A Curse of Crows

Lauren Dedroog

Hamley Books

Dedication

In this world, it’s almost rebellious to love yourself.

But there is so much to love.

- Diana Márzenas

Epigraph

I was given a heart before I was given a mind.

A thirst for pleasure and war,

a hunger we keep inside.

AURORA - Blood in the Wine (2022)

Glossary

Divinities and Greater Daemons

Divinities (major gods)

Elyon: Chaos

Ellowyn Athelon: the Mother/Creator

Eiran Néhaira: the First God; King of Gods

Zhella Néhaira-Athelon: Sun, Day, Summer and Magic

Antheia Néhaira-Athelon: Moon, Night, Stars, Winter and Darkness

Aestor Nhāvæna: the Second God; Healing and Mischief

Khalyna: the Third God; War, Weaponry, Madness and Bloodshed

Lycrius: the Fourth God; Nature, Animals and the Hunt

Melian: the Fifth God; Oceans, Storms and Weather

Anaïs: the Sixth God; Wisdom and Knowledge

Zielle: the Seventh God; Love, Friendship, Vows, Oaths and Loyalty

Keres: the Eighth God; Malice, Revenge, Divine Punishment, Dark Magic and Manipulation

Nymphs

Anthousai: flower nymphs, created by Lycrius

Draiad: tree nymphs, created by Lycrius

Naiad: water nymph, created by Lycrius

Solera: nymphs of the day, created by Zhella

Vespera: nymphs of the night, created by Antheia

Vyrenera: fire nymphs, created by Eiran

Greater daemons

Aepokra: daemons with two pairs of canines who need blood to survive. Their venom is painful and renders their mortal victims paralysed. They have strict rules about what blood they’re allowed to consume (no children, no fragile mortals, no elders, etc.) and carry a deep respect for all living things. Bloodletting and bloodsharing are sacred rituals within their clans, mostly executed according to the phases of the moon. They are very disciplined, serious and intense, though they love fiercely and like all daemons, aepokra can imprint on their lover to choose them as their mate for life.

Circedera: daemons with golden eyes, batlike wings and one pair of canines. Wings are a circedera’s pride and joy, and they are very protective of their own wings as well as the wings of the ones they love. They have shadows that function as an outlet for their intense emotions and enable them to hear thoughts of others. They need blood to heal quicker when they are injured, though they do not need it to survive. They are loyal to a fault and share deep bonds with friends and family. Circedera mark their bodies with tattoos to honour important relationships or life-events. They are also skinshifters as they can hide their wings or let circerian armour come out to gild their skin, which is impenetrable for most lethal steel except for Stygian iron.

Colchians: daemons with arched ears and delicate wings, who worship life and nature. Like circedera, they dearly love their delicate and colourful wings. They live and love very intensely and without holding back. They have many rituals to worship the Mother and the life she’s granted. They can see auras, which enable them to feel emotions and even glimpse into the minds of others. Colchians enjoy marking themselves and each other for rituals, to show love and devotion. They are also very mischievous and playful, and enjoy messing with other species. Though they worship life, they can suck it out of mortals to strengthen themselves, only leaving an empty husk behind. Given their strong beliefs, this is illegal and colchians who do use it on innocents are to be severely punished.

Fae: a rare species of daemons who lived very similarly to colchians, though had no wings. They were filled with raw untamed ᴁther and during full moons, said magic marbled their skin with silver or gold that sometimes leaked out. Because of this, mortals believed that their insides were made of actual silver and gold. This led to mortals hunting them down to kill them to extract the precious metals from them, which eventually resulted in the extinction of the species. Since the colchians were very close and shared settlements with the fae, they never forgave the mortals nor gods for their barbarism.

Sirens: daemons who mostly live in the Aenean Ocean in Hell and have pretty tails to swim with. When they’re out of the water, the iridescent scales still decorate their legs and arms in patches. Their gorgeous voices are used to lure mortal sailors to their death. They are loyal to the King of Hell and in case of War, they do join their brethren and sisters to help protect their realm, but sirens keep mostly to their own region.

Vampyrs: these were once nymphs, minor gods or mortals who were infected with enough aepokran venom to create a rift in their nature, making them half aepokran and half what they originally were. Gods describe them as abominations and heavily look down upon them, exiling any nymph or minor god who shifts. Aepokra welcome them with open arms, teach them how to control their thirst and how to feed.

Divinities (daemons)

Aloïs Márzenas: King of Hell. Lord of Shadows, Daemons and Precious Stones

Bastian Alásdair: Lord of the Circedera

Dáneiris (Danny) Eléazar: Lady of the Colchians, Lady of Osirion

Faolán: Lord of the Aepokra, Lord of Persephian

Scylla: Lady of the Syrens, Lady of Aderyn

Yael Eléazar: Colchian and High Warlock who figured out how to use transmutation

Eos Alásdair: Right Hand of the King of Hell, Nólestor of the King of Hell

Castriel (Cas) Alásdair: Guardian of the Gates of Hell, Nólestor of the Queen of Hell

Aiden Alásdair: Member of Aloïs’ Guard

Maeve Arynéta: Guardian of the Gates of Hell and Grand Healer

Vanora Mérnotsa: Founder of the rebellion that fought for emancipation of matska; teacher

Language and pronunciation

Aediore (ay-dior): little one, child

Alchemy: a type of magic that uses transmutation; changing one thing into something else. Doing so requires remarkable skill and is lethal to be used by mortals. Even the smallest ritual can result in the loss of a limb or death. Yael Eléazar did extensive research for her Ascension and discovered a way to do so without losing one’s life, though most mortals and even divinities still struggle with using such complex magic.

Ascension: a ritual Warlocks go through to finalise their education in all magical arts provided to them by their mentor as well as other High Warlocks. This education lasts around seven years and in this final year, students are to convince the High Coven of their worth by inventing new kinds of magic, finessing a certain branch of magic, etc. The Ascension is a blessing given by Zhella (the Goddess of Magic) and makes the receiver immune to illness and aging, rendering them immortal unless killed in battle. Once finalised, the student is considered a High Warlock and accepted into the High Coven if they so desire.

Aura (au-ra): energy that surrounds someone, shadow of one’s soul; visible to Colchians

Biatron (Bjatron): bastard, asshole, bitch

Damast: steel forged in the waters of Ascredia; lethal to deities

Dyad (Die-ad): soulmate, heartmate; two people whose energy matches perfectly, who can hear each other’s thoughts and feel each other’s emotions, and are destined to be together

Erobian (Ero-bian): steel forged in the Darkness of Erebus; lethal to deities

Fayráh (Fey-raa): my love, used by dyads to refer to female partner

Féathra (Fee-aa-tra): my love, used by dyad to refer to male partner

Ichor: blood of gods

Inkor: blood of daemons

Kaldyna (Kal-dyn-aa): bloodwhore, bound to someone by blood to be sexually exploited by them

Kalotra (ka-loo-tra): blood magic, dark magic used to bind someone by blood to exploit them

Klymain (kly-main): steel forged in the Klymenes in Tarresyn; lethal to deities

Matska (mat-skaa): female circedera

Mattas (mat-tas): male circedera

Na dýra (Naa dyraa): my love

Ná’laine (naa lane): My sun

Ná’nyl (naa nyl): My moon

Niádyna (niaa-dy-naa): god’s whore

Nyará (ny-aa-raa): Home

Nycroía (nee-cro-ya): Nightwalker

Nymph: can be used to refer to a lifeform or as a synonym for courtesan/whore

Phádron (faa-dron): beauty

Pup: young circedera, child

Stygian iron: an iron forged in the Styx that is lethal to daemons and induces agonising pain. The scars of this metal cannot be fully removed.

To mýnet (mie-net): Mýnetting is a dark ritual that uses someone’s full name. It strips a circes of all their markings, every honour that has been bestowed upon them, every relationship that holds meaning. It strips one of their identity and then paints new markings, either to disgrace them or to force a new identity on them.

Vaelip (vay-lip): little fox

Varkradas: darkness that functions as (semi-sentient) shadows and an outlet for circedera

Vārna (vaar-naa): a mark similar to a fingerprint that circedera grant their children

Varvátio (var-vaa-tio): shadow bond, first act in crafting a mating bond between daemons

Venatrix (Vee-naa-tricks), Vena (Vee-naa): huntress

Vesper: Star

Viatra (vi-aa-traa): little bat

Visas: Lifeline, Thread of Fate

Warlock: a person (most are mortal) with remarkable skill in the ways of magic. A High Warlock is a Warlock who completed their magical training at the Institute of Vadones and succeeded in their Ascension.

Prologue

On the dawn of what would become the longest Divine War yet, Elyon watched the mortals and gods prepare for battle. His gaze swept over every piece of his grand puzzle that would soon fall into place.

The three Fates were well under Elyon’s control and his venom ran deeper than the blood it had stained for eons. They’d meekly shown him what was to come, the same way they’d shown him the prophecy that had followed the Primals into this realm. A prophecy long forgotten, now buried beneath willow roots and dust and death, and the secrets he kept like a grudge.

The Emperor carried no memory of his true identity or the schemes that had granted Elyon this much power. The Fool wouldn’t be born for another fifty years and when he’d finally come into this world, Elyon had plenty of ideas to make sure his rival would break under the weight of his own might. His Huntress would soon rise and join his side, and the Fate would end up bound by her own destiny.

He watched Lorcán Andulet, the crown prince of Aspia, sneak into the Institute of Vadones to kill the High Warlocks who once taught him the secrets of magic. The Andulet’s renunciation of the gods. Elyon’s voice crept into Lorcán’s mind with an ease that assured the crown prince these were his own thoughts. He had no idea that this plan was Elyon’s, that the Serpent needed Ellowyn’s Acolyte dead. It would cause a series of events that would assure Elyon’s ascent to relentless power.

It would stall Ellowyn’s curse once more.

The Serpent felt the strings attached to his fingers tug and knew his puppets had started to play, flawlessly executing the script he’d written for them.

Chapter 1

Aspia, the Royal House of Odalis

1762, 22 years after the War of Ichor

After six years, Aedlynn Eidothéan had grown accustomed to the wariness and vigilance of her masters. She’d also grown accustomed to the tormented screams of her victims and the eerie silence with which they fell. Some were to face a quick death, others had to be dragged out for their amusement. She did so without hesitation nor mercy. Once, she’d possessed such noble values, but there was no room for morality in this existence she’d been thrown into. That realisation had only helped her reach the top of her profession, as had the merciless training she’d started at only sixteen years old.

Lorcán had found her as a newborn during a hunting trip, abandoned in a forest in Peridan. He’d been captivated by the strangeness of her eyes; the left one a warm amber colour, the right one sky blue and broken up with hints of gold. The king had taken her into his household, where his servants had raised her to become a fine lady until she’d reached her sixteenth year. As repayment for the care he’d provided, she was to be useful to him, so he’d released her into the care of Aviod Nérdulet—Aspia’s most renowned assassin.

Though her childishness once tried to stop her, she’d soon learned that she was exceptionally good at what she did. Her skills with weaponry were supernatural—bordering on divine, with many rumours rising that perhaps the girl with the strange eyes was a halfgod.

Not many mortals could summon weapons out of thin air, if any.

Top of the Academy and quicker than her masters, she’d grown used to the glares that followed her from the shadows. She’d grown used to the accusations that were meant to tarnish her reputation, other assassins who tried to sabotage her or made attempts on her life. She’d cleaned up a fair amount of them before any of those silly rumours could reach her beloved king.

Something she hadn’t been able to control was the raw magic that simmered beneath her tan skin, between the strands of her sleek dark hair, that spontaneously wove with the words that left her lovely smile. Only last week had she set up two men in the corridors. One short fight had commenced which ended with one death. Then last night, she’d taken care of two girls she’d shared a bedroom with, who’d tried to poison her.

Aedlynn had taken her time with them and only when she’d been satisfied with her work, had she allowed the masters to find her. Covered in their blood, wearing her most radiant smile while they’d chained her. She’d laughed at them, knowing damn well that those shackles would be useless if she truly wanted to escape unless they were dipped in moonsbane. Only that sacrilegious poison could counter divine power and magic. It was even strong enough to incapacitate a god.

But Aedlynn had a plan and the masters that now dragged her along to face her judgement, had no idea that that very goal awaited her on the other side of the grand oak door.

The hallway seemed to stretch for kilometres as Aedlynn was guided down the burgundy carpet and led to the throne room. To her left and right, masterfully created paintings of the Andulet bloodline decorated the black walls. Aleksander Andulet, his wife Meryn—a halfgod—and their children. Rumour had it that Meryn killed two of them when she’d lost herself to her divine power, before Eiran killed her. But it had been Eiran himself who’d killed them.

She admired them—their typical violet gaze, black hair and beautiful features that rivalled those of the forsaken gods—even though her heart thundered in her chest. If he wasn’t behind those doors, her Fate could take a turn for the worst.

Fate already kind of hated her—like a lot. And the feeling was very mutual.

Aedlynn glanced at the two assassins who flanked her. They paid no attention to her, though she saw Tertius’ jaw clench and noticed how Caleb’s hand kept stroking the woven hilt of the longsword at his side. They were alert enough, she knew.

Aviod walked behind her. His pale green eyes burned in the back of her head as if her master was straining to find her plans. He moved to walk in front of the company, leading the way to the double doors to the throne room, decorated with magnolias and jasmine. Between the many flowers lay the Andulet crest, two slithering serpents devouring a full moon. An ancient family that had tried to destroy the gods when they’d turned against Meryn.

