Page 19
Saeran
Gyro calls out to him in her sleep, small storms circling her. He’s the only one who can soothe her when she’s like this. He’ll never be here to comfort her again. Or me. Nightmares come for us both.
Sitting at the same table as Deacon, with Gluttony’s warmth right behind me, is agony that I could never have prepared for. Of all the outcomes I spent years working toward, this isn’t one of them. Reuniting with my very soul has never been an option, even at my worst, when my entire being ached for him, and the pain crippled me. More manageable now, never gone.
Being this close to him, his scent lingering in the air from our proximity, doesn’t mean that it’s suddenly an option. This is all a creative kind of torture.
“Let’s say we believe you,” Lust says, dragging my attention back to him. “Deacon is your long-lost brother, making him a Fae prince. I highly doubt that you’re here for a family reunion, or you would have approached him years ago. So what brought you out of hiding?”
“I didn’t know who Deacon was until he came in contact with you.” I’ve been able to work it out during some of his past reincarnations, but it’s never as easy as seeing him across a street and knowing immediately. It’s only when I actively look that I find them, and there were generations where I didn’t, because I was so fucking tired of watching them live and then die, over and over again in a recurring nightmare. “When you… connected, it had a ripple effect.”
What they unleashed is nothing compared to what Gluttony and I will if I continue letting him touch me. It wouldn’t take much for our souls to become one again. None of us can afford what would happen then.
“My question still stands,” Lust says. The way he leans forward and moves his arm in front of Deacon, stretching across the table, isn’t subtle in the least. No matter what he thinks, I am the last thing from a threat to him. I would never harm him. Having him die in my arms is more than enough trauma for me. I don’t need to kill him to torment myself further. Whatever happens next, I’ve never wanted anything more than for them to be safe.
“You’re the one who brought me here. I can leave whenever I want,” I lie. “I’m staying because I want to help.”
“Is that all? Because I don’t think so. You want something with Gluttony; every time you look at him, or he moves closer to you, your desire spikes. It fills the room.”
Gluttony’s hand tightens on my shoulder, and it takes thousands of years of honing a discipline that’s ingrained now to not turn and look at him.
My heart clenches before fracturing as I say, “Gluttony has nothing to do with this. He isn’t my concern.”
Lust’s golden gaze flits up and then back to me. “And what is your concern? Deacon?”
Gluttony retreats from me, physically and mentally, and everything goes cold, my life sucked out in a single moment until there’s nothing left but a bottomless pit.
I can’t let it affect me. This is more important than a dream I let go of a long time ago. It has to be because I don’t know how else to live, not anymore.
If it were only my soul at risk, I’d have given it up already. My life is meaningless without him.
“I’m here to protect what I have left.”
“Protect it from what, exactly?” Gluttony asks. He drops into the seat beside me, still too close for comfort. He’s pushing me, seeing where the boundaries are and deliberately stepping right over them. Looking at him is hard. All I want to do is fall into his arms and take everything he’d offer me. What he’s already offering me even if he doesn’t understand it.
“The order that Conor works with? His discovery of his latent abilities, and what he really is, means they’re on both our doorsteps. They don’t know what he is, not completely”—at least I hope not; none of my intel says they’re aware of the shroud or what’s on the other side—“but that only makes them search harder for answers.” And those answers lead to what’s left of my court. I can’t allow that to happen. I never meant to come here for help, but now that we’re at this point, it would be stupid of me not to extend some kind of tentative branch, no matter what Tiernan, Diarmuid, and Riordan think.
“What makes you think we care?” Gluttony drawls. He stretches out, his foot resting against my ankle. “We’re stronger than you; we can handle it.”
“Can you? You’re at half strength because of them.” They were able to trap every single one of the Sins and some of their demons. Without Deacon sweeping in with Lazarus, I would have been forced to intervene. I should have. Maybe we wouldn’t be in this mess now if I hadn’t kept my distance and simply observed all this time.
“They caught us unawares. They won’t be doing that again.”
Brash confidence won’t save them here. “They call themselves Virtus. They’re a religious order that think sin should be purged. You can imagine how they feel about you. They believe that you upset the natural order, and their goal is to eradicate you. They were founded in—”
“We know who they are,” Lust interrupts, “and when they were founded.”
“We’ve had run-ins with them before, of varying degrees,” Gluttony adds. “They’re rats, scurrying in the sewer, thinking that their little rebellions are subtle. We know their symbols and their patterns.”
“Not anymore you don’t.” Having Conor with them has changed everything. They aren’t the same as they were when they first erupted over the planet like a plague. “You don’t know anything about them or the power they’ve amassed.” Even I didn’t realize until recently. They’ve concealed themselves well, the same way we’ve been all these years. The Sins’ arrogance has blinded them to a lot of things that are all coming to fruition now.
