Page 43 of Divine Fate (Cursed Legacies #4)

42

MAVEN

“You know why you’re here,” I tell the Reformists. “I’m not going to waste your time or lie to you. I came back to reunite with my quintet, but now it’s time to end Amadeus and remove his hold over the Nether.”

Reformists exchange whispered murmurs.

I go on. “You’re here because you want to help defend the mortal world. I’m not asking for anything more than that. Instead of just defending yourselves, we’ll launch an attack into the bounds of what used to be the Nether. It will be as bloody and death-filled as any other battle you’ve seen, but no worse than the future of the mortal world will be if we don’t stop Amadeus’s advances. And after everything this plane of existence has been through, it deserves peace.”

“Hasn’t the mortal world gone through so much because of you?” one of the legacies sitting near Amelia Lykoudis points out.

Baelfire growls quietly, as irritated as I’m sure the rest of my quintet is by that statement.

“Yeah—the reason we have to make a stand against the Entity at all is because you’re his scourge!” another one scoffs, shaking their head at me.

The blue-haired girl ghost flips them off, but I can’t help snorting. Their claim is fucking ironic now that I know I was literally designed to fix the problem they’re blaming me for.

“She thinks being the cause of all our problems is funny,” Amelia Lykoudis scowls.

“The cause of all your problems?” I repeat. I take a step forward to make this point loud and clear, looking at all the faces in this room. “Does anyone here seriously believe all the problems with legacies and humans started with me, a twenty-three-year-old you never even heard of until six months ago? Did you approve of the way the Legacy Council and Immortal Quintet ran things, treating legacies like second-class citizens who didn’t deserve a place in this world unless they were willing to lay down their lives at the Divide the second they graduated?”

A lot of the Reformists are shaking their head, proving my point. Even the legacies sitting near Amelia frown, paying more attention.

Amelia folds her arms, looking away. “You could at least apologize.”

“You could choke on a bag of dicks,” Baelfire grumbles, earning snickers from nearby legacies.

I shrug one shoulder, still addressing the room and not her directly. “Blame me for the Upheaval all you want, but this world was a shitstorm well before I came along. Humans in the Nether deserved a shot at freedom, so I took that shot, and I would take it again. I won’t apologize for something I’m not sorry for. I’m only here to find out who’s joining the final attack on the Nether, and who’s out. This meeting is happening because this is where the cowards need to leave us. Trust me, there’s a big difference between fighting off fiends that stray into the mortal realm and trespassing in the realm of the Undead.”

Reformists exchange glances. Some look uncomfortable, but no one leaves. Even Amelia Lykoudis shuts her mouth and acquiesces.

“Came back from where?” Ross pipes up from where he fidgets in his seat.

“What?”

“You said you came back to reunite with your quintet. If I may ask, my lady, where exactly did you come back from? Was it the Beyond, or…?”

He clearly suspects where I was. Dozens of curious eyes turn back to me.

“Doesn’t matter,” I decide, adjusting my gloves. I’m extremely ready to be done with all this attention and the stupid fucking pounding of my heart.

“Pretty sure it does,” Harlow Carter disagrees loudly. “Some people are still wondering if you’re a demon like those suits in the elite safe haven claimed you are—before you slaughtered all of them. Kinda like a demon would. I mean, how are we supposed to follow you into battle if we don’t even know where you were for the last six months while the world went to shit?”

Pot stirrer.

“Fine. I came back from Paradise,” I admit before quickly turning to take my seat beside Everett again.

Reformists gasp and chatter about that, exchanging newfound shock. Even Brigid Decimus’s eyebrows bounce up before she looks at Baelfire for confirmation. He nods before taking my hand and whispering that I did great. Everett is scowling at the room like he wants to freeze everyone who was doubting me. Crypt stomps out his cigarette as he looks equally irritated.

Meanwhile, Silas is deep in thought as he examines the present ghosts and the legacies as if he’s still scheming something.

Legacies ask questions in quick succession, some standing in their excitement.

“What was Paradise like? Did you meet the gods?”

“How is it possible for you to ascend and then come back? Isn’t that permanent?”

“How can you prove that you’re a demigoddess?”