Aviod pushed the doors open, leading them further into the room and for the first time in a year, Aedlynn stood face to face with the king who’d been her saviour. Her breathing became uneven when her eyes fell on the male who sat proudly on his black throne. Like the rest of his family, he was blessed with gorgeous violet eyes. A golden crown adorned his long sleek raven hair. The sleeves of his tunic covered his arms, though from training alongside him, she knew there were hard muscles underneath the fabric.

Physically, the king still appeared to be around twenty-six years old, though he’d been born forty-five years ago. He’d received a blessing from the Goddess of Night and Winter that had rendered him immortal, even after Antheia had been slain at the end of the War.

His gaze didn’t leave hers as she was ushered before him.

Aviod turned to order her to pay the king respect but didn’t have to. Aedlynn had already dipped her head low. She knew of his divine might and dark power. She’d witnessed it herself plenty of times. Aedlynn had been taught to bow to nobles but she didn’t respect them. They were weak, easily taken out of this life and thrown into the next. Yet her king was powerful, a god himself.

He couldn’t be taken so easily from this life. It was he who took.

His gaze swept over the iron bands around her wrists, the chains that were supposed to hold her, the three well-trained assassins that surrounded her. He knew his guards had their eyes on the woman, that they noticed her every breath, any small movement those wonderful eyes made while she casually studied the room.

She smiled at him, a lovely smile that had sent many to an early grave. “Your Highness, it has been a while.” Her voice was smooth and soft as velvet.

The assassin on her left curled his scarred fingers around the hilt of his sword. In a room with their king, no one was supposed to speak before Lorcán did. She’d been taught those principles, yet Aedlynn had always thought etiquettes to be rather stiff and boring—and utterly useless. In a battle between life and death, silly titles and table manners wouldn’t save one’s life.

“It’s good to see you again, viper,” the king spoke with a sensual voice.

Her smile became even more charming as she held up her shackles to him, rattling the chains. “Do you like my bracelets?”

His lips curled. Thanks to his dark magic, she cared nothing about the lives she’d taken and the lives she’d continue to take. He’d heard much about her skills, witnessed them himself when he’d sent her on assignments under the guise of other nobles.

“I do not,” Lorcán said, nodding once to Aviod. “Remove them.”

“Your Highness—”

Lorcán held up a hand to silence him. “My viper won’t harm me, Aviod.”

Hesitantly, the assassin unlocked the clasps of the wristbands and removed them. Aedlynn wrinkled her nose at Aviod and rubbed her nimble fingers over the tender spots on her wrists. She studied her nails. Though Aviod had ordered some servants to quickly clean her up to be presentable to their king, dried blood still stained them.

Lorcán leaned back. “I understand that you killed two guards last night, is that correct?” Aedlynn nodded once. “Apparently, there wasn’t much left of them.”

Her smile didn’t reach the frigid look in her eyes. “There was plenty left, just not much attached.”

Aviod muttered a curse under his breath. He’d once seen much potential in the girl, potential that had been long fulfilled, but he feared he’d created a monster. Underneath that flawless skin crawled a ruthless and feral beast that devoured and destroyed, one that could smile with the light of a thousand suns while her eyes remained devoid of any emotion.

“Explain to me why you did it,” the king said.

Aedlynn tilted her head. “They tried to poison me and I am quite over the others plotting my death. I have been testing my food and drinks for poison for three years now. I barely sleep, as plenty have tried to kill me during the night. The stupid rumours, the accusations.” Her hard gaze swept from one assassin to the other, until they rested back on her king. “It was a message.”

Aviod rose a brow. “Well, you can sleep in peace from the safety of a prison cell from now on.”

She smiled at her master, sweet as sugar. “I will not wither in a prison cell.”

“You killed two innocents.”

Aedlynn laughed humourlessly. “I’ve killed countless innocents. The only difference with last night was that I received no payment.”

Aviod stared at the king. He couldn’t fathom how the king appeared so... casual around her. She reeked of death, carried the sentence at her fingertips to bestow it upon anyone she deemed worthy. Her blades hid somewhere only the forsaken gods might see them and judging by how deeply the whole of Aspia had disrespected the gods, he very much doubted they would stop her from ruining them all.

Aedlynn returned her attention to Lorcán. “My skills are too great to waste them on silly mercenary gigs,” she said plainly. “You are an immortal king, one on bad terms with the other countries and the divine forces of this realm. I doubt your guards were trained to face off gods and goddesses, nor that they have what it takes to send them back to the Æther.”

Lorcán nodded once, his only signal for her to go on. She stepped closer to him, ignoring how the other three assassins took hold of their swords. “Either you throw me into a dungeon—but it won’t hold me for long, or you hire me to serve you.”

Lorcán’s full lips curled into a cold grin. It appeared that his viper had inherited more than just the weaponry and fighting skills from her mother. She could brand her undying and relentless loyalty on those she deemed worthy and devote herself to them even long after her final breath.

Yes, he decided. She was ready—his first weapon. He would hone this blade until it shone silver underneath the ichor of the gods. Until it carried the spilt blood of the last Fate and he’d have an open field to defeat Eiran.

Lorcán leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked at the woman in front of him. He was close now. He could nearly taste the sweetness of the ichor on his tongue. One weapon was ready for use. Now he just had to wait until Diana would fall for his schemes as well.

Chapter 2

Aedlynn came close to regretting her decision to join Lorcán’s Cadre when the servant opened the heavy door to reveal that once again, she was to share a bedroom. Even more so when the pretty girl looked up from her bed in surprise. Something tugged at Aedlynn’s heart, though she kept staring her down with an intensity that made the servant next to her nervous.

Surprisingly, the girl didn’t flinch away. Instead, she gracefully stood from the bed. The maroon dress she wore draped over her curves, nicely complementing the different brown shades of her hair, though the deep neckline and high slits left little to the imagination.

Her full red-painted lips parted into a sweet smile. “You must be new,” she said while extending a graceful hand. Aedlynn glanced at it before returning the cold look to the girl’s face.

She rose a dark brow at Aedlynn while lowering her hand. Her almond eyes were a lovely light brown colour, nearly honey golden when the rays of warm daylight fell on her face through the windows.

The servant kept glancing back and forth between them like she expected them to start slitting each other’s throats. Unfortunately for Aedlynn, she doubted Lorcán would appreciate it. She wondered why this girl was here and how she served him, as this wing was reserved for Lorcán’s inner circle. She appeared to be around the same age as Aedlynn was—twenty-two, but judging by the showy dress... she was probably nothing but eye candy for the men who walked around here. Someone to keep them happy and satisfied, to help them relax after a long day of dutifully serving their king. Aedlynn doubted the girl had much of a spine. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about being killed in her sleep.

“I’m Kaelena Athelon.”

Aedlynn gave her a curt nod, then further ignored her while she lowered her bags onto her assigned bed. Kaelena seemed to enjoy decorating the room, as she’d planted colourful vases with wildflowers in any corner she could find. Little trinkets and pieces of silver jewellery lay scattered on the shelves of a dark wooden bookcase, on the mantle of the fireplace, on a desk. As well as a pile of well-loved books and a bunch of gemstones Aedlynn recognised as moonstones.

Behind her, Kaelena politely dismissed the servant and closed the door behind them. “First rule of being my roommate,” Kaelena started, “be nice to the servants.”

Aedlynn turned to look at Kaelena, who scowled at her with an intensity that almost made Aedlynn like her. “I said nothing wrong.”

Kaelena snorted. “You said nothing at all, poor thing was terrified of you.”

She shrugged.

The girl cocked her head and crossed her arms. “Aren’t you going to introduce yourself?”

“Aedlynn,” she said flatly. “Eidothéan.”

Those pretty brown eyes widened for the smallest moment. “You’re Aviod’s protégée?”

Aedlynn wasn’t surprised that the girl knew him. Given the fact that the assassin served Lorcán, she figured that Kaelena had warmed his bed plenty of times already. “Yes.”

Kaelena leaned against the desk. “You’ve quite the reputation, even the most seasoned members of Lorcán’s Cadre admire and respect you.”

Aedlynn was beginning to tire of Kaelena’s attempts at socialising. She’d already been tolerable to the rest of the Cadre when she’d been introduced to them by Lorcán. Her little jar of pretend-to-care was quickly running out. Besides, she was much better off on her own, without pretty girls faking interest in being her friend—only to stab her in the back. “Doesn’t explain why you’re still wasting my time.”

Kaelena scoffed. “Shove the god complex up your ass.” Something hardened in her eyes, an edge that warned Aedlynn not to push too far. It was also one of the first times in many, many years that someone dared talk back to her, which she found quite thrilling. Even Aviod had grown wary.

Kaelena sighed and remained quiet while Aedlynn unpacked, minding her own business. Aedlynn had just decided that she could bear being inside this room as long as her roommate remained quiet, when Kaelena tempted Fate again. “Are you always this pleasant or are you just secretly very shy?”

“Fuck’s sake,” Aedlynn muttered. “Mind your own business. “

Kaelena smiled at her. A mischievous smile, laced with sweet venom. “Aspia’s famous killer, just a shy little thing with sharp knives.”

Aedlynn nearly growled at her. “Keep yapping and I’ll show you just how sharp those knives are when I cut your tongue out.”

Kaelena rose one amused brow. “I think I hit a nerve.”

Aedlynn gritted her teeth, tightly clutching the dress in her hands. Kaelena noticed her vexation and decided to let it go, lying back on her bed to read something.

Aedlynn continued unpacking, though it took a while before her jaw relaxed again. Perhaps she was a little shy. Maybe even somewhat self-conscious. Killing came to her easily enough, conversing not so.

She’d just finished hanging her casual clothes and dresses when Kaelena spoke again. “That light blue one is really pretty.”

Aedlynn glanced at her, sensing the white flag the girl was waving. “Thank you.”

Kaelena smiled at her. “Gift from Lorcán?”

Aedlynn blinked. “Ehm... Yes.”

Kaelena nodded her head towards the wardrobe. “That silk was crafted in Averly, I have a dress of the same fabric. It’s entirely lovely. For a man, Lorcán has surprisingly good taste in dresses. He’s never given me one I don’t like.”

Of course she received dresses from him, given her... occupation.

Kaelena wrinkled her nose. “He seems to know I much prefer colourful dresses to bleak ones like Isolde wears. I often wonder if the queen even knows that colours exist, as she only ever wears black or grey or white.”

Was she... going to keep talking?

“Perhaps she has some strange phobia of colourful things. I hear that her wedding bouquet consisted solely of black roses and lilies. One might think she’s not shallow enough to care about her appearance, but the amount of jewellery she wears... by the Mother, I do not envy her poor neck and shoulders. Horrible taste that woman has and the way she flaunts her wealth to all those around her—simply disgusting,” she exclaimed, throwing her hands up before letting them fall back on her lap.

Despite herself, Aedlynn smiled slightly. Seeing Kaelena like this tugged at something in her that was still human. Something warm and fuzzy. “Like, there are poor families out there. Starving and struggling and then there’s the she-daemon with her jewellery that weighs as much as a small child. But the only thing she cares about is my relationship with Lorcán.”

Kaelena rolled her eyes and deeply sighed, focusing her attention back on Aedlynn, who couldn’t help but be impressed. That girl had been talking for five minutes now and she doubted Kaelena had paused to catch her breath in between sentences.

“Sorry, got a little carried away.”

Aedlynn chuckled, running a light hand over the soft fabric of the dresses. “Can’t really blame her for not liking her husband’s courtesan.”

Kaelena cocked her head, then sat up straighter. “I’m not his courtesan.”

Was she truly not? Or was she just some foolish girl who believed that just because Lorcán bought her dresses and maybe promised her the world, that he loved her? That she was somehow different than the many whores he’d gone through before her?

“Then why are you here?”

Kaelena scrambled up from her bed, smoothing out the chiffon before she straightened her spine. Forsaken gods, Aedlynn had to admit the girl was utterly gorgeous. With a grace that left Aedlynn breathless, Kaelena walked over and leaned against the wardrobe.

“I grew up in Méraud, under the care of Madame Valendair after I was orphaned near the end of the War, and when I came off age, she had me trained as a courtesan. But when I was about nineteen, I ehm...” Her cheeks flushed and mischief sparkled in those pretty brown eyes. “I started showing some skills with breaking and entering. I was pretty good at sneaking around unnoticed, heard a lot of things—information people hoped to keep hidden in the darkness of the night hours. And then I overheard some lords planning to assassinate Lorcán the night after. So I stole a horse and made for Odalis, slipped in without any of the guards noticing and then just kind of... showed up in his throne room with the message that those lords were planning on poisoning him.”

Aedlynn stared at her in disbelief. She was pretty good at sneaking in but no one managed to sneak into Lorcán’s throne room without being apprehended. Not one was that good.

Kaelena smiled. “You should’ve seen Lorcán’s face. He wasn’t even angry, wholly impressed that a nineteen-year-old girl slipped through his every defence. Skipping along his halls in a pretty dress. Those lords were apprehended, questioned and admitted their plans. Lorcán then bought me from Valendair, offered me a home here and a job.”

“I take it that job has a lot to do with you sneaking around unnoticed?” Aedlynn mused.

