Page 40 of Divine Fate (Cursed Legacies #4)

39

CRYPT

Syntyche’s scythe, everything hurts.

I loathe that my muse has been left concerned in the distorted mortal realm as I retreat here for the worst of it. But as little as I care for the opinions of others, collapsing in pain in full view of the refugees gathered here would have caused a commotion that Maven shouldn’t have to deal with.

Not to mention, those pretty tears she held back the last time she saw me like this hurt almost as much as my curse. I’ll do anything to spare her more tears than I know she’ll one day shed for me.

Curling in on myself, I grimace as the pain repeatedly wracks through me. My limbs burn. My lungs can’t pull in oxygen as a sensation like millions of needles burrows inside my veins. When I can finally breathe again, it quickly turns into coughing—and up comes more blood.

It’s less severe than it was before my heart was rebound to Maven’s, but in the end, there is no help for it.

It won’t be long now before this curse of mine takes me away from her again. My guess is a week or two, or maybe days. Whatever Sachar has in mind for my afterlife sentence in the Beyond, it will be nothing in comparison to being ripped away from my obsession again.

Unless…

My darling reaps souls now. Perhaps she would not reap mine. Perhaps she would instead allow me to haunt her until the end.

Come back. Stop hiding from me when you’re in pain, Maven’s frustrated voice pleads through the bond.

If only she would ask me for anything else. I’d steal each and every one of the fucking stars from the night sky for her, if it would make up for my past actions catching up to us.

I’ll be fine, darling, I insist, sitting up in Limbo to spit more blood out of my mouth.

Liar.

I’m searching for a way to put her mind at ease when Crane frowns in the mortal world, his distorted image glancing down at the very spot where I sit. He’s almost looking me in the eye.

Hang on. Can he see me? Is this some result of his previously being inside my head?

“I almost feel as if Crypt is…” he trails off.

“Oh, thank fuck—I thought I was crazy this time,” Frost huffs, gesturing at the exact place I sit. “You feel like he’s there, right?”

Decimus nods, his hand sweeping around the vicinity where my head is. “Yeah, here-ish. Sitting.”

Gods above.

Does this mean the rest of them can sense me in Limbo now? Perhaps this is a result of our stronger bonding this time around. What a fucking nightmare—not to mention, it spoils all the fun of dropping out of Limbo to scare those three bastards.

As I stand and fight to regain the last of my breath so I can step back into the mortal world and reassure Maven, Lillian looks at the spot Decimus gestured to.

“Is he okay?”

“It’s his curse,” Decimus explains quietly.

“I thought those were broken,” she frowns, brushing a windblown strand of curly pale hair back behind her ear.

“Yeah, but Crypt’s curse is different because it’s actually more like a?—”

Fucking gods, is that lizard seriously about to just spill everything he knows about my curse again? Stepping out of Limbo, I elbow the blabbermouth hard in the gut so he shuts up and remembers that even if his curse is gone, mine deserves some privacy.

“Asshole,” he grumbles, rubbing his stomach.

“Loudmouth.” I glance at Maven, immediately transfixed by her dark gaze as something in my chest melts. “See? I’m fine enough, love.”

Her expression is utterly blank as she observes me, and then she turns to stride toward the cultists’ section of the encampment.

“We’ll catch up with you later,” she calls over her shoulder to Lillian, who will not be venturing with us into the cultist area.

Maven knows you’re not fine, Crane warns telepathically, pinning me in his ruby stare. You know how much she’s already struggling with it. Lying to her for false comfort won’t help.

Piss off, I shoot back, irritated as I fall into step behind the muse who owns every facet of my being.

If all I can give her is false comfort right now, then I’ll give it all the same.

As soon as our quintet draws nearer to the black-tent section of the encampment, there’s a clear difference in how we’re received. Where the Nether humans and Reformists cheered, clapped, and looked on in excited, curious fascination, these black-clad cultists stop what they’re doing and bow deeply to my keeper. They appear to all be legacies, and though many are older, a few of them can’t be older than Decimus.

It’s almost noon , Frost points out telepathically. Where is their psychotic leader so we can stop his sacrifice?

We turn into a new area of their encampment and pause, taking in the view. Another giant wooden stake has been constructed here. Surrounding it are more cultists who are assembling a feast of some kind—one heavily dependent on smoked meat skewers, by the looks of things. Animal carcasses are strung up to bleed out, and several other cultists are painting canvases with scenes of death and graveyards using the animal blood.