There are plenty more questions, but I’m distracted when I notice Monica looking sick in her seat on the edge of the room. When more of the legacies stand, talking over each other at me as reactions in the room continue to mount, Monica passes out. One of her quintet members quickly pulls the empath onto his lap, scowling at the rest of the overexcited Reformists like he blames them.

I’ve seen something like that before.

When I was fifteen years old, Amadeus brought me and the few remaining other contenders for becoming his telum into his private balcony overlooking his arena outside the citadel. He said all his subjects were to observe a special treat. The necromancers dragged a scrawny incubus with shredded wings and a cut-off tail into the arena as the monsters of Amadeus’s court watched on.

Dagon was there, too. He excitedly explained that this incubus had turned out to be an empath—a rare mutation occurring in monsters, legacies, and manifested casters that the Undead absolutely loved to use for their version of amusement.

We were made to watch as other creatures were tortured near the incubus, who suffered all of their pain without a single blow falling on him. Everyone there thought it was fascinating and laughable, even some of the other kids I sat beside. Only Gideon seemed as bothered as I was by the display.

Eventually, the incubus passed out, paralyzed from the sheer magnitude of the emotions he felt from everyone he was exposed to. Dagon called it an empathic overload. Amadeus was very pleased when the incubus didn’t survive it.

“Hellion?” Baelfire whispers, kissing my temple.

I’m in his lap. When did that happen?

With a start, I realize I disassociated at some point while I spaced out thinking about my past life in the Nether. Now, Brigid Decimus has called the room back to order. Reformist leaders are giving detailed reports of the combat zones they’re in charge of, though some of them are still glancing at me curiously. It’s obvious that their unanswered questions will come up again the second they get another chance.

Monica is awake again, looking much better as she listens to the reporting. I don’t know her well, but I can’t fucking imagine what a nightmare it must be to constantly experience so many emotions at once. It’s bad enough having so many of my own emotions, let alone other people’s.

Thinking about empaths reminds me of Everett’s sister, Heidi. The one who was cast out into the reaches of the Nether by her own cruel family. Everett is still probably mourning her in secret.

I glance at my elemental and realize he was already staring at me with concern.

Are you okay? he checks, anxious. You zoned out. Were you remembering something in Paradise?

Not exactly. I’m fine, I reassure them.

Just a few more minutes of this, ima sangfluir, and we’ll leave before anyone here can bother you again, Silas promises through the bond. You missed that every single Reformist leader pledged their aid during the attack on the Nether .

Good.

Then, after we celebrate with the cultists at the temple tonight, I’ll polish my plan.

***

This was a terrible idea , Everett broods through the bond.

Dreadful, Crypt agrees. Just have her take down the dreamcatchers, love. You’ll barely notice I’m in there.

Or just come back to our apartment, Baelfire chips in. We’ll help you get ready.

I quietly roll my eyes at them as Kenzie curls another section of my hair. We’re in the attached bathroom of the dorm room we used to share what feels like an eternity ago. As soon as the newly pregnant lioness shifter caught wind of a celebration later, she practically dragged me out of the Reformist meeting as it started to wind down so we could get ready together.

I was on board because it means I won’t get pulled into unwanted conversations after the meeting, but also because I’ve missed my lioness shifter.

According to Kenzie, we’re going to treat this “creepy weirdo cult party” like a replacement for the time she couldn’t get ready with me for the Matched Ball months ago. She’s so excited she’s practically bouncing as she curls another section of my hair and blasts music I don’t recognize from her phone resting on the bathroom counter.

I can’t get ready there, I pointedly tell my quintet through the bond.

Why not? Everett demands.

Because you’re all much better at getting me out of clothes than into them.

Our keeper is right, Silas muses. We’d fuck her seven ways to the Beyond and bring her to the celebration with cum dripping between her thighs to remind everyone who we belong to.

That vivid image makes my heart pound wildly as the other three vehemently agree. I temporarily shut out my quintet for now since A, I’m here to spend time with Kenzie, and B, she’s a shifter who might sniff out when I’m getting too turned on by my telepathic conversation.