“Yup. I’m his spy, but Isolde and many other nobles do believe that I’m his favourite courtesan, only his Cadre knows the truth. We keep it as a ruse so others don’t hesitate to talk around me—a pretty thing to decorate his lap or the rooms with.”

Kaelena whistled. “Isolde can be fucking vicious. Lorcán once threw a masterful insult her way to silence her and I couldn’t wipe the grin off my face. She then said something along the lines of I’m not the one trained like a racehorse to be ridden for male enjoyment—still stings. And that unlike me, she didn’t need Lorcán’s cock to decide whether she was useful or not.” Kaelena sighed, then her lips curled into a self-satisfied smirk while she crossed her arms. “I then sweetly informed her that as long as she couldn’t bear him an heir, she was useless as his wife. That seemed to silence her just fine.”

Perhaps Aedlynn wouldn’t sleep so soundly tonight after all. “You’re awfully talkative for a spy. Do you always ramble this much?”

Kaelena rose an amused brow. “Only when I’m the one carrying the conversation.”

Aedlynn rose a dark brow of her own. “How the fuck am I supposed to say anything when you make as much noise as a small army?”

Kaelena wrinkled her nose, which made her look fairly adorable in Aedlynn’s humble opinion. “Secret? I was never good at those games adults make you play to get you to shut up.” Kaelena grinned. “I think my record was a minute.”

Aedlynn laughed—out loud for the first time in years. The movement was foreign to her face muscles, yet it instantly made her feel lighter.

“Sorry for getting under your skin,” Kaelena said.

Aedlynn glanced up at her, now realising she was slightly taller. “It’s fine.”

Kaelena stuck up her pinkie, “Promise that you won’t kill me in my sleep?”

She gave Kaelena a small smile. “Fine.”

Kaelena wiggled her pinkie. “You must officialise the ancient ritual.”

Her smile grew as she hooked her pinkie around the spy’s. “Fine, I won’t kill you in your sleep.”

“Good.” Kaelena let go of her and walked towards the door. Before she left the room, she shot Aedlynn a sly smile. “I’ll let you know if I’ll promise you the same thing.”

Chapter 3

Diana

Katrones, the High Court of Orthalla

1766, 26 years after the War of Ichor

Present day

I stared at the wall from the comfort of the leather couch with an intensity that could’ve burned a hole in the plasterwork. I’d grown endlessly bored, cooped up inside while a heatwave raged over the southern hemisphere.

I didn’t necessarily mind the heat for the same reason that it bothered the others; my breathing and activity weren’t affected by it. Even now, I still slept with my many, many blankets. Neatly tucked in and rolled up in them. I also still woke in the middle of the night, freezing and gasping for air whenever my nightmares returned. Even the ever-present headaches weren’t worsened by the weather.

But I had grown so utterly bored and restless, dying to just do anything.

Everyone stayed inside as much as they could, kept the doors shut for as long as possible. The curtains were drawn to keep the heat out. The servants had boarded up the windows and stuffed any crevices they could find. They treated the sun like it would come and visit on horseback, scanning the houses for any opening it could use to infiltrate and suffocate us with its unforgiving warmth.

It reminded me of those myths about Keres, the God of Malice. There were enough stories about him visiting mortal villages like a servant of Death, cursing them with plagues and calamities while they hid inside their houses and prayed to other gods to save them from his wrath, though I doubted the deities dared to question his Judgement.

I felt like a trapped animal, surrounded by people who said nothing to me unless absolutely necessary. It was almost enough for me to welcome Keres with open arms, maybe even ask him if he’d like some red wine for his bloodthirst—or maybe I’d need that for mine.

I’d spar with my guardian, but given the insane temperatures and the fact that any sane person did mind the heat, I couldn’t exactly ask Zale to fight with me. Besides that, Zale had been pretty busy as High Lord of Orthalla and Egoron, Chosen by Eiran himself at the end of the War to rule over both countries.

Yet the more time I went without sparring, the more agitated I became. My nightmares worsened, my visions of him became more frequent and intense—even during the day, which had resulted in less sleep, a lot of stress and more headaches. And as always, the strong emotions made me incredibly sick.

I hadn’t shared that fun information with Zale yet. He’d send me straight to a physician for another sleeping draught or healing potion, but those only worsened things. They made me more vulnerable and susceptible to whatever connection I still shared with him.

No one knew why Lorcán had wanted me. How he’d found me as a baby, then tortured me until Sorin had intercepted a spy and saved me from his clutches. It was strange to know he’d done that, to see it happening in my nightmares. Because I bore no scars—thanks to the king, at least. The only scars on my back were those of an... incident with one lord Rhosyn.

One skill Lorcán excelled at was kalotra—bloodmagic, one of the darkest kinds of magic known to mortals. Taught to him by Aeneas Losaño, who’d been his mentor at Vadones. Lorcán had taken his time with me. He’d marked me, claimed me, carved his name in my very soul. Even now, I often woke in a cold sweat with his name on my lips and whenever I was alone, I heard him whisper the name he had given me.

Needless to say, Orthalla wasn’t exactly fond of me. Aspia was a feared country and Lorcán was the main character in most horror stories. Parents had scolded their children for playing with me, scolded me for coming near their children. They’d warned me to stay away from them or to return to my master since they all believed Lorcán still owned and controlled me. Apparently being experimented on and tortured as a small child by an immortal king, was somehow my fault.

Sitting cross-legged in our living quarters, I kept wiggling and tapping my foot. In an attempt to distract myself, I viewed the paintings I’d made, which Zale had hung up. Though I kept a whole bunch of them in drawing folders on my desk, I hadn’t looked at them in years.

I tried to focus on those paintings, the serene images of vineyards and beaches to calm down, but it was no good. My heart raged in my throat, I couldn’t keep my legs still and I’d been subconsciously tapping my fingers on my arms while I’d been staring at a lake.

I still felt like my soul was vibrating in my bones.

“You look... intense.”

My head whipped towards the sound of Zale’s voice, to see his dark brows furrowed in worry. His olive skin had tanned since the beginning of summer. My skin remained devoid of any colour, save for the dark circles that decorated my grey eyes. Given the stark contrast of those colours and the restlessness, I could imagine I looked pretty intense.

“Yeah,” I breathed, still tapping my foot like a lunatic.

Zale plopped down on the wooden coffee table while he studied me. A slight grin appeared. “You’re bored to death, aren’t you?”

I groaned and leaned the back of my head against the couch. “I honest to the Mother believe not even Thanatos is this bored.”

“Have you tried painting?”

With my head still leaning back, I rose a brow at him. “My attention span hasn’t been too great.”

“Small paintings then?”

“I want to punch the sun,” I muttered, more to myself than to Zale.

He laughed softly. “I doubt Zhella will appreciate that.”

I didn’t quite care whether the Goddess of Sun and Summer would take offence. If anything, I wanted to drag her out of Aerelia and scold the goddess, wag my finger at her and tell her that grilling mortals isn’t very nice.

“You could go take a swim, the pool’s been refilled after last night’s downpour,” he offered.

I pursed my lips and fondled a loose thread of my short pastel yellow dress. I’d already done that—and had received stares from the nobles. The scars on my back were very noticeable and their stares hadn’t been subtle. “Doesn’t help.”

Zale nodded once, noting the sad look. He’d gotten to know me extremely well and considered me his daughter. His last name had been mine from the moment he’d taken me over from Sorin and the soft hand that had held mine ever since had been my rock in any wild current.

“I just...” I murmured, still fidgeting with my dress. “I feel like I’m losing my mind.” I’d admitted that I felt slightly insane more and more this past year, especially whenever my nightmares became more frequent or I’d found myself sleepwalking again.

Zale brushed his thumb over my hand. “You just need to blow off some steam—have a fight.”

“Well, some women enjoy pretty dresses and some enjoy whacking people with swords.”

Zale snorted. “You have plenty of pretty dresses and you drag me along to buy you new ones almost monthly.”

“Yeah, some like both.” I smiled sheepishly. “Maybe I should just pray to Lord Keres, I’m sure he’d love a fight.”

Zale quickly shook his head. “Absolutely not, you don’t pray to Keres.”

“I know.” Especially not after nightfall, that’d been drilled into me.

To this day, Zale still had no idea that I often offered to Keres to show my gratitude. I was one of the few who still took respecting the gods earnestly, even the vilest. Keres had a reputation of loathing and tricking mortals. He made deals that always ended up biting the receiver of his service in the ass. Enough to humble them, to remind other mortals to leave him the Hell alone or he’d show them his wrath. But when I’d begged him for help three years ago, he’d struck no deal with me. I’d been frantic, desperate to clean up my mess before anyone found me—or what had been left of Kallias.

I’d only ever seen one god in person and it’d been him, though I didn’t remember much about him. I’d been a little too preoccupied with the body of my dead boyfriend and the fact that a fucking god stood in front of me.

There was a difference between worshipping a god from afar and seeing them in person, to feel their raw power vibrate in the air. The pulse of it echoing in my bones. To know it was Keres standing in front of me, a wicked god who could’ve very well condoned or encouraged Kallias’ actions. Who could’ve lashed out at me for his own amusement.

But he’d calmed me, pried my dagger from my trembling hands, held me until my hysterical crying had ebbed away and then he’d cleaned up my mess. The blood and the body, no traces left behind of the bastard. That blessing... coming from the God of Malice who normally never answered any prayers or offerings, had felt more like a blessing than if Eiran himself had come down from Aerelia to tell me I’d won a lifetime amount of my favourite fruit.

I’d never shared that little encounter with anyone but Sorin. I’d certainly not shared it with Zale, who’d have a meltdown if he ever found out. To this day, no one but my guardians knew where Kallias had disappeared to. His father had put some pieces together but I’d taken care of him as well. Though that incident had resulted in the scars on my back, one burned down wing in our Court, eight dead and me being hated by the entirety of the Court.

The final blow to my reputation.

The sound of Zale’s deep sigh pulled me back from my chaotic thoughts. “How about we go visit Clacaster?” he said. “It’s winter there, we could spar. Have a little vacation.”

“Really?”

“Pack your things, vaelip.” He winked at me and started to get up. I smiled at the nickname I’d received from him—little fox. Because cute white foxes always sought me out whenever I’d played in the forest as a child. “I’ll take us to Clacaster, we’ll go annoy Sorin until he takes some time off as well.”

“Should we warn him?” I asked, amused by a memory. “Last time we surprised him...” I wiggled my brows at him. Zale had tried to explain to me what I’d seen happening between Sorin and Gabriel, but I’d been seventeen then. I’d known exactly what we’d walked in on. I’d received that talk years ago from Sorin. In hindsight, I was extremely grateful that Sorin had explained sex to me—with biology and consent—because Zale had gone with the special hug approach.

Zale’s face flushed a deep red. “We should definitely warn Sorin.”

“Yeah, in case he’s with a special friend again.”

Zale groaned. “It’s been eight years, Diana, let it go.”

I held up my hands in defence. “I’m just saying, we should be careful. It’s mid-winter there. What if their central heating is broken? Or their hearths don’t work?” I knitted my brows together in mock worry. “They’ll have to warm up somehow, maybe with that special hug you mentioned.”

He shot me a look that said really? “A hearth only stops working if you run out of wood.” With mischief gleaming in my eyes, Zale realised I was about to make a dirty joke. “Gods, Diana. Don’t. I don’t need a joke about Sorin’s wood.”

I threw my head back and cackled.

Zale gave me a funny look. “You two are so much alike, it’s almost scary.”

“Oh, don’t be jealous. I’ve been told that I have the same brooding look on my face as you do.”

He snorted, rose a brow and crossed his arms. “You? Brooding? With that permanent half-smile of yours?” Playfully, he rolled his eyes. “I raise you to be a fine lady—my heir—and that’s all you take from me?”

I crossed my arms as well and shot him a feline grin. “Apparently, my demeanour is quite similar.”

A sly smile crept on his lips. “You don’t say.” He leaned back slightly. “It’s a good thing that we’re going to visit Sorin. There’s something we wish to discuss with you.” That piqued my curiosity, but before I could ask him any questions, Zale held up a hand. “Patience, little one.”

“We are literally the same height.” I frowned.

“But I’m fifty-one years old, so I win.”

I rose a single brow. “And yet you don’t look a day past seventy.”

Leaning forward, Zale flicked my nose. “Get your things, smartass, write to Sorin and get back here. I’m going to kick your ass the moment we get there.”

Gently, I rested the back of my hand against his forehead. “I think the heatwave is messing with you, you elderly are so terribly susceptible to that.”

His grin grew wide. “Maybe you do have some of my humour.”

* * *

Barely an hour later, we made our way through the hallways of Clacaster’s High Court. Eiran’s blessing made it possible for the High Lords to travel around by æriating; disappearing into thin air and then appearing wherever they desired.

The Court of Clacaster and the colourful neighbouring village Draven were lovely to walk around, especially during winter since the villagers decorated their homes with fairy lights and garlands of greenery. The palace itself was created a thousand years ago, a collaboration of architects and artists to create one of the most stunning places I’d ever laid my eyes on. The inside was made of the finest white marble. The black and white marble floor crawled throughout the entire building like a grand chess board. Golden details adorned the many columns, archways and tall rounded windows.

