He looks genuinely terrified.
“I’ll be fine,” I lie. I have no idea what possessed me to choose Tabitha, but it wasn’t even something I had to think about.
We step outside. The rain that was hammering down seconds ago pauses in a perfect circle around us. The Judge walks down the path, her sensible shoes not making a sound on the wet stone. I follow. Tabitha walks beside me, her posture rigid.
“Why me?” she asks quietly.
“Because they would try to fight the test,” I say, nodding back at the cottage where the door slams shut of its own accord. “You respect the rules. I need order, not chaos.”
“Sound logic.”
The Judge stops at the edge of the garden gate. She turns, her face blank. “The court is in session.”
The ground vanishes from beneath our feet.
I expect wind to tear at my clothes, but the drop happens in a vacuum. Gravity yanks me down, then releases me instantly. My boots hit solid, white stone with a jarring impact that travels straight up my shins. I wobble but keep my footing.
Tabitha lands beside me. She doesn’t stumble. She simply straightens her coat and clasps her hands in front of her.
We stand in a vast, circular chamber. The walls are not brick or mortar. They are rows of grey filing cabinets, stacking upward into a white expanse that has no ceiling. The Judge sits behind a high wooden desk twenty paces away. She adjusts her glasses and opens a thick folder.
“Nyssa Vale,” she says. Her voice fills the space without echoing. “You claim dominion over the Pantheon Realm. You hold the Wraith Crown. You wield the Slayer mandate.”
“I didn’t claim them,” I say. “They chose me.”
“Irrelevant,” she states. She lifts a heavy rubber stamp. “The First Law demands balance. You hold too much weight for a mortal vessel. The scales tip.”
Tabitha steps forward. “The balance shifted when Aethel died. Nyssa merely caught the falling pieces.”
The Judge fixes Tabitha with a flat stare. “A Champion speaks only when addressed. This is the first test. Legitimacy.” She points a silver pen at me. “Prove you are necessary.”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“The universe removes what it does not need. Prove you should remain.”
The floor beneath my feet turns transparent. Far below, the purple mass of the Devourer pulses, massive and waiting.
“Prove I should remain,” I repeat. How? How the fuck am I meant to do that?