“My parents wouldn’t stop gushing about you during the Reformist meeting,” Kenzie tells me as she adjusts one of my curls. “I mean, obviously they’ve heard a lot about you from me, but they were just so thrilled to finally see the daughter of Pietro Amato himself—and Syncytche,” she adds. “But I mean…mostly Pietro. I’m honestly surprised more people don’t know he was your dad.”

“I don’t advertise it.”

My birth father made his mark on the world in a big way and helped a lot of people. I don’t see why I need to add an asterisk to his memory that he also had a daughter with a goddess and she turned out to be the telum . Being associated with me might taint how fondly people remember Amato.

Ready for a topic change, especially because I can sense my guys trying to get through the barrier keeping them from communicating inside my head, I glance at Kenzie. “So…pregnant.”

“Yeah. I’ll start bloating like a fresh corpse soon,” she sniffs.

“Actually, corpses bloat when they’re not fresh. Around the three to five day mark.”

She sighs. “May. I’m lamenting the temporary future loss of my spectacular physique. Now is not the time to remind me of how thoroughly traumatized you are, you poor, short reaper baby.”

I’m average-sized, not short. I also don’t see how that statement of fact was indicative of my past trauma, but I grin at her anyway. “We both know you’re going to look adorable as a pregnant lady.”

Kenzie looks at me hopefully, pouting out her lower lip. “We do?”

“Absolutely. Your quintet won’t be able to keep their hands off you.”

“Well, sure, but when do they ever…”

“And you can buy all those cute maternity clothes you used to point out when you took me shopping.”

She makes a face. “I mean, if the world goes back to normal and stores reopen before the baby comes, I guess…”

“If they don’t, I’ll ask Crypt to steal all the cute baby clothes you need.”

Kenzie bursts into tears again.

“This is just so fucking nice! Oh my gods, May, you’d steal baby clothes for me? Gods, I missed you so damn much,” she sniffles, wiping her face. “Ugh, I hate crying all the damn time. Good thing I didn’t do my makeup yet—but we do need to start on yours because your hair’s all done and you’re going to look so fucking stunning. I have a few dresses you could borrow. If they’re too long, I’ll cut off the hems. Thank gods the winter is finally ending so we won’t have to cover up how sexy we are with jackets and shit. I’m going to make you look amazing—not that it’s difficult,” she adds, still half-crying as she finally unplugs the curling iron.

I forget to monitor my expression as I watch her blow her nose and wipe her leaking eyes. When Kenzie catches me looking, she bursts into laughter.

“Oh, my gods. Your face! Don’t worry, May, I’m sure you’ll be much more level-headed when you get knocked up.”

I look into the mirror, studying the way my hair has been curled. Maybe I’ll remember how to do this again later, if I ever decide to dress up for my quintet on my own. Kenzie is like family to me, so it’s better to let her know now.

I may not be a revenant anymore, and I have my heart back, but that doesn’t reverse what my body went through in the past. All that experimentation took a toll. They were thorough and extremely practical about turning me into the perfect weapon.

I can still hear Dagon’s chilling voice as he cut me open years ago. “You will become a perfect weapon. My masterpiece. But masterpieces do not bleed.”

Shaking off the dark memory, I clear my throat.

“Actually, I can’t have kids.”

“Oh.” Then Kenzie’s bright blue eyes get wider, and she puts both hands on her cheeks. “Oh, right . It’s because you’re a demigoddess, right? I heard that it’s extremely difficult for gods to have children with humans, which is why there haven’t been many demigods or demigoddesses throughout history. That makes you kind of a miracle, but that would probably make it extra hard for you to?—”

“I’m sterile,” I clarify. “It happened when necromancers were experimenting on me in the Nether. My quintet already knows.”

Kenzie starts to fight back tears.

Oh, gods.

“I don’t think I’m the kid-having type,” I add quickly, trying to get ahead of the rainstorm.

“Ugh, Monk, that is so not the point,” she huffs, leading me out of the bathroom so she can rummage through the few dress bags she brought from her quintet’s temporary living space. “I just forgot for a second all the shit you went through. It’s one thing to choose not to have kids and another thing if someone else took the choice away from you completely. Stupid motherfucking necromancers,” she snarls, throwing one of the dress bags at a wall.