Sorin once told me it was a true ode to Eiran’s home. He could know, as he often went there, which made me feel giddy. I’d grown up worshipping the gods and was taught by the Priestesses in Orthalla. I spent nearly two hours every day offering to every major god of our pantheon and I prided myself on the fact that most of them had answered my offerings and prayers at least once. Lycrius once sent me a bouquet of never-withering wildflowers I still kept on my nightstand. Aestor sent me a rubber duck for some inexplainable reason, but I still kept it on my bookshelf.

Maybe that was the reason why I adored coming here. The high ceilings were painted with myths of our gods and goddesses, and different kinds of nymphs. The deep colours had faded over the years but I still loved gazing up and taking it all in.

Most renditions were of Eiran and Zhella, father and daughter hunting or fighting together. There were multiple of Aestor, showcasing his mercy, grace and mischief. Khalyna in full armour, wreaking havoc. There was one of the Mother as well, Ellowyn. Once Eiran’s wife, until she allegedly left him for a sun god in another universe. Other sources claimed that she was lost and some even suggested Elyon had killed her—to drown this universe in Chaos.

Somewhere in a corner, Antheia’s stars shimmered. She was painted here as well, the Goddess of the Night, Winter and Darkness. Once. The only spot in the entire Court. Sorin once told me that the artists hadn’t dared to paint her but not painting her would’ve set her fury loose on them. So they’d compromised and painted her once, which I found very understandable and smart.

Had she still been alive, I would’ve never dared to offer to her. Even years after her demise, the stories about her wicked deeds left me terrified. Most were scared of Keres but Antheia had corrupted him to become as twisted and mad as she’d been.

As beautiful as her stars were rumoured to be, she was violently stunning herself. Her sleek dark hair covered her arched ears and flowed on a breeze, and her midnight-coloured eyes burned into mine. They were cold, piercing. A sculpted beauty that rivalled Zielle’s and Zhella’s, and had brought many mortal royals to their knees. She’d created kingdoms and built empires like it’d been a game and then watched, laughed and hummed her haunting melodies while they’d burned down into black nothingness.

Zale followed my gaze towards the image of the goddess. The look on his face darkened.

They often told me about the War they’d fought in for two years. How the late king Tarniq Andulet had turned against the gods because his halfgod mother had been killed by Eiran. Tarniq despised Eiran for killing her, for not having the decency to try and help her first. He loathed Melian for never standing up for her daughter. He’d wanted revenge on the gods. Antheia had taken that opportunity to wrap the mortal king and his son around her fingers to start the War since she already had a horrible relationship with Eiran and Zhella, her father and twin sister. She’d already tried to ruin them on many more occasions.

There’d been nothing but pure chaos for months on end while that War had ravaged the earth and heavens. Ancient families like the Losaños, Cathános, Andulets, Denestas and De Mesognas wielded damast steel. The only known steel that could pierce immortal skin and kill gods.

It’d become a dividing War. Those ancient families had strong ties to each other, but the War severed them as the Andulets turned against the gods and the Denestas loyally followed the family they’d been sworn to protect.

Once so close they considered each other brothers, Lorcán turned against Sorin and Zale. And the combination of the Andulet’s wrath, together with the Chaos that had ravaged all mortals, had resulted in the death of the entire Losaño bloodline, except for Zale.

Their close friend, the king of Veshos, didn’t wait for their enemies to strike against his family—a young daughter and his dyad. Nikos offered to Antheia to plead for safe passage through her darkness, so they could go somewhere the War hadn’t reached the mortals yet.

No one knew why, but she had.

Yet his family still suffered the consequences of him killing Antheia at the end of the War. Keres cursed his entire bloodline to live in pure misery for killing his dyad—especially when it came to love. Nikos had woken up one day next to the body of his dyad, her heart pierced with the same dagger he’d used to murder Antheia. Keres hadn’t killed her, Nikos had done it himself in a crazed frenzy, thanks to that abhorrent curse. He’d stopped eating and sleeping, slowly withering until there was nothing left of the proud man he’d once been. Until he passed away from his shattered heart.

They’d lost their families on that battlefield and far away from it, and not just the ones by blood.

“Those memories must be awful,” I whispered, reaching out to take his hand in mine.

Absentmindedly, he nodded, still glaring at the painting. “Even more so since I’m immortal, it keeps all memories vibrant and fresh like they were brand new.” He chuckled humourlessly. “Time heals all wounds, they say. But it only deepens the ache and makes them fester.” There was a bitterness in his voice that I’d never heard before, one that made the hairs on my neck stand upright.

And an ache in those dark eyes that I knew would never truly leave his soul.

* * *

Sorin sat on one of the brown leather armchairs, already drinking the wine he’d readied for us. With his short blond hair, broad shoulders, and black leather jacket, I would’ve known it was him even if his back were turned to me.

The black tattoo that decorated the right of his chest and neck also helped to identify him. Not many people walked around with the sacred Ascension markings granted by a High Warlock of Vadones—signifying a completed education at the ancient Institute. Certainly not ones drawn by Yael Eléazar, who’d been the greatest of them all. She’d painted him with a grand sun and solar flames that covered half of his throat.

Zale had been painted by his uncle, Aeneas Losaño. He’d been marked with deep blue swirls on his left arm that mimicked water, Zale’s speciality.

Sorin’s boyish grin immediately made me feel at ease, soothing some of the bubbling tension in my body. He lifted his glass towards us in greeting. “Evening.” His amber-coloured eyes shot to mine. “I heard that a certain someone was bored.”

“You should shave.” I pointed at his face, at the blond stubble that surrounded his mouth. Though I had to admit that it did look handsome. Sorin only stuck his tongue out in reply.

“She kept staring at my paintings, looking like she wanted to burn every single one of them,” Zale shrugged innocently. “It’s already hot enough in Orthalla without her starting a fire.”

Sorin jumped up from the chair and made his way over, pulling me into a tight hug. Feeling his warmth always made me feel at ease and the regular rhythm of his heartbeat could lull even the most dedicated nerves of mine to sleep. That effect had become my lifeline after Kallias had broken me.

“She’s always been a little chaotic,” he said as he planted a kiss on my hair, rubbing my arm. “It’s lovely to see you again.”

I pulled back from him. “Try sitting in that heatwave for three weeks with nothing to do, then we’ll talk about how bored you are.”

Sorin shrugged. “I don’t mind heat that much.”

“There’s not minding the heat that much and then there’s wearing a leather jacket in a heatwave like you did last summer.”

“Isn’t it well past your bedtime?” Sorin crossed his arms, a grin on his full lips. I scoffed and showed him a vulgar gesture. His amused glance turned to Zale. “I truly believed you raised her well.”

“I tried, but there was this blond asshole who taught her cuss words when she was still a fucking child. It only went downhill after that.”

Sorin clutched at his chest. “Language, High Lord,” he purred.

“Oh fuck off, I was fourteen,” I said at the same time, rolling my eyes.

Zale gestured at me in mock exasperation. “Do you see what I have to put up with?”

Pretending to be some wise old sage, Sorin stuck up a finger. “What Egoron will have to put up with.”

I didn’t quite understand what he meant by that, but then Zale’s comment crept into my mind. “You can’t mean—” I started.

“Mean what?” Zale leaned against the armrest of one of the leather chairs. He tried hard to feign innocence, but I’d known him my whole life. He could try to hide his excitement all he wanted, it still sparked in his dark eyes. I glanced at Sorin, who’d pursed his lips in an effort to hide his smile.

Zale clasped his hands together. “Why don’t we go outside for a bit? Train a little, the three of us.”

My brows shot up. “Are you trying to distract me?”

“Yes.”

“It’s working.” I grinned.

“I can join you guys for a couple of hours but I promised Marianne that I’d visit her. I haven’t seen her since last week, things have been a bit busy.” Sorin rubbed the back of his neck. “I want to check up on her.”

Zale looked like a tiny child in a candy shop. “You mean your little crush?”

Curiously, I looked from Zale to Sorin. I’d seen Marianne around Clacaster a couple of times when I’d been there in the last year, but hadn’t really spoken to her. I hadn’t dared to, given my past experiences and I highly doubted anyone was dying to befriend me.

“She’s my friend.” He crossed his arms. “I haven’t... exactly ehm... tried flirting with her.”

“Why not? Is she immune to your lovely charms?” Zale wiggled his brows.

Sorin stared at the wall behind Zale, the look in his eyes growing absent. “She has very different things on her mind. Besides, every male that approaches her receives a death glare that makes me look around to see where Thanatos is hiding.”

I’d seen those glares for myself. Antheia’s cold and menacing gaze had nothing on hers. Antheia would’ve probably fled from Marianne. Another reason why I hadn’t quite dared to meet her gaze.

“Maybe she’s dating ol’ Thanatos.” Zale offered.

I rolled my eyes at him. “Or maybe not every woman is waiting for some knight in shining armour to come and try to entertain her.”

“What?” Sorin stared at me with wide eyes and mock shock. “You mean to tell me that not everyone in this castle wants to fuck me?”

Zale snorted loudly. “It’s a tough one to swallow, I know.”

The corner of Sorin’s mouth curled in a feline grin. “Oh, I can swa—”

“Do not,” Zale covered his ears, “finish that fucking sentence. Gods, you two are unbelievable.”

I threw my head back and cackled, doubling over from laughter.

Chapter 4

Aspia, the Royal House of Odalis

1762, 22 years after the War of Ichor

In the dungeon, Lorcán handed Aedlynn a towel to wipe the blood off of her hands and daggers. On the cold ground behind her lay a Clastrian spy. Aedlynn had quickly motivated the spy to spill his secrets, though he’d done nothing special to slip inside, it’d been an accident.

Now, the king watched as she cleaned her blades in silence.

She hadn’t flinched once. Even when the spy had begged for mercy, she’d only looked at him with cold and empty eyes. The grip of Lorcán’s magic on her was strong—flawless. She’d been in his service for months now and had yet to let him down. Though she refused to harm children and truly innocents, he was sure he could mould her to do so as well.

Besides, gods were no innocents.

“You did well, little viper.”

Aedlynn looked up from her blades and smiled at him. Her loyalty shone through the kalotra. She lived for his praise and compliments. “Thank you.”

Lorcán nodded once and gestured for two guards to clean up the maimed body. “How are things with the Cadre? How have you been settling in?”

“Fine,” she muttered, focusing her attention on a stubborn stain.

“And your roommate?” he prodded. He’d heard from Kaelena that their relationship was tense at best. Both had come close to throttling the other plenty of times. Kaelena was like a mountain cat, playing with a prey to see what might set it off. Whether out of innocent curiosity or vicious intent, that depended on the receiver of said attention. He also knew Aedlynn’s temper closely resembled her mother’s; she didn’t need much provocation to explode.

Aedlynn glanced up at him. “Can I speak plainly?”

“Always, my sweet.” He stroked a thumb over her cheek. “You know that.”

“I despise her,” she nearly spat out the words, “That nose of hers is always stuck in my business! She refuses to leave me alone and when I threaten her she just laughs like it’s the most amusing thing in the world! She can’t shut up for dear life, always rambling on and on and I’m honestly surprised that she shuts up when she sleeps.”

Lorcán tried hard not to grin. Though he could understand Aedlynn’s dislike, he’d grown quite fond of his nymph throughout the years—despite his common sense warning him not to. Those he chose to care for often decided to betray him. The last one who’d ripped his heart out had cost him the War—because he hadn’t been strong enough to kill her when he’d had the chance. He’d loved her, but love had never done anything useful for him.

“I sense some frustrations,” Lorcán said.

Aedlynn groaned. “I’d rather sleep in the stables with your mares than share a room with her.”

“I’ll admit that Kaelena has a talent for rambling but she’s just trying to befriend you.”

Aedlynn pursed her lips. “I have no need of friends. Friendship is only a weapon others use to get something they need and I have no desire to find a blade in my back again because of stupid naivety.” She threw the bloodstained towel on the wooden table.

“At least promise me you’ll refrain from killing her, I’m quite fond of her.”

Aedlynn rose a brow at him. “Æther knows why you like her. Perhaps it’s the pretty face and the fact that she lets you fuck her whenever you like.”

If anyone else treated him so casually, Lorcán would’ve long had them whipped but he knew she was loyal to him. “She carries a deep-rooted light inside of her that isn’t easily dimmed and a kindness that has withstood many trials already.”

Lorcán didn’t easily trust, especially after Sorin had betrayed him to aid the gods. Even more so when his wife had betrayed him. He suspected Antheia’s ego had been cranked one too many times when he’d killed more of her nymphs, and that she’d taken revenge on him by shattering his meek wife’s mind—by making her nothing but an eager whore for the King of Hell.

He'd married Isolde because it’d been expected of him to remarry—he still needed an heir. Yet Isolde was barren. Lorcán still considered himself too noble to divorce Isolde and throw her into ridicule, yet he couldn’t stand being near the woman. She was everything Evalynn hadn’t been and lacked everything he’d loved about the woman he’d wished to be his dyad.

Aedlynn said nothing, though Lorcán knew a storm was passing through her mind. He knew what it was like to be powerful and the loneliness that came with it. Plenty of other assassins had attempted to kill her and she’d spent these past years on her own to protect her life, so he understood her wariness to trust Kaelena.

Lorcán decided to change the subject, “I do not think I’ve told you about your lineage yet, have I? What I have found out.”

She looked up at him, taken by surprise. “No.”

Lorcán nodded once. “Do you wish to know?”

“Obviously,” she said a bit dryly, which sent a smile on his face.

“Your mother is Khalyna, Goddess of War, Weaponry and Bloodshed.”