As soon as these cultists see Maven, they also bow. When another of them emerges from a big tent behind the massive wooden stake, there’s no mistaking that he must be Orlando Coates. His eyes light up with unnatural obsession as soon as he sees my muse.

The middle-aged caster with slightly graying hair immediately drops to his knees, pressing animal-blood-covered hands over his heart as he gawks at her. “Daughter of Syntyche! You are so beautiful, I could die.”

“Please do,” she mutters without missing a beat, making me grin. Her attention moves to the wooden stake. “Who are you sacrificing?”

“Only a creature that will please your dark appetite,” he promises.

He snaps his fingers at some of his nearby followers, who rush quickly into one of the tents. A moment later, they pull out a changeling. At first, it’s in its true changeling form, horns and all. It hisses and struggles against its many bindings while they drag it toward the stake.

But as it draws closer, the skin of the Nether creature rapidly morphs and ripples, changing until the changeling now resembles a blue-haired young woman who leers at my keeper.

I don’t miss that both Maven and Crane glance from the creature to a spot where no one stands and back again, almost as if they are drawing comparisons to something I cannot see. A ghost, perhaps.

My suspicion is confirmed when Crane telepathically muses, This changeling must have seen her before she died. In the Nether, perhaps.

So she was a tribute sent to Amadeus by the Frosts after all, Maven agrees.

“Veriba pateris thui da’tib!” the blue-haired falsity snarls even as it’s dragged toward the stake.

I understand none of it, but Crane speaks through the bond. That is Nether tongue. It’s saying it has a message from her ‘father.’

“Enough, enough. Take it to the stake so that its life may be a suitable offering,” Coates orders, snapping his fingers more quickly when the changeling continues to shriek.

I know how much my muse dislikes changelings, but she’s studying this one curiously. “No. Let it speak first.”

The cultists glance at their leader, who looks unsure but orders them to halt. The changeling again fixes Maven with a cold, inhuman glare that makes me fantasize about ripping each of its horns off and stuffing them down its gullet.

“Imperrat teb pateris, ut retheas ad illum, recipiet semel dedit. Cavo, mon’neth gemas, telum,” the creature hisses.

Translation, Frost demands through the bond.

Crane doesn’t hesitate as he glares at the changeling. It said, ‘Your father orders you to return to him, else he will take that which he once gifted you. Heed this warning or weep, scourge.’

This creature is threatening my muse?

“Before we kill it, let’s harvest its vocal cords as a memento of the stupidest shit we’ve ever heard,” I suggest to my quintet, already stepping toward the changeling.

The others agree immediately as Coates looks hopefully at Maven. “Indeed! Would you prefer the honor of reaping its life yourself?”

“No. We’re not killing it,” Maven adds, making me sigh wistfully. She looks at the cultists again. “Give the changeling to my matches.”

Crane gives her a curious look, speaking through the bond. What do you have in mind, ima sangfluir?

It’s not a full plan yet, but this changeling might be useful. Everett, is there somewhere in the castle where we can hold it until later?

He nods. The dungeons.

Those are cushy training rooms now, Decimus points out.

No, I turned them into dungeons again while you were a feral beast, Frost explains. Dungeons are way more useful than training rooms when the world is being conquered.

The cultists shove the tied-up changeling toward us, and Decimus holds on to the struggling creature easily as Maven turns back to Orlando Coates. I dislike the way his beady eyes are so fixated on my keeper. I hope he says something we don’t like so I can tear those eyeballs out to keep him from looking at my muse ever again.

“Then, oh great demigoddess, who shall we sacrifice to earn your approval?” Coates asks, clasping his hands together like a plea as he remains on his knees.

“No one. Stand up.” Maven looks at all the other cultists. “Everyone, get up.”

They obey at once, and Coates takes a few steps closer as his gaze remains affixed to my keeper’s beautiful face. I’m clearly not the only one his avid attention is rubbing the wrong way, because both Frost and Decimus step in front of Maven, brushing elbows so she’s hidden behind them.

“You mustn’t worry!” the cult leader says quickly. “I would never harm the demigoddess. She is a great blessing upon our world. She will guide us into a new and peaceful future!”

The other cultists cheer, many of them bowing again to revere Maven.

Although she keeps a poker face, I know my keeper is uncomfortable with all this blatant worship. She didn’t enjoy getting recognized and stared at while attending Everbound, either. Her aversion to being the center of attention is understandable, considering her adorably antisocial tendencies.