I hear snarling, Crypt’s alarmed voice finally breaks through into my head. Gods above, is that psychotic, hormonal pregnant woman attacking you?

I’m not even going to comment on the irony of you calling someone else psychotic.

You beat me to it by barely a second, Boo , Baelfire laughs. But seriously, Kenzie sounds pissed. You okay?

I’m fine.

We’re not fine, Everett groans. You always look gorgeous, Snowdrop. Just come outside.

Hang on. You’re not all just waiting around out there in the hallway, are you?

Would you rather this, or us ripping each other apart in the apartment? Silas asks. Because we’re the furthest thing from good company for each other whenever you’re away.

Gods. They’re ridiculous.

I’m fighting a smile as I focus on Kenzie again, deciding to change the topic since this upset her so much. “Which dress are you wearing?”

“I don’t have ‘momnesia’ yet, so don’t think that conversation is one-and-done. We’re coming back to it another time,” she huffs in warning before her entire face brightens, and she holds up the first dress she’s pulled out. “This one is mine. What do you think?”

“I think someone stole the rest of the dress.”

“Nope. That’s all of it,” she bounces her eyebrows. “Look, I have to show off while I still can, before I turn into a total fucking blimp and the best curve on my body is my baby bump.”

I laugh at her melodrama. “For the last time, you’re going to keep looking gorgeous.”

“Thanks,” she sighs. “Logically, I know I’ll be fine, but gods, I don’t know how my vanity is going to survive this pregnancy. Not to mention, my dignity. Did you know some women shit themselves when they give birth? They shit themselves, May. Ugh! My quintet will never look at me the same again.”

“The baby will probably be cute,” I try, not used to this whole optimistic shtick.

“ Probably? ” Kenzie practically shrieks, gesturing wildly at her face to make her point.

“Definitely,” I amend quickly. “The cutest baby ever.”

Did she just yell at you? Baelfire growls through the bond. I heard a raised voice.

Maybe you should break the door down again, Silas deadpans.

Do it, Everett says, taking that suggestion completely seriously.

Oh my fucking gods.

You four need a hobby.

I have a hobby , Crypt sighs wistfully. But I can’t enjoy it properly with those damned dreamcatchers up.

Stalking doesn’t count as a hobby, Everett grouches.

Our keeper would disagree. Wouldn’t you, darling?

All right. That’s it.

I’m not letting my quintet pout around in a hallway, I tell them firmly through the bond. Get your sexy asses dressed, go to the cultist celebration, and wait for me there. Kenzie and I are running late, anyway.

To say they’re uhappy with this arrangement is an understatement, but I block out their protests so I can help Kenzie pick out a pair of shoes. Soon, she’s dressed in the glittery, strappy, short dress with multiple cutouts to show off her back, stomach, and her quintet emblems on one tricep.

When she does a twirl, I smile. “You’re the most inappropriately stunning and stunningly inappropriate pregnant lioness shifter I’ve ever seen.”

She claps and unzips two more dress bags. “Okay! So, I had this little black number. Very elegant, but also very safe. Then there’s this red one. I think you’d look stunning in red, but it is a little bit long…”

She continues chatting about the dresses, but I’m struck with an abrupt pang of missing my guys already, now that they’re not all nagging me. Realizing that I have an entire party to get through before I can be alone with my guys again…

Gut me with a fucking spoon.

Being around people I don’t know is exhausting. Still, I’m sure the bizarrely worshipful cultists will be fine with me showing up briefly. We can just be there for a little bit. Or better yet, if I could find an excuse to leave the celebration early…

I glance at the other unopened bags.

“Do you have something that will drive my quintet insane?”

Kenzie beams. “I love the way your sadistic little mind works, monk. I did bring something a bit more scandalous that could fit you.”

She unzips another bag and holds up the gown. “I wasn’t sure about it, since I know you usually avoid anything too low-cut.”

I shake my head, studying it. “It’s perfect.”

Several minutes later, once makeup has been brushed on, we both stand in front of the bathroom mirror for a final check.

I take in her reflection. “Someone should warn your quintet. You look dangerously good.”

“Thank you,” she gushes. “You look like some divine, otherworldly being who’s about to lure her quintet to bed and devour their souls.”

Aww.