Aedlynn blinked, letting the information sink in. “So... I am a halfgod?” She frowned at him. “So the whole... summoning weapons thingy, that’s my power? The fighting skills and such?”

“Yes, I believe so.”

“But halfgods go insane when they use their power.” She worried on her lip. “They lose their minds, their bodies can’t handle all that divine power. It caused Meryn’s downfall.”

Lorcán nodded again. “Khalyna is the Third God, created right after Aestor, so I believe that you lean further to the divine than a child of Melian for example. It seems to stabilise you enough for now.”

“Does she know about me?”

“What?” Lorcán frowned.

“Does she even know I exist?”

His frown deepened while he leaned against the table. “Aedlynn... She gave birth to you.”

She blinked, then flushed bright red. “I mean... ehm... I know that. I’ve just never seen her.”

“Of course not, Khalyna is Eiran’s lap dog. Why would she visit you with the risk of Eiran finding out she broke his most sacred rule—no halfgods, no children between gods?”

Aedlynn shrugged. “Must’ve been a pretty male then—my father, to risk Eiran’s wrath.”

Lorcán rose his brows at her, lips twisting into a crooked grin as he leaned forward. “Would you like to know who your father is?” Aedlynn stared at him, appearing as if she couldn’t care less but he saw the curiosity burning in her eyes. The innocent need to know her roots. “Aviod is your father.”

Aedlynn blinked. “What? Really?”

He nodded. “Khalyna had a bit of a crush on the Master of Assassins.”

“Does he know?”

“Yes, I told him some days ago.”

Aedlynn cocked her head. “Why am I only hearing this now? How do you know?”

“So many questions, little viper.” Lorcán grinned. “You were quite occupied before you came into my service. Any time I wished to visit, you were gone on a mission.” The king shrugged. “I’ve seen it in visions.”

She pursed her lips as she thought it over, while they walked out of the basement, up the stairs and through the many hallways. After they reached Lorcán’s office, Aedlynn finally spoke again, “Will you out me to Eiran?”

Lorcán stopped walking, turning to face her. “No,” he said firmly.

There was an uncertainty in her eyes as she looked at him. They even appeared wet, as if she were fighting back tears. Her hands hung balled at her sides. Lorcán realised she was scared.

His merciless viper. Frightened.

“If Eiran... If he finds me, he will kill me. He won’t hesitate. He’ll... Like he did with Meryn and I... I don’t want to die.”

He walked over to her, resting his hands on her shoulders. Gently, he tightened his grip. “I won’t sell you out to my greatest nemesis, my sweet. And should he find out, if he dares to strike, I will protect you.” Her bottom lip quivered. Lorcán cupped her face with both hands. “You are safe here, Aedlynn. You are home. You know I protect my family with any means necessary.”

She swallowed hard while he wiped some escaping tears away. He knew that divine body of hers had always felt restless, aching to be somewhere closer to her kin. Even though she was relatively happy here in Aspia, he knew she ached for a home—a family. He’d often caught her staring at fathers or mothers with their children, wondering what it was like to be loved like that, to be cherished above all else. The girl ached to find a home and take root there and as much as she claimed to have no need of friends, Lorcán sensed that underneath his dark magic, that big heart of hers yearned to love and be loved.

Oh, he could definitely use this.

“As long as you serve me and prove your loyalty to me, my Cadre will watch out for you, they’ll protect you. I ask not that you like them but do try to trust them. They won’t stab you in your back. Kaelena won’t either. You don’t have to like her but trust her,” he said. “And if you truly loathe her, I will ask the servants to find you another room.”

She worried on her lip, appearing shy. It was a look he’d never seen on her before. Softly, she said, “That... That’s not necessary.”

He found it interesting to see a blush appear on her cheeks. Aviod had informed him some weeks ago that Aedlynn preferred female company. Perhaps she didn’t dislike his nymph as much as she tried to let on. Now that he thought about it, he’d noticed plenty of times that Aedlynn’s attention was solely focused on the pretty nymph in the room. He’d blamed it on the rivalry but perhaps his little viper had a crush—the one person who didn’t shy back and challenged her.

Within seconds, the king had formed his plan. He would order Kaelena to wrap Aedlynn around her dainty fingers, to seduce her and show her pleasure, to pretend to be hopelessly in love with his viper. Kaelena would guard Aedlynn’s loyalty and keep her satisfied. Given how enticing the nymph could be, those dainty claws would dig deeply into Aedlynn’s heart.

Kaelena would keep his honed blade sharp and ready for his use.

* * *

Aedlynn stared at her bedroom wall. She should’ve told Lorcán to find her another room, but something in her had stopped her. As annoying as Kaelena’s rambling was... a room of her own would perhaps be too quiet. And she’d gotten quite used to Kaelena’s perfume, even on her bedsheets—since that insufferable twig aimed at anything and everything whenever she put it on.

Cherry blossoms and blackberries. The lovely scent lingered on her pillow and clothes, on her cloak. Even on missions, she still smelled Kalaena.

It was annoying.

The door opened and Kaelena walked in, softly humming to herself while she carried a small pile of books in her arms. The smooth way her silk dress moved reminded Aedlynn of water. These past weeks, she’d learned for herself that Kaelena was indeed a master of sneaking around. It didn’t matter how hard she tried, Aedlynn never heard her footsteps. But as soft as Kaelena’s steps were, her laughter could bellow through the thickest of walls. And whenever she hummed like this...

Aedlynn stared at Kaelena, at the casual beauty and grace she radiated from deep within.

“Evening.” Kaelena dropped the books on her bed, tilted her head and smiled sweetly at Aedlynn. Aedlynn quickly returned her attention to the history book in front of her. She hoped that her loose tresses hid the pink shade of her cheeks.

Deep in her stomach, frustration boiled. Why was it that she couldn’t stand the girl yet every time she shot her one of those charming smiles, Aedlynn felt like she might melt? At the same time that she loathed her, Aedlynn yearned to be around her. While Aedlynn pushed her away, she secretly wanted nothing more than to hold Kaelena close. And even though Aedlynn was certain that Kaelena wouldn’t hesitate to stab her in her back... Aedlynn would die to protect her.

It was utterly pathetic and confusing.

“Still polite as always, I see.” Kaelena sighed and sat down on the lower end of Aedlynn’s bed.

“Still annoying, I see,” Aedlynn shot back. She couldn’t let her in and allow herself to be enchanted by Kaelena, refused to be stabbed in the back again. “You complain about Isolde’s vanity, but you flaunt yourself everywhere you go. You may have left that brothel but you can’t fool anyone about what you still are,” she spat at her. “Some cheap whore.”

Kaelena’s face crumbled. That sweet smile disappeared and Aedlynn watched the corners tug downwards, how her eyes reddened and watered. Kaelena’s throat bobbed as she looked away, hiding her burning shame behind her hair while she balled her fists on her lap.

Gods... Aedlynn couldn’t stand seeing her like that, hated herself for what she’d said—for hurting her. She wanted to reach out to her, brush those tears away. “I...I’m—” she started, but Kaelena shot up and left the room, slamming the door shut behind her.

Fuck. Some cheap whore.

Fuck, why was she such an idiot?

Aedlynn rubbed her face, her cheeks heating horribly under the weight of her embarrassment.

Forsaken gods, she’d been so mean.

She’s just trying to befriend you.

Truth be told, Aedlynn would like a friend. Someone to laugh with, to tell those stupid jokes to that she was secretly fond of. But she’d spent so many years wrapping herself up in barbed wire to keep others out that she wasn’t quite sure if she could be anyone’s friend without hurting them. She knew she was quick to lash out, that her temper was horrible and that she was far too reckless. How could anyone want a friend like that?

And yet, she’d also been like that when she’d walked into the room four months ago and still Kaelena had tried. For weeks she’d attempted to shave off some of her thorns. Sometimes Aedlynn had allowed her to see the roses beneath them, but every time Kaelena had come close to touch them, she’d panicked and pricked those nimble fingers—shutting her out completely until Aedlynn’s defences started to melt again.

But now she’d really hurt her. She’d somehow felt the ache the spy had felt. Aedlynn’s stomach twisted itself into a knot as the mental image of Kaelena’s hurt haunted her.

She hadn’t registered that she’d left the bedroom until she nearly walked into a servant. Aedlynn checked the library but she wasn’t there. She wasn’t in the kitchens either, though she knew Kaelena was often in there. She enjoyed baking little cakes and decorating them with colourful icing and silver stars. She wasn’t great at it but she just liked doing it. She’d brought Aedlynn some moelleux a few weeks back, somehow knowing that she was quite fond of chocolate.

More heat crept into her cheeks. She hadn’t even thanked Kaelena.

She slammed her back against a wall in a corridor, slapped her burning cheeks and viciously shook her head. She’d been sweet once, she knew she was capable of it. She’d been soft and tender and trusting and vulnerable. But those so-called friends had scared most trust out of her. The callouses and blood on her hands had removed all tenderness, no matter how often she scrubbed her hands and nails. The scars on her heart had extinguished any vulnerability.

But underneath those thorns, parts of her soul still bloomed. Yet what use was a soft assassin to her king? There was no room for vulnerability in her work. But... was she not more than only an assassin or Lorcán’s weapon?

Aedlynn decided to continue her search before she’d fully lose her mind with her many thoughts and feelings. They’d been quiet for so long, locked away by something, but now they came knocking at the walls of her mind. Demanding to be heard, to be felt.

Eventually, she pushed open the doors of the little library, housed in a tower in the west wing, where Antheia’s silvery stars were painted on the dark blue ceiling. Those had once decorated their night sky until the Goddess of Night had been fucked over one too many times by the mortals and decided to remove them. They’d been gone for centuries now, leaving the evening sky black. Yet she’d always wished to see them in person. Aedlynn once sent a childish prayer to the dead goddess when she’d been a small child, with the humble request to see even just one star.

She swallowed hard when she found Kaelena sitting in the small, dark room. Her knees were pulled up, her arms hugging them to her chest. Her shoulders slightly shook and she’d buried her face in the small space between her chest and knees.

Relief flooded her that she’d found Kaelena but she was terrified to approach. Aedlynn closed the heavy door behind her and leaned against it, her hands still resting on the cold iron knob behind her. “I’m such an idiot,” she said softly.

Kaelena looked up at her with puffy and wet cheeks, stifling the next sob when she realised who was in the room with her. Aedlynn fought hard not to flinch away from the glare, to run and hide behind a bookcase. She’d faced plenty of threats, had fought for her life on many occasions. Yet somehow, this was more challenging. “We finally agree on something,” Kaelena’s quivering voice sounded.

Aedlynn gave her a small smile but it quickly withered. “I’m sorry for what I said. It was unnecessarily mean, I didn’t mean it.”

Kaelena warily regarded her. “I don’t get you. One moment you’re sweet and you smile at me and I think you might actually like me and then the next you act like a spiteful bitch. At least Isolde consistently reminds me that she hates me.”

“I don’t hate you.” The words were nothing but a whisper.

Kaelena rose a brow at her. “You called me a cheap whore. Doesn’t exactly scream I like you.”

Aedlynn shrugged and looked at the floor. “I really am sorry.”

Kaelena wiped away the tears and mascara that had gathered underneath her eyes. Then she glared at the black stains on her fingers. “Great, you’ve turned me into a raccoon.”

“I quite like raccoons, they’re very cute. Those beady eyes and those little hands and feet are adorable and the way they—”

Kaelena shot her a look that made Aedlynn close her mouth again. But her lip quirked up. “Now who’s rambling?”

Aedlynn let go of a shuddering exhale as some tension left the room. She looked at her feet, playing with the tip of her boot as she scraped it over the wooden flooring. “I am sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”

“You’re right, I didn’t.”

Aedlynn glanced at her. “I don’t think you’re a cheap whore, I don’t think low of you at all.”

Those dainty lips curled into that mischievous grin Aedlynn had come to like. “How could you think low of me when you’re absolutely teeny tiny?”

Aedlynn scoffed at her but felt her lips break apart in a smile. “I’m not that small.”

“Pocket-sized.”

“Am not.” Aedlynn stuck out her tongue, which made Kaelena laugh. She liked that sound, that she’d been the one to draw it out. That she was capable of doing that.

“There you go again,” Kaelena said, rubbing her hands together. “Now you’re joking with me and smiling and being sweet, but—”

“I know,” Aedlynn whispered, looking back down at her boots.

“Why do you do that?”

Aedlynn swallowed. Perhaps it was time to let one of those walls down a little. “I’ve kind of... closed myself off.” She nudged the tip of her boot into a crevice between two boards. “Last time I... that I let someone in, they tried to kill me.”

“Oh.” Kaelena drew her brows together, though she didn’t look at her with pity, which Aedlynn appreciated.

Aedlynn nodded slowly. “So, yeah...”

“I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“Thank you.”

Kaelena sighed deeply and leaned back against the bookcase behind her. “Fine, I’ll forgive you for being a mean little bitch to me.”

Aedlynn snorted, the sound not at all elegant. “Must you call me little?”

“Must you call me cheap whore?” Kaelena wiggled her dark brows.

“That’s not fair!” Her cheeks flushed. “I apologised.”

Kaelena cackled, her head tipping back. It was that laugh that broke through walls and carried golden daylight with it. “I’m only teasing you,” Kaelena said, scrunching her nose.

Aedlynn blushed at the sight, shyly averting her eyes back to her boots. “I know.”