“Take the stake down,” Crane tells Coates, glaring at the wooden structure.

“Not unless the daughter of Syntyche demands it,” Coates says, bowing to Maven. “For we are here to honor her as all past demigods and demigoddesses have been honored. My dear demigoddess, I am a historian at heart. Long have I studied the histories and instances of precious and rare divinities upon the earth, such as yourself. For this purpose, we have come for your blessing and to build a suitable temple for your comfort, for I know you derive holy magic from the formal worship of mortals.”

Crane’s attention slips to Maven. Is that true?

Yes, unfortunately, she replies through the bond, still studying Coates. Though with everyone so damned invested in my return, I don’t need a fucking temple or formal anything.

“I’ll give my blessing if you leave,” she says out loud to the cultists.

The other cultists whisper in excitement. Orlando Coates straightens, clasping his blood-stained hands together once again as he supplicates her.

“We would indeed seek your blessing, but please do not send us away before we finish constructing your temple! It shall be complete by midnight. We wish to offer it to you during a grand celebration tomorrow evening. Anyone who wishes to honor you is welcome. We are already preparing a feast,” he adds, gesturing at the meat skewers slowly roasting over fire pits off to one side of the encampment.

“No thanks,” Maven makes a face.

“But—” Coates looks out of his depth before looking at the stake. “It must be because we have not honored you to Syntyche’s liking. I know she would prefer us to sacrifice someone in your honor. Phoebe!”

One of the cultists, a young woman, rushes forward to bow. “Yes, my leader?”

“Tie yourself to the stake.”

“Don’t tie yourself to the stake, Phoebe,” Maven counters, staring down the cult leader as ravens croak ominously nearby.

Meanwhile, Phoebe looks at several other cultists in wide-eyed excitement, whispering, “She knows my name!”

Surely your mother— Crane pauses that telepathic thought to shudder slightly —doesn’t truly want someone sacrificed in your honor. Right?

Maven’s answer is matter-of-fact. From what I remember of her so far, she wouldn’t not want it.

Frost is thoughtful as he considers the cultists we’re surrounded by. Several of the Reformist leaders suggested something for morale. A formal introduction of you to the troops, or a war gala of some kind. Something to take the edge off before whatever comes next.

“So what?” Decimus asks, forgetting to use the bond.

So maybe their temple celebration shit could be useful, Maven surmises, tipping her head. Kenzie did mention how hopeless things have been. And we are about to prepare to end Amadeus, once I’ve finished coming up with a decent plan to attack someone with future sight. I guess it’s just as logical to celebrate the start of a battle as it is to celebrate the end of one.

Decimus grins. So you’re saying we get to have a wild party before we launch an attack against the asshole who ripped your heart out? As long as those stupid fucking reporters aren’t invited, I’m all in, Boo.

Not to mention, it would serve as a celebration for our new bond , Crane adds.

The rest of us nod in agreement.

Maven lifts her chin as she addresses Orlando Coates. “I accept. We’ll attend the celebration, as long as you don’t sacrifice anyone or pull any weird cult shit on me.”

Coates is chuffed to bits at this news. The cult members cheer again, bowing and chattering to each other in fresh excitement. The changeling struggles against its bonds again, hissing in Decimus’s secure grip.

“Everyone! The demigoddess will now give us her blessing,” the cult leader announces.

Everyone falls silent, looking at Maven with wide eyes. She rubs one of her hands as if wishing she could adjust her gloves, and I quickly make a mental note to track some down for her once we return to the castle. She doesn’t need them around us anymore, but it’s an extra measure of protection for my muse against unwanted touch whenever we’re around others.

“Right. I hereby bless you,” Maven deadpans, waving one hand in a big arc.

It’s apparent to everyone here that her gesture did nothing. Decimus barely holds back a snort of laughter. I’m no better, fighting my amusement as Frost shakes his head. Crane keeps a straight face, but gives our keeper a side eye.

“Oh, no, my dear demigoddess,” Coates says, moving just in front of her and getting on his knees again. “A proper blessing may only be completed by you laying your hand upon our heads.”

Just like that, all my amusement is gone.

“She’s not fucking touching you,” I say darkly, giving this caster his only warning.

“It’s fine,” Maven mutters, again going to adjust gloves that aren’t there before she clears her throat.

Decimus growls quietly, and I grit my teeth as she lays her hand on Coates’ head. Again, she makes her face unreadable—and again, I know my muse is hiding her discomfort. I can’t fucking stand her being anything but sated, content, and safely away from the unfamiliar touch of anyone outside our quintet.

