Page 85 of Evermore

Archer studied me for a moment, then nodded. “That’s my burden to bear.”

I pushed from the wall and clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll let it go then.”

Those words were fire in my soul. An acceptance of my own demise, really. Perhaps the Fates would see him on the throne one day, but it likely wouldn’t have a thing to do with me. If I’d learned anything from Paesha, it was when to push and when to accept defeat. Out of respect for a mourning man, a man that’d been my friend not that long ago, I walked away, nearly colliding with Aeris at the bottom of the stairs. She looked different, younger, likely playing a game the mortals knew nothing of, but I brushed past without acknowledging her. My mind was made up.

The Fates had given their price, but I couldn’t wait for Archer to naturally choose a destiny he seemed determined to reject. Paesha needed me now. There was only one path left. I had to give Alastor what he wanted. The Forgotten beckoned, and I would answer its call. For her. Always for her.

As I walked away, I thought of my own promised future, of Ezra’s threat. She would betray me. Perhaps that was my eternity to bear.

28

Paesha

The Vale had changed in the days since my captivity. Or perhaps I had changed. The shadows that once seemed so ominous now held no power over me, they were merely cousins to the darkness that lived atop my skin. I let my fingers trail along the vendor stalls as I walked, leaving whispers of power in my wake. Each touch sent tiny sparks of magic through the trinkets and treasures, making them hum with potential as I marked them.

The black market that had once bustled with life now stood nearly empty, most stalls abandoned, their wares growing dust. But some remained. The desperate ones. The hungry ones. They watched me with wary eyes as I passed, these dealers in secrets and stolen goods. I knew their type. I’d been one of them once, before I learned to steal from gods instead of mortals.

Show them, Sylvie purred in my mind.Show them what we’ve become.

My Remnants responded to her voice, swirling around my feet like living smoke, turning the already dim lighting of the underground into something more sinister. They were mine now, not Alastor’s. Mine to command, mine to unleash. The door to my room had never been locked, the true prison hadbeen in my mind, and Sylvie was showing me how to break those chains.

I paused at a stall that still bore the markings of the Silk trades, fine fabrics and delicate jewelry that would have cost a Salt’s life’s wages for most. The merchant, a weathered woman with calculating eyes, tensed as I lifted a strand of pearls.

“Beautiful. Did you steal these yourself, or do you work for others?”

She didn’t answer.

“I used to do both,” I continued, letting the necklace slip through my fingers. “But there’s no real challenge in it anymore. Don’t you see? You were so busy watching the pearls, you never saw the rubies I collected.” I dropped the jewels on her table. “Do better, love.”

The whispers followed me as I moved on, rumors and speculation spreading like wildfire through the remaining vendors. Let them talk. Let them wonder what I’d become. What I could do to their fragile resolve.

A figure in dark, familiar robes stood motionless at the intersection of two corridors, his broad shoulders and imposing height marking him as someone not to be reckoned with. Even without seeing his face, I knew who he was. Themis. The God of Justice. The one who’d bound the Cimmerians to the prince’s will. The same prince whose heart I’d pierced with my blade. I forgot how much he screamed. But I remembered how much he bled.

I smiled as I passed Themis, letting my power brush against his. Let him know that justice meant nothing to someone who’d been wronged by gods. He was silent, hidden beneath the shadows of his cloak, but I felt his gaze follow me down the corridor.

The few remaining merchants drew back as I approached Alastor’s office, some actually scrambling to pack their waresand flee. No knocking, no hesitation, I simply opened the door and walked in.

To my surprise, and utter annoyance, Thorne stood by the desk, his broad shoulders tense as he turned to face me. No Alastor in sight. Dammit.

Gods, he was beautiful. It wasn’t fair that someone could break hearts so easily while looking like salvation. He was massive, filling the space with his presence in a way that had nothing to do with physical size and everything to do with the power that radiated from him. Those hazel eyes locked on to mine, and for a moment, just a moment, I remembered how it felt to drown in that gaze.

“Paesha,” he breathed, taking a step forward. His eyes widened slightly as he took in my appearance, the way the Remnants rippled around me, the sharp edge to my smile, no doubt.

“Do you remember the snow?” I asked, trailing my fingers along Alastor’s desk. “How it never melts when gods dream?”

Pain flashed across his beautiful face. “You’re not well.”

“I’ve never been better.” I moved closer, letting him see the shadows that danced in my wake. “I understand everything now. All the pieces are finally clear.”

“Let me help you.”

I wondered if anyone else had noticed how broken he’d become. How hollow his cheeks were.

“Whatever Alastor’s done?—”

I stepped back. “Like you helped me in the garden? Like you helped me on the stage? Which version of help should I trust, Reverius?”

He flinched at the use of his true name. “I never meant?—”