Kaelena scrambled up from the floor and made her way over, noiseless even though the boards underneath their feet were ancient and groaned with every breath Aedlynn took. She stared at Kaelena in disbelief. “How do you do that?” Aedlynn gestured at the floor. “Move without a sound.”

“Oh.” Kaelena smiled. “My mother was a vespera.”

She blinked. “Really?”

“No, I’m making that up.” Kaelena rolled her eyes. “Yes, really.”

“You’re half vespera?” They were Antheia’s nymphs, had been her devoted handmaidens for eons.

Kaelena nodded. “Lorcán saw in a vision that my mother was Nyra Athelon, Antheia’s first vespera. She gave birth to me months before the War started, but she was killed by Tarniq. Apparently, the previous king went a little... insane near the end of the War. He was convinced that all nymphs were as wicked as the gods and went out of his way to murder them. Especially my mother since she served Antheia and Antheia had been working hard to get rid of Lorcán.” She pursed her lips. “Lorcán doesn’t know my father’s name, but he did say that they loved each other deeply. That they fought to keep me safe and that Lady Antheia wept when they were killed, that she avenged them.”

Aedlynn hadn’t realised that she’d taken Kaelena’s hand in hers, that she’d been running her calloused thumb over the soft palm. “I’m sorry that you lost them,” she said quietly as she wiped away some of Kaelena’s tears.

Kaelena nodded and leaned into her hand, closing her eyes for a moment as if savouring the little touch. “So, yeah...” She showed Aedlynn a brave smile. “Quiet like the night, I guess.”

Aedlynn blushed, torn between pulling her hand back or sweetly stroking her jawline. Flustered by the latter desire, she pulled her hand back. “I’m a halfgod,” she blurted out, then blinked in surprise. Why did she say that? Sharing that information was dangerous.

“Oh, who is it?” Excitement shone in her friend’s eyes while Kaelena tightly squeezed her hand.

“Ehm... Khalyna.”

Kaelena tipped her head back and laughed. “Of course she is! But alas, that means we’re destined to be enemies.” Kaelena rested the back of her hand against her forehead, dramatically sighing. “With your mother being my mother’s sworn enemy.” Aedlynn snorted and rolled her eyes.  “You dare mock the ancient vendetta between our families?”

“Khalyna might’ve hated Antheia and Keres, but that’s none of my business. I’ve not even spoken to her, why should I share her silly grudge?”

Kaelena grinned. “Careful, halfling. One might start to believe you’re getting fond of me—enough so to talk smack about a major goddess.”

Aedlynn blushed and rolled her eyes, tipping her nose into the air. “Insufferable twig,” she muttered.

Kaelena planted a kiss on her cheek. “Love you too, halfling.”

Butterflies exploded in her stomach when Kaelena’s soft lips brushed her cheek. She wondered what it would feel like to kiss her, what her lips would taste like. But why would Kaelena even want her? There were plenty of nobles that could give her a title, wealth and a place in the upper hierarchy of this country. All Aedlynn could ever offer her was her heart, though it swelled with every smile Kaelena gave her.

Chapter 5

Diana

Katrones, the High Court of Orthalla

Present day

I’d barely sunk one boot in the snow-covered grass when Sorin used his magic to crash a heap of snow over me, covering me in pure white fluffiness. The ice melted and leaked into my hair and thick black coat, trailing down my neck. I shivered and my teeth started chattering. My heartbeat shot up.

Though I didn’t like heatwaves, I despised the cold. It made my body think something bad was happening and I couldn’t stop that panic.

I scowled at the laughing High Lords, at Sorin who stood in a fucking T-shirt. Without touching the snow, I moulded it into balls and sent a fair amount launching straight at their faces. Zale gasped when three hit his face. Sorin yelped and ended up catching snow in his mouth.

I kept more snowballs floating in the air. One corner of my lip curled up. “Still hungry?”

Sorin intertwined his fingers and cracked them, his amber eyes glinting with mischief. “If I win this fight, you’re cooking tonight.” That was the rawest threat I’d ever received in my life. Since my sense of smell and taste were awful, I struggled with properly seasoning my dishes.

With a flick of my hand, I’d dried up my clothes, yet still shivered from the lingering cold that had infiltrated my body. Admitting that my joints and bones ached because of the weather made me feel like some dangerously suppressed senior citizen.

“If I win, you’ll have to introduce me to your girlfriend.” I shot another snowball at Sorin, straight at his nose. Zale made the wise decision to hide in the doorway while the two of us slowly backed up to the courtyard, eyeing each other up.

We sparred for a good half hour.

I’d been trained by both of them and my magic skills were decent, but Sorin and Zale? Those two had been taught by the High Warlocks in Aspia, along with Lorcán and his paladin. The latter had been killed by the King of Hell, Aloïs. Another figure I didn’t dare mention out loud.

Getting into Vadones had never been an easy task. Only the truly gifted entered the Institute and only a select few graduated with honours and received a blessing of immortality from Zhella, Patroness of Magic. The coveted Ascension ritual.

I would’ve loved to go there, but alas. Another historical monument destroyed because an Andulet decided to throw a temper tantrum. Why the gods ever favoured that family was beyond my understanding.

I blocked every single one of Sorin’s attacks, waiting for an opening so I could strike. It was no use to lash out at him with fire, though I preferred to fight with it. It’d always come easiest to me. But fighting Sorin with fire was like giving Keres a knife to stab me with.

Lorcán’s speciality was darkness, which might’ve explained why Lorcán had been fond of his paladin. She’d been his polar opposite, able to summon fire and light from the sun itself, to draw her power from the ferociousness of solar flares.

It’d taken the King of Hell himself to vanquish Evalynn Denesta-Andulet.

I shifted my weight to my right leg as I threw up another shield to protect myself from Sorin’s roaring flames. The slippery ice cracked underneath my weight but I stood my ground while the snow around me melted. I decided to use that to my advantage and sent all the water crashing over his head like a tidal wave. And for good measure, with a sprinkle of revenge, I closed my right hand into a tight fist and froze the water in his hair.

“Son of a bitch!” he yelped in Clastrian. His flames instantly dimmed out.

“Language, High Lord,” Zale purred with a self-satisfied smirk, leaning against a tree with crossed arms as he watched.

Sorin ran a hand through his hair to break up the ice and I used that opening to slam him against the stone wall. He grunted when his back impacted, sliding down behind some neatly-trimmed bushes. I smirked at him and made a lazy knocking motion with my right hand, so the snow from the roof above him crashed down. I may have added some more flair to it by shaping the snow that encased him like a snowman. “You’re cooking,” I said, crossing my arms.

It imploded, like there was nothing inside of it anymore. The scent of orange and cedarwood hit my nostrils. I somehow sensed him behind me, how his hand moved to reach for my braid. Like some hidden instinct had woken up. I’d never experienced that before.

I ducked and whipped around to plant my elbow in his side with my full force behind it—which was suddenly a lot. Sorin stood exactly where I’d envisioned him to be. He stumbled and fell, staring up at me in as much surprise as I felt. “Damn, vaelip.” I stared from him to the snowman, trying to make sense of what had just happened. “Since when do you have eyes on your back?”

“I saw you,” I muttered. “In my mind. I saw you reaching for my braid.” I looked back to see his smile ebb away and his brows knitting together. “And I smelled you—before I saw you.”

Zale watched us curiously. “What did you smell?”

“Cedarwood and blood orange.”

“That’s terribly specific,” Sorin said.

I nodded, feeling a bit dazed. “Yeah.”

Another scent hit me. Clean linen with a hint of something citrusy—Zale. And once again, my mind envisioned him moving his arm to wrap it around my throat. My body reacted for me, lurching to the side while I turned. Pure and wild instinct roared in my ears, bellowed at me to do something. My hands shook, my knees wobbled while that ancient intuition begged me to use it and it took everything in me to shut it down.

But I couldn’t.

Doing so sent wave after wave of nausea crashing over me, making my ever-present headache thunder in my temples. It rose the tension in my body and the restlessness to an all-time high. I clenched my jaws while I faced the pain, beads of sweat trailing down my forehead.

Breathe, Velia. I hated how wonderfully familiar and soothing it felt to hear him. Let go of those ridiculous fears. Use them.

Though it felt like years passed before my mind lost the battle against my body, barely a second had passed before I threw out an arm and sent pure darkness to push Zale against the grass. Like I’d done when Rhosyn’s men had forced me on my knees and tore open the back of my dress to humiliate me. When that lord had lifted his belt again and again.

Sorin scrambled up next to me, wrapping a hand around my wrist to grab my attention. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the darkness that restlessly crawled in front of me and seemed to connect with me. Time slowed as my eyes remained glued on it and I became aware of the strangest sensation. I could feel what that darkness felt, how sensitive it was and it... it tried to communicate with me.

Something still shielded me from it.

But those were mine. They were mine.

I pulled my arm loose from Sorin’s tight grip, didn’t register any of the words they said to me. There was only that darkness in front of me and the decreasing distance between us as I moved towards it in a daze. More scents hit me. Crisp air, wet grass, cedarwood, citrus. They grew stronger the closer I came to my shadows and I tasted them on my tongue like a fine wine.

Sorin tried to grab me again but was met by another tendril that slammed him against an old oak tree. My shadows wanted me to come closer, wanted them to stay back. Though I sensed that they meant my guardians no harm.

I sank to my knees, reaching out a hand to touch and caress them. There was truth in that darkness, truth I was ready to face. I somehow knew this was my salvation; the solution to my inexplainable illnesses, headaches and restlessness.

Come to me, Velia. Nothing more than a seductive whisper.

My entire being focused on the shadow, which allowed Zale to grab me around my waist and pull me away. I screamed like someone had just torn off one of my limbs and then thrown me into hellfire. Zale pulled me further away, saying nothing of importance in a voice one would use to soothe a child.

My soul was being torn out. Yet it lay there in the cold, wet grass.

Sorin stepped into my vision and cupped my face. His lips moved but I didn’t register the words, they didn’t hold any meaning.

My shadows remained still—trapped. They wanted to come to me, longed to come to me with the same vigour I felt. And Zale’s arms trapped me, held me back from reuniting with them. Sorin moved and blocked my vision of it.

Come to me, Velia. If you wish to know your truth, you need only come.

I sagged through my knees while Zale held me, wailing like a small child. Whimpering like a wounded animal. I was freezing, my bones were nothing but shards of ice. I despised the cold, the pain that always came with it. That no one had heard me, that they hadn’t come to me when I’d called for them over and over. I’d needed them—their love and warmth. I’d needed protection from him, from the torture he’d given me. I’d yearned to look up at warm golden eyes, to feel the soft touch of my mother’s hand. But I had never felt it.

I needed them, by the gods, I needed them. I’d missed them my entire life, had spent entire nights wondering about them and what might’ve happened to them, if I had siblings and what had happened to them. I’d wished on every eyelash, clover and dandelion I’d gotten my hands on that I’d find them.

I loved Sorin and Zale with my entire heart but I needed my family like my lungs needed air.

I sobbed, said words in a language I’d never spoken before, rambling on about my shadows, the stars and my parents. A language I’d heard Zale and Sorin speak, a language as old as our gods.

Because it was their language.

“What the fuck?” So near to my shadows, I felt Sorin’s terror because I spoke Aelerian and what that meant. No one could be taught Aelerian. The gods were born speaking it. The High Lords were only able to speak it the moment Eiran’s blessing had touched their very being.

Zale pulled me against him and æriated us inside, where he planted me in front of the hearth.

* * *

I forced my chest to move to draw in more air. My fingers and lips tingled, my chest became too tight for my raging heartbeat. I was dying. And my soul—my shadow was outside in the snow.

Zale wrapped his warm coat around me and rocked me back and forth, rubbing his hands over my back. Sorin draped blankets over me. “Breathe, Diana.” Didn’t he see that I was trying to?

“Please,” I managed to push out. Sorin entered my blurry vision, lined with tears and sweat. “Help them. They’re... still outside.” His throat bobbed. “Please,” I whispered as I balled his shirt in my hands, eyes filled with desperation. “Please.”

Sorin pulled me out of Zale’s embrace and tucked me against his chest, using his magic to warm me. All the while, he caressed my hair and soothed me through my sobs and panic like he’d done three years ago.

I will wait for you. Your varkradas will wait for you. They are patient, as am I.

“I hear him,” I sobbed against Sorin’s shoulder. His whole body tensed while he exchanged a panicked look with Zale. “Lorcán.”

“Diana—” Zale started.

“Should we bring her to Eiran?”

“No.”

“She’s speaking Aelerian, Zale! How much more proof do we need?”

Another vision flashed through my mind of fierce golden eyes, framed by laughing lines as he snickered at a joke while clutching his wounded side. A memory my mother had been fond of, one she’d often shown me while she’d carried me—to calm me.

“Lorcán still has Antheia’s blessing! Diana still carries his kalotra in her blood!” Zale feverishly gesticulated. “What the Hell do you think Eiran will do if he thinks she’s a halfgod? That she carries Lorcán’s power? He won’t hesitate to kill her.”

“She’s hurting,” Sorin said. “She needs help.”

Zale said wryly, “Explain to me why a halfgod would hear Lorcán. It’s his kalotra.”

Grey eyes flashed through my mind. Please, let me hold her. That pleading voice. My mother.