Orlando Coates’ eyes widen and quickly fill with tears the instant Maven’s touches his head. She jerks her hand away, obviously creeped out by his show of emotion, but the cult leader bows to her again.

“Such peace. Thank you, Daughter of Syntyche. Thank you!” he sobs.

I suppose it comes as no surprise that a cult leader is full of shit, Crane huffs telepathically.

I tip my head, recalling what she did to me before she broke me out of Syntyche’s punishment. He’s telling the truth. Our girl can spread peace through her mere touch now. One of her new abilities, I believe—and it feels almost more incredible than every other touch she gives.

I did notice something like that, Frost frowns.

Maven looks at her own bare hand, studying it curiously. My mother said something about me bringing pain and peace. If I can create peace just by a touch, it must be the same with pain—maybe that’s how I got Baelfire to shift out of dragon form so easily. Kenzie, too.

That’s exactly what happened, Decimus agrees. My dragon’s a scared little bitch when it comes to pain.

Curious as a cat, Crane moves between Maven and Coates and tips his head down. “Tha mi a’faire pacem.”

I don’t speak a word of fae, but he’s clearly asking to experience Maven’s touch next. She says something back to him in fae. When she touches his cheek affectionately, tension flees Crane’s entire body. Emotion floods his face, and he exhales sharply before pulling her close, burying his face in her neck so no one will see him in such a vulnerable state.

I don’t bother teasing him about it, and neither do the others. The lot of us have rarely, if ever, experienced peace like the kind my stunning muse now wields with a mere brush of her hand.

The cultists are buzzing with excitement as they begin lining up, prepared to see what has their leader still openly weeping. I’m not keen on the idea of Maven touching any of them, but I also know her well enough to understand that if I protest, she’ll hand me my ass along with a reminder that she’s in full control of her autonomy.

Crane finally straightens, not meeting anyone’s eye as he rejoins the rest of our quintet. Before more of the blessings begin, Maven glances at Frost.

“If we’re going to have a celebration of sorts tomorrow, we should invite the other Reformist leaders. You mentioned something about them being here at Everbound, right?”

“Most of them are here, actually,” he says, rubbing his neck. “They started to rally to this safe haven while you were recovering from getting your heart back. The Decimuses are the last to join us. Brigid said they’d be here tomorrow morning for a war room meeting.”

“Really?” Decimus perks up.

Maven smiles. “Good. Then get that changeling somewhere it won’t escape. I already have an idea of how it will come in handy, but I may be here a while.”

***

It took until nearly nightfall for Maven to briefly touch the heads of each of those obsessive, reverent cult members. She missed dinner to get it over with, which made Decimus incredibly sulky. By the time it was all done, I was nearly suffocating with the overwhelming newlybound urge to have my muse in bed again, safe and sound and stuffed with cock until she wept with pleasure.

Which is precisely what happened.

Now, most of my quintet snoozes peacefully on the quintet-sized bed in our apartment—except for Crane, who’s meddling with some potion in the kitchen.

Maven sleeps deeply and peacefully beside me, as irresistible as ever as her restful body draws me like the most captivated moth to the most beautifully twisted flame. The memory of her whispered admission of love is enough to make my heart bang about my chest in giddy chaos.

In life or death or in between, you’re all mine.

She has no idea what words that pretty do to an already-rampant obsession like mine. I would blissfully fall under her spell for the rest of time, were it an option for us. Dreaming of and with her for eternity is a luxury I would do anything to experience.

Technically, I could sleep now, if I wanted to. When Maven made herself my muse, it granted me the ability to rest whenever she does. I can now open my psyche to hers and bask in her subconscious as she experiences my own. They say for incubi, it’s an unparalleled pleasure.

But I was trapped in a nightmarish, sleep-like hell for three months. Not to mention, no matter what kind of permanent future I crave at her side, I only have so many moments remaining in this plane of existence.

Therefore, I’ll be staying in the mortal realm to hold Maven as much as I can get away with, until the end finds me.

Gently running my hand over Maven’s naked body, I relish the soft, smooth feel of her bare back as her head rests on the pillow beside mine. My beautiful dreamer needed no help from me to fall asleep tonight. Although blessing all those people didn’t seem to affect her, she must still be recovering from the spell that sealed her heart back inside her lovely chest.

My quiet adoration of the woman I love is interrupted when I sense a nightmare unfurling quickly nearby. Even though I’m in the mortal realm, I can sense the acrid heaviness of it. The cold, heart-rending fury.

I’ve sensed this same dream before. Frost used to get it almost every night, after the battle. At the time, I was too numbed and empty to do a thing about it if I ever came across it—instead, I carried on with my murderous plight.

But knowing he’s reliving the moment he lost her, all over again…

With a quiet sigh, I kiss Maven’s forehead and allow myself to fall back into Limbo, allowing her to go on resting comfortably on the bed. Turning, I grasp the tendrils of the raging nightmare beside us and delve into Frost’s nightmare.

He’s holding her as the world plunges into ice and snow. Nearby, Crane is going mad. I’m somewhere in this recollection, and royal blue flames are quickly eating up the battlefield in the distance as Decimus goes feral.

I know this is just a dream of a memory, but I still can’t bring myself to look at Maven’s motionless body again. I recall that moment all too clearly—returning with the head of the one who hurt Frost, only to find her hauntingly beautiful eyes left open as she stared lifelessly at the turbulent sky.

This horrific memory haunted me, too, inside of Syntyche’s punishment.

Frost’s agony is making this dream tremble as he tries to wake himself. His subconscious is doused in the grief and helpless despair I saw in him every day after she was gone. Deciding to be done with it, I ignore the pain in my limbs and the clenching in my lungs as I twist his dream, reframing and re-weaving it.

Finally, Frost is left blinking as he finds us back in the small cabin where he first bonded with our keeper, back when our quintet was on the run.

“Feels like an eternity since we were really here,” I note, flicking one of the branches of the small tree we’d brought inside for Maven’s first Starfall Eve.

I can tell he’s caught up to his new surroundings when he sighs hoarsely, rubbing his scarred face. “Fuck. Thanks.”

I could leave, but then again…I owe him something.

Getting around to it is more difficult than I thought, so I end up sniffing the air and frowning. “You must have a strong memory because your dreams are oddly crisp. Fresh as a mint.”

Frost shoots me a look. “I didn’t ask. Now, are you going to say whatever shit you’re sticking around in my head to say, or what?”

He’s right. Better to get this over with.

I look him in the eye. “If you hadn’t sent me on errant missions to fill my time, I would have made it to the Beyond far sooner to look for her there. So, th…” I trail off and sigh, trying again. “You have my th…”

Frost rolls his eyes. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

“Let’s just call it even,” I finally decide.

“Even?”

"You once broke Maven’s heart in a woefully misguided attempt to protect her. However, you’re also the reason I get a bit more time with her. So we’ll call things even, and I’ll retire the idea of slowly driving you mad in your dreams for the next few decades.”

He stares at me. “You were planning on driving me insane?”

“Of course. You hurt her,” I shrug.

Next thing I know, I’ve been kicked out of Frost’s subconscious as he finally rouses himself back into the mortal realm, looking around frantically. When he sees Maven now cuddled up against Decimus, he exhales with relief.

“Fucking incubus,” he mutters, glaring at the exact spot where I’m sitting on the bed in Limbo.

How annoying that the others can tell precisely where I am now.

Crane slips into the room, his attention also going to where I sit in Limbo. “I have something for your curse that may help temporarily.”

Curious, I appear back in the mortal realm. Immediately, pain rips through my body. I choke, swallowing blood back down as my markings light up, searing my skin. When it finally stops, I can feel the familiar, strange coldness on my right arm as I’ve felt other places. One quick glance confirms that another one of my markings has vanished entirely.

Ignoring the lingering pain, I look at Crane. “Only reverium soothes it.”

Crane nods, stepping forward to hold out a syringe full of strange gray liquid. “I know. I took what you had left in your jacket. Just trust me and inject this intravenously.”

“A Crane, helping me freely?” I scoff. “When has that ever happened before?”

His expression turns almost sad before he shakes his head. “Never, but I can’t excuse my family. Just take the damn injection, Crypt. It will help.”

“Yes or no. Is this about appeasing your misplaced guilt after whatever you saw in my past?”

The fae who cannot fib easily deflects. “This will give Maven peace of mind. If you won't take it as my apology for blaming you for my family's demise all my life, then take it for the woman we're eternally bound to, you prick."

I glance at Maven, who looks as fucking amazing as ever as she rests peacefully.

She hates seeing me in pain.

With a sigh, I take the syringe from Crane and jam the damn thing into my arm.