Another sob came from me. By the gods, I needed her warm embrace. I wanted to feel safe again, but most of all I wanted her to be safe, to stop hurting, because... because something had happened and I’d felt it. I’d felt her hurt and heard her scream and it’d frightened me.

Sorin shifted so my head lay nestled in the hollow of his shoulder. “It’s okay, aediore.”

“I want my... my mother,” I whispered, feeling utterly pathetic. “I miss them.”

Sorin swallowed hard, his grip on me tightening. “Diana—”

My instinct slammed shut, like someone had forced it back into a box and nailed the lid shut. My sense of smell withered until I didn’t smell anything anymore. I no longer felt their concern and worry like they were my own. I felt nothing but the pounding headache in my temples and how my stomach twisted into a tight knot.

I gagged and let go of Sorin, whirling around to grab the nearest thing that I could throw up in. Cold sweat trickled down my forehead and back while I hurtled my guts out in an empty fruit bowl and Zale held my hair back.

“Should I get Aestor?” Sorin offered.

The thought of facing a god right now made me throw up again. “I think that’s a no,” Zale said.

I drew in a shuddering breath as the last overwhelming waves of nausea ebbed away. “I think I just died a little,” I whispered, rubbing my forehead and eyes. My skin was drenched and heated like I was running a fever. Coldness stuck to the sweat, which I didn’t welcome at all.

Zale rubbed my back. “At least your panic attack is over.”

I nodded absentmindedly, staring down at the Orthallian carpet. I’d spent entire nights glued next to the toilet. My headaches never left and at least once a month, I’d get violently ill. But I had never... never felt like that before. Like I was actually dying.

Sorin gently took the bowl from me and left to empty it.

“What did he say to you?” Zale crouched down in front of me.

I blinked several times while I tried to remember. The memory of it was already blurring. “He ehm... He wants me to come to him.” I looked up from the carpet to Zale, wrapping the blankets tighter around my body. “He wants to tell me... my truth, he called it. Said that he was patient.”

He nodded, glancing up at Sorin. “Lorcán told her to come to him.”

“I’m going to kill him,” he growled while handing me a glass of water, which I gladly downed. “The fucking nerve.” I rubbed my face again and looked down at the carpet, feeling utterly drained. “You look exhausted,” Sorin noted.

I glanced up. “I genuinely feel like I lost one of my lives, you know? Like a cat.”

Sorin nodded. “Do you want me to ask Aestor to check you up?”

I shook my head, which made the headache throb again. “I can’t handle a god right now.” I’d rather not have a god’s first impression of me be that of a sickly, pale woman drenched in her own sweat and tears. Seeing me like that was an honour reserved for my family. “I’m just... exhausted.”

“You don’t hear him anymore?” Zale asked me.

I shook my head, slower this time. “I think he closed everything off again.”

“The pain?” Sorin brushed a hand through my hair.

“Gone back to the usual headache.” I didn’t have the heart to tell them I still felt restless and tense, that I still yearned for that shadow.

Sorin sighed. “I thought your headaches had gotten better?”

“Might’ve been a lie,” I muttered. “Didn’t want you to worry.”

Sorin kissed my hair and then looked at Zale. “We really have to find something for those headaches other than potions.”

Zale rubbed his face and nodded. “I’ll contact Aestor tomorrow.” Zale eyed me like he was deciding whether I truly felt better. “I’ll draw you a bath. Give you a moment to relax.”

“Thank you.” I showed him a small smile. He walked out of Sorin’s wing, closing the door behind him. Meanwhile, Sorin still held me.

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” I muttered, my head leaning against his shoulder.

“You have nothing to be sorry about, vyranám,” he said firmly. I always adored when he called me fireheart. It’d been a nickname Yael had given him because of his affinity for pyromagic, one he proudly wore. One he’d shared with Evalynn, whom he’d been friends with until she’d decided to follow her husband. He’d tried to convince her to leave Lorcán but she’d refused to listen to reason. In his frustration, he’d said things he later regretted. But he’d never had the chance to make it up to her.

“You really don’t have to stay up with me. You can go visit your friend.”

“I’ll pay her a quick visit while you take your bath.” I nodded. “If anything is wrong or feels wrong, you tell Zale. Don’t hesitate.”

I snorted. “I’m not a child, you know.”

He sighed and rested his chin on my head. “I know. I just worry about you.”

I nodded and stared at the dancing flames in the hearth. “I’m sorry about your fruit bowl.”

Sorin laughed. “I’ll take it out of your paycheck.”

“Fair enough.”

* * *

Zale had made sure the water was hot enough, that my favourite honey and lemon soap stood on the little table next to the bath. He’d even filled a glass of red wine for me.

Given how attentive he was, I found myself surprised again that he had no lover. Sorin liked to mess around but had never found the one. He’d sworn to never marry or start a family because their blessing didn’t extend to family. Zale had never mentioned his concern about that but I’d never known him to date anyone. Though I had seen him kiss a pretty blonde lady in the gallery on her forehead once, when I’d skipped a lesson and had been playing on my own. In my childish imagination, she’d appeared to radiate a warm glow. But I’d never seen her since and when I’d asked Zale about her, the sad smile he’d shown me had been enough to make me shut up.

My head still pounded and the water in my stomach felt like lead. I held up my hands after removing my clothes, which trembled like I was going through a withdrawal of some sort and when I touched my forehead, I didn’t need a thermometer to know I was running a high fever. Maybe it wasn’t the wisest decision to relax in hot water while my body was boiling on the inside but I didn’t care. I simply climbed into the soapy water, fully submerging so my hair was wet as well.

I closed my eyes and focused on steadying my breathing, yet the tension and restlessness didn’t agree with sitting still, it made me feel like my bones were vibrating. The longer I stayed still, the worse it got. Maybe it would be wiser to run around the castle to lose some of that pent up energy but unfortunately, my muscles ached and my eyes were heavy.

Another ten minutes passed while I tried my hardest to find some control over my body, to no avail.

While I dried off, my thoughts went back to that shadow. I knew it was the answer to all my questions. Questions I’d been asking myself for years. Questions Lorcán could answer.

There was power in me, a power that Lorcán had hidden away. There was a way for me to be pain-free, to be comfortable and I couldn’t for the life of me let that go. I wanted that power—because some deep instinct in me told me that it didn’t belong to Lorcán. He’d locked it away and for some reason, today he’d decided to let go of the reins a little. Like he’d wanted to dangle it in front of me, like bait to lure me.

I knew the stories about him. Blessed by Antheia with some of her darkness and immortality because Lorcán had gone out of his way to go after Eiran. He’d locked his country off, even from the gods. They knew it was a matter of time before Lorcán would strike again and only the Mother might know what insane powers or weapons he’d bring along.

And then there was my history with him, how he’d tortured me. Since I was only a babe then, I didn’t remember specific things but my nightmares were filled with violet eyes, cold hands, intense pain in my shoulders and soul, and pure desperation. I’d hear myself cry out to my parents, begging them to help me. To bring me home. To keep me safe.

And yet, here I was in this damp bathing room, wondering if maybe—just maybe, he wasn’t that bad. Which was bullshit. I knew he was that bad.

Once I’d put my warm pyjamas on, I started the task of combing my blonde hair, ignoring the pale, frail and thin reflection that haunted my mirror. The many knots were a great distraction, forcing my tongue to stick out a little while I tried to detangle the thin strands. I’d almost reached some semblance of inner peace.

“How did it feel, Velia?”

My body froze, the hairbrush hung forgotten mid-air. Through the mirror, I met those violet eyes. I whipped around, hoping this was just my imagination. I was probably exhausted and just needed a good nap. There was no way in Hell that Lorcán could actually be here. But he stood there, leaning in the doorway to my bedroom like he owned the place. Clad in dark dressing pants and a tunic, embroidered with golden thread. His golden crown atop his hair.

It took me a moment to compose myself. My pride didn’t want the prick to know how terrified I was, though it was hard to keep my hands and knees from trembling. “Get... Get out,” I stammered.

Lorcán held my gaze, slowly and elegantly moving towards me.

“This isn’t real, you’re not here,” I breathed, taking a step back. My hips hit the marble basin.

“You’re right, I’m not really here but that doesn’t mean this isn’t real.” His accent sprung out, lilting the words. It sounded like Lorcán was reading me poetry, even though none of the words rhymed. Smirking, he stopped in front of me. “But I believe it feels very real to you.”

He was amused because he knew I was scared. The realisation turned a switch and the next second, all my fear was gone. I glared at him with nothing but coldness in my eyes, turning them a freezing silver. I even bared my teeth at him, more out of instinct than anything else.

Before I could think better of it, I swung my wooden brush at him. Right in his face.

“Fucking bastard,” I spat at him in that ancient language.

For one heartbeat, Lorcán just stared at me in shock, rubbing his sore nose. Then he started smiling. A disarming smile, which highly confused me. I’d just smacked him in his face with my brush—which wasn’t light, I’d accidentally dropped it on my foot on more than one occasion—and he seemed to really not care about it.

“That instinct really is something, huh?” He cocked his head. “I’ve suppressed it for twenty-four years, yet I allow you to use only the slightest sliver and here you are,” Lorcán gestured at me, “burning to release them.”

I was about to try and hit him again but he caught my wrist. I’d expected his hands to be ice cold like they’d been in my nightmares but they were warm. Gentle even. Mine weren’t, especially when I slammed my knuckles against the apple of his throat, though Lorcán blocked the attack right before I hit him. He grabbed me and pushed me back until I stood pinned between the wall and his muscular body. His hands rested on the wall on either side of my face while that dark magic of his curled around my waist.

He chuckled softly as he took in my piercing glare. “Come now, I’m not the one trying to hit you with a hairbrush, darling.”

I scoffed and balled my hands into tight fists. “Of course not. You only tortured me and somehow still feel the need to bother me with your presence.” The corner of my lips tugged up into a vicious smile. “But if the brush isn’t to your taste, I could tear you apart with my daggers.”

I’d expected him to become angry or irritated. What I didn’t expect was for him to brush my cheek with his thumb. I was far too surprised to pull away—even though I still stood pinned to the wall.

His scent tickled my nose—jasmine. I’d faintly smelled it before in visions but it really hit me this time, creeping into my every sense. It created a nice fog in my mind, one that pushed away those silly hostile thoughts of mine. There was no reason to fight him. I quite liked being this close to him.

“I could remove my kalotra, you know,” he mused, thumb gliding over the smooth skin of my cheek. His violet eyes never left mine, holding me in an iron grip. A prison of neatly fabricated lies. “I truly regret what I did to you so many years ago. Know that suppressing your powers...” He sighed. “I did it to protect you. That bastard King would’ve murdered you. It would’ve started a new War and if by some strange twist of Fate, he’d decided to spare you, those mattas would’ve reduced you to nothing but a breeding mare. You are far too powerful for such a tragic fate, Velia.”

I stared at him in stunned silence. The fuck?

He smiled when he noticed the puzzled look. “You will understand in short time if you decide to trust me.”

“You would... give me my power back?” I could hear Zale warning me in my mind but I didn’t care. I could only think of that darkness that had beckoned and how I still longed to reunite with it.

“I would give you everything, Velia,” he said, cupping my chin to make me look up at him. My gaze grew more and more dazed as his magic crawled over my skin, infiltrating to find a tight control over my mind. I ached to belong somewhere and he... Maybe I could belong with him. “You and I are connected by more than our history. Come and I will remove the kalotra, I cannot do it like this.”

I should’ve known I was in trouble by the fact that I didn’t care he was using the name that haunted my nightmares. I only stared at him, mesmerised as that jasmine scent lulled my common sense to sleep.

My sluggish mind sparked alive and my head tilted while he still held my chin. “What do you mean connected?”

“Have you never wondered why we have visions of one another, why you can feel me? Why we’re so strongly drawn to each other?”

I nodded, still dazed. Lorcán leaned in, face only centimetres away from mine. His warm breath caressed my lips. “You’re my dyad.”

I blinked. Once. Twice. Dyads were two people whose souls and energies connected on a level only few could understand. The bond made it possible to feel each other’s emotions and hear the most intimate of thoughts. That soulbinding love was pure and coveted. Dyads were destined to be together, by decree of the Fates themselves or Zielle, Goddess of Love. Those bonds were extremely rare and reserved for those with strong magic—like gods, nymphs and Warlocks.

You’re my dyad.

I might not have had any good experience with romantic love but I sure as Hell knew that if I had a dyad, they wouldn’t have spent a full year torturing me. “Why would I believe anything that comes out of your mouth?” I was startled by the viciousness that hid like a serpent underneath those words.

“Because you know the stories and what I’ve done to defend my family and kingdom. How far I’m willing to go to keep the gods from destroying both and yet...” His eyes darted to my lips and I hated that my stomach fluttered in reply, all because of that stupid jasmine scent. “You want me—and know I will protect you with as much devotion.”

“I want my power,” I hissed. “I want what rightfully belongs to me and was taken by you.”

“I didn’t take anything, darling. I suppressed it.”

“I suggest you un-supress it,” I bit out, “before I pull your balls out through your throat.”

“So violent,” he purred. “Come to Odalis and I will.”

I took a step closer to him, closing that distance between us but it wasn’t with romantic intention. “I suggest you find a way to release your kalotra from the comfort of your throne because I’m not taking a trip to Aspia. I’ve no desire to find myself locked up in your dungeon again.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you—”

“Yet you’ve done it before,” I hissed, dismissing him with the wave of my hand. “Release your kalotra and then I’ll consider listening to you.” I shoved him aside with my shoulder and made to walk past him.

“You are so much like her, it’s insane.” He sounded astonished, enough to pique my curiosity and make me turn around.

“Like who?” I asked after a long moment of silence where he just... studied me. His dark brows were drawn together as he seemed to decide whether to tell me or not.

“Your mother,” he finally said.

I stared at him, feeling like someone just dumped a bucket of icy water over me and filled my stomach with hundreds of sharp, tiny pebbles. Your mother, the words echoed through my mind. Then Anger coursed through my veins, threatening to set me on fire. I stomped over to him, hands balled into tight fists. “What the Hell did you do to her?” I spat when we were face-to-face.

Lorcán eyed me levelly. “What do you think, Velia?”

“Stop calling me that. That’s not my name.”

“Neither is Diana, is it now?” His lip curled up. “I could tell you your real name. The name your loving parents wished for you to have.”

“What did you do to them?!” I balled his tunic in my fists, stared up at him with hatred and tears in my eyes.

“Your mother bled out mere minutes after she gave birth to you.” There was a dangerous, wicked gleam in his eyes. “She didn’t have the proper anatomy, so birthing you resulted in cuts and lashes she bled out from—though slitting her throat definitely didn’t help.”

I fought off a sob, refusing to allow him to see me so vulnerable. What did he mean that I had wounded my mother?

“Your father was nothing but a beast that forced himself on a poor mortal woman. He took his pleasure from her and then left her alone with the consequences—a destroyed life and tainted honour.”

This time, I did sob. Lorcán cupped my face and forced me to look at him through the blur of tears. “Stop wishing for them to love you, darling. Your mother is gone and your father would reduce you to nothing but a whore—a breeding mare for his mattases. There is no love there, no home.” He wiped the tears away. “But I can give you what you want. I will give you that home you so deeply desire, we will bond and I will love you and keep you safe.”

“You sick bastard.” I slipped back into that ancient language from before. “Only seconds ago, you boast about murdering my mother and now you have the audacity to claim you’re my dyad, that you’ll love me, that I should trust you,” I spat every word at him like I was attacking him with a whip.

He took it, kept his eyes neatly planted on the burning silver flames in mine. “I told you I regret harming you and I meant every word. I won’t pretend that I didn’t enjoy killing her, that hearing her scream and beg for mercy—for you—didn’t settle our score.”

My rage vibrated in my bones and woke every ounce of magic in my system. Sparks of lightning travelled along my arms, to my wrists. Lorcán noticed the outpour of magic, the pure hatred on my face for him. He opened his mouth to say something else but I shut him up by violently shoving him against the wall, my fists balling the fabric of his tunic.

I growled at him, actually growled—like a beast. The sound was low and powerful. I’d never made a noise like that before but the slight discomfort that nagged at me because of it quickly withered when I saw the look on Lorcán’s face. There was fear in his eyes, because my raging emotions were getting the better of me, intertwining with his kalotra in an effort to break his hold on me.

Fear because that leash had slipped for only the slightest second.

“A pity I have no damast on me right now, or I would’ve carved that pretty face of yours clean off of your thick skull.” My voice didn’t quite sound like mine. This voice sounded sweetly vicious. Sugar to help the poison go down. But I liked the anger behind the words, the purring beast that stirred within my chest and lazily ruffled its feathers. It tethered me. Like it had done three years ago. “Next time I see you, it better be to tell me you’ve removed your kalotra.” I planted a sweet kiss on his cheek. “And if you disappoint me, I’ll show you a fury to rival Antheia’s. I’ll drag you down to Hell myself—what remains of you, that is.”

Lorcán stayed perfectly still against the wall even though I’d released him. “How about we make a little deal?” I wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of this. I doubted Lorcán’s deals were any better than Keres’. “I’ll find a way to remove my kalotra and when I do, you’ll come to me.”

I shoved him back against that wall. “How about this deal: get out of my face and stop pretending like it’s a task figuring out how to remove it. You know damn well how to do it, asshole. That’s it. You receive nothing in return. You don’t deserve anything in return.”

He let go of a breathy chuckle. “Oh, I have great patience, Velia.” His gaze burned into mine. “We’ll see what you will do.”

I wanted to scold him some more, but he disappeared, leaving me glaring at the bare wall.

* * *

The idea was insane. Truly, this was the worst idea I’d ever had and I had quite a nice collection of those. But right now, my emotions were burning and eating away at me. The havoc from my suppressed powers raged through me, probably clouding my judgement.

Yet, it could work. If he wouldn’t ignore me, that was.

I paced around the room, rubbing my face to wipe away the tears that kept escaping. I was running out of time, though I didn’t know what was going on. I only knew that everything in me ached and throbbed and my magic was pouring out, leaving me utterly drained. Lightning crackled around my arms, silver flames burned at my fingertips, the air thickened around me enough to labour my breathing. My body felt like a burning candle and my wick—my soul—was almost burned up, wax was spilling everywhere.

Praying to Zhella would probably be wiser. She wouldn’t kill me on sight and might even want to help me since she was acquainted with my guardians but kalotra was dark and nasty magic and fell under Keres’ division like everything foul and wicked did. So I fell onto the hardwood floor in front of the burning hearth in my bedroom, bruising my knees.

What was I even supposed to say? That I needed his help? That I felt like I was losing my mind? That I honest to the gods felt like I was dying? Knowing the stories about him, he’d laugh at me.

Should I grovel? Should I insult him to get his attention? He’d drag me to Hell himself if I did and I knew for a fact that both Keres and Aloïs were not two people one would want to meet in a dark alley in the middle of the night. He'd been merciful last time and hadn’t asked anything in return, but perhaps he wouldn’t like my asking for help a second time.

With a frustrated groan, I slammed my fists against the floor and prayed to him, Please help me.

Minutes passed where that raging storm inside of me swirled around and refused to settle down.

Lord Keres, please, I wouldn’t ask for help if this wasn’t important.

Five more minutes passed.

He would ignore me.

Lorcán would win.

He’d killed my mother, torn apart my family. The pain of that realisation was unbearable, resulting in more tears. There was too much pressure in my body, too much strain on my organs. For some reason, the space between my shoulder blades burned and throbbed. A strange ache crawled over my chest like I desperately needed... something. A strange craving I couldn’t place.

I was bursting at my seams and I wanted to make Lorcán pay for it—for all of it.

I was desperate to do so, desperate enough to offer Keres a deal myself. “Help me and I’ll serve you like a devoted nymph, I’ll do anything you want, fulfil your every wish. I’ll devote my entire self to you—worship you. During full moons or any other time, I don’t care. Just help me, please.” I didn’t care that I was begging, that I sounded desperate. “Let me get my revenge on him, let me avenge my family. I’ll give you anything. Please, Lord Keres.”

The fire went dead, leaving nothing but ashes in its wake and coldness seeping into my skin.

Chapter 6

Aspia, the Royal House of Odalis

1763, 23 years after the War of Ichor

Even though Aedlynn had washed her hands over and over, she still felt the stickiness of the blood. The iron scent lingered on her skin and she still saw those bright eyes of the spy, filled with terror. The pleas for mercy still haunted her.

Lorcán had watched from the side. He’d given her orders to execute, ways in which he wanted Aedlynn to hurt the spy. Hours later, when the spy had gone silent and Aedlynn looked up at Lorcán with the silent question of what he wanted now, he’d simply smiled and ordered Aedlynn to kill her. She had, though it’d all felt so horribly wrong.

And now she stood with Kaelena underneath the gentle autumn sun, staring at her while Kaelena placed a handmade flower crown on her hair. Daisies and buttercups, flowers that’d bloomed in her presence despite the season. More precious than any gold crown could ever be.

Kaelena’s wonderful smile could’ve lit up Antheia’s darkest nights.

An ache spread through her chest as she saw Kaelena like this—light and gentle. Everything that Aedlynn wasn’t. And there was soul-crushing guilt. She’d done horrible things and now she had the audacity to stand here, wearing a flower crown like she hadn’t just killed someone.

She was disgusted with herself. With Lorcán, for making her do it. With Aviod, for teaching her how to excel at killing when all she’d ever wanted as a child was to learn how to heal others.

Aedlynn must’ve been staring at her for too long because Kaelena’s smile faded. “Aedlynn?”

She swallowed. Her hands hung clenched at her sides. Kaelena brushed her thumbs over her cheeks, wiping away something wet. “Hey, it’s okay.” Kaelena’s arms banded around her to draw her closer. “It’s okay, Aedlynn.”

No, it wasn’t.

Aedlynn couldn’t stifle the tidal wave of self-loathing that washed over her, couldn’t stop herself from crumbling apart. “I killed her. He made me kill her,” she sobbed.

Aedlynn expected Kaelena to back away, to leave her behind on her own but Kaelena pulled her closer, shifting her so that her face lay buried against her chest. Shielded from the world. “I’m sorry he made you do that,” she whispered against Aedlynn’s hair.

Aedlynn clutched the fabric of Kaelena’s soft sweater, desperate to hold onto her. Kaelena was bright and sweet and warm and full of life and even though they still often teased each other, she’d grown so incredibly fond of her.

Kaelena made her feel like she was more. She reminded Aedlynn that she was still that girl that once wished to become a healer. The girl who’d cried for days on end when Aviod had dragged her into the Academy. She still didn’t know how she’d lost her conscience.

“Breathe, Aedlynn.” Kaelena’s hands rubbed Aedlynn’s back while she gently rocked her from side to side. She’d sunk through her knees, sobbing in her embrace.

Kaelena was the first one to treat her like a person. Aviod had only taken care of her because she’d been a shiny weapon to polish. And Lorcán ... she’d worshipped him for years, had put him on a pedestal like he was a god but she was beginning to realise that Lorcán only saw her as a weapon. Someone who would soon help him eradicate Eiran.

But even though they all pushed her into that black cloak to kill, hidden within the night, Aedlynn felt the barest traces of sunlight wash over her soul during the darkest hours.

Because of Kaelena.

* * *

Aedlynn couldn’t make herself look at the woman in front of her—the swollen belly. The young woman had been forced on her knees by Lorcán’s guards in his dim-lit dungeon, her arms fastened to her back with chains. Matted hair stuck to the blood that lined her face from where a guard had struck her when she’d tried to flee and almost succeeded. Because Aedlynn had turned a blind eye when her shackles miraculously snapped open.

“Please!” the woman cried. “Please, let me go!” To her left, Lorcán clicked his tongue. Waiting to see what she would do.

Tears stung Aedlynn’s eyes. She was no spy, hadn’t infiltrated the House or done anything illegal. She’d just been at the wrong place at the wrong time when Lorcán had gone out to find a toy for training.

But Aedlynn couldn’t do it.

“I gave you a clear order, little viper.” Ice crept into her veins at the menacing tone and she closed her eyes as dread filled her lungs. “I did not think you weak.”

Clutching her dagger so tightly that her knuckles whitened, Aedlynn hissed, “I am not weak for not wanting to kill a defenceless pregnant woman.”

“She’s Clastrian.”

“Like I give a fuck!” Aedlynn snapped. “She could be Eiran’s bastard for all I care, I still wouldn’t kill her!”

The look in his eyes darkened. “Aedlynn.” The way he said it, the disappointment behind it... Hearing her name like that was a whip over her face. Her cheek even stung.

Maybe it was ungrateful to refuse to do what Lorcán demanded. He’d taken her into his home. She’d been raised like a proper lady and when he’d seen her potential, he’d sent her to Aviod to develop her skills. He’d taken her into his Cadre and made her his personal assassin and guard. She should be on her damn knees to thank him, she knew that.

But this woman was barely older than Aedlynn and she was pregnant.

“I’m your king, need I remind you that your purpose is to serve my every need?”

White-hot anger exploded in her chest. “If you have such a great need to kill a pregnant woman, I suggest you do it yourself, Your Highness.” She’d barely finished speaking before Lorcán’s left hand flicked towards the woman. She let out a frail groan and Aedlynn watched in horror as blood started oozing out of every crevice. Pooling on the floor and soaking the woman’s vibrant dress.

Dead.

A mother and her child.

Dead.

Aedlynn stared, unable to move or even breathe.

Lorcán grabbed her face. “Do not defy me again, viper, or I’ll have you whipped. I do not wish to harm you but I cannot have my weapon question my orders.”

Aedlynn couldn’t tear her eyes away from the crimson that now stained the floor, rushing towards her boots. Goosebumps gathered on her skin while a loud snap echoed in her mind. And then another. Like the Fates had cut their Visases.

Lorcán turned her head to face him while his magic pulled at her and forced her down until she sat on her knees before him. His grip on her chin didn’t relent. “Understood?”

Aedlynn swallowed hard to fight the burning tears. A jasmine scent wafted through the room, calming her until her emotions ebbed away. Until she once again agreed that this position suited her—kneeling for him like the good servant she was. That she should worship him and that those traitorous thoughts of her belonged in the deepest abyss.

* * *

When Aedlynn had returned, Kaelena had pulled her into the bathroom to help her wash away the blood. She’d been too shocked with what had happened, how she’d reacted to Lorcán. When she’d finally settled, Lena had left the room because she had an assignment of her own. If Aedlynn hadn’t known any better, she would’ve believed Kaelena had felt ashamed for what she had to do.

Aedlynn could relate to that.