Another failure of mine. Thinking that if I kept to the shadows, kept us separate, that everyone I love would be safe. My focus has always been watching for Light Fae, in case they find out some of us survived and come hunting. Waiting for the chance when we would be strong again, strong enough to fight back. To start the war that would take us home. Having another entity in that struggle never entered my mind as a possibility.
Lust moves his arm to circle Deacon, tugging him close. Deacon is quiet, watching me like he can figure out who I am, what I’m thinking, if he only stares hard enough. The brother I knew would never have kept his mouth shut this long, far more inclined to loud outbursts to get attention. Lust always gave it to him. I doubt anything has changed.
“Why don’t you enlighten us, then?” the Demigod of Desire suggests.
“They already took some of you.” That should be enough for them to at least consider the idea they’re a dangerous threat. They kidnapped them and have managed to evade discovery even while being hunted.
“We’re getting them back,” he replies flippantly.
Anyone who doesn’t know Lust may be fooled, but he forgets that I do know him. I was there when he fell in love with his soul, and when he fell in battle. He was family once. He may look at me like a stranger, but I can still read him.
He’s worried. They all are.
So am I.
“Are you saying Conor is, what, leading them?” Deacon asks, grimacing with his lower lip stuck between his teeth. “I don’t understand. Why?”
I wish I knew the answer to that. Even if he’s one of us, just like Deacon, he doesn’t have the memories that go with that. His experiences as “Conor” will shape who he is now. I haven’t managed to find them all each generation, but when I do, there are differences in who they are. They’ll never fully be the people that I remember. I can’t ever get that back. And Conor may already be lost to us in this iteration.
“I didn’t find either of you until after he was deeply involved with them. He didn’t discover that he was Fae at all until Wrath killed him. He’s been… elusive since then.” That’s one way to put it. He disappeared from one moment to the next. I thought that was it for him until the next reincarnation. Death has never triggered their change. In fact, nothing ever has. Why it did now likely has everything to do with Wrath striking the final blow. Not something I’d ever considered as a possibility. The Wrath I knew wasn’t like that. His sin didn’t manifest in anger or vengeance. He’s the shield, not the sword. It’s been twisted and turned from its path. Once sweet, gentle, and a guiding light, he’s now fire and brimstone.
Nothing is unfolding the way I thought it would. Unpredictable. Dangerous. I’m doing everything that I can to avoid giving the Light Fae a reason to cross the shroud. We’re not ready to face them and take back our home. We couldn’t match them if they came now. We may never be able to.
I’ve sat in the shadows for a long time now, monitoring the underground organizations that are unhappy with the Sins’ rules to ensure they never become a risk. And until now, they hadn’t. Even Virtus, at the top of their game, weren’t a threat like they are now. Their only rebellion was put down by the Sins, hundreds of years ago. They retreated after that, licking their wounds. I should have known it was too good to be true.
Their sudden ability to create chimeras and kidnap Sins without consequences… it’s disturbing at the very least. I’m worried about what it all means.
“Elusive is a good word for it,” Gluttony says. “A fucking pain in the ass is a better one.”
“Tell me more about Deacon,” Lust says, ignoring his brother.
Deacon scowls, shooting his lover a look. “I’m right here.”
“Daithí.”
Deacon’s lips part, like he knows the name but doesn’t know how. It convinces me that their memories are still there, buried down deep. I don’t know if they’re recoverable, but they’re there. “What is that?” he asks.
“It was your name. Daithí Tenebris. Heir to my throne. You’re one of the Seven Sons. Five born under the moon, two under the sun.” Light and Dark, connected in unity. So much for that.
“And we’re all brothers?” Deacon asks skeptically. “I have five other brothers I know nothing about?”
“No, there are only three of us blood related.” The seven of us are all connected in ways far deeper than mere blood, but Daithí, possibly Conor, and I are the ones who share blood. The nuances are complicated and not worth getting into right now.
“What marks the others, then?” Lust raises an eyebrow. “And why are you all so important?”
Gluttony snorts out a derisive laugh. “Seven Sons. Seven Sins.”
Clever. “We were all born with guardian avatars and guardians themselves.”
Gluttony drums his fingers on the table. “Your dragon,” he surmises.
“You have a dragon?” Deacon asks. “Now I know you’re fucking with us.”
“She’s not a dragon like you’re thinking. A specter, small enough to sit on my shoulder. She won’t be burning villages down any time soon. She’s not a living creature but made purely of magic.”
Gluttony spreads his arm across the back of my chair, fingers brushing my shoulder. He leans in close. “Not made of your magic, though, is she?”
I want to lie and keep something of myself away from his prying eyes. Staying away from him gets harder every time I look at him. I’ve been empty for so long, and now I can feel the indents of his fingers in my skin again, the taste of him on my lips.
“No.” She’s pure lightning, of course. My conduit to Gluttony’s magic.
“And we’re your guardians?” Lust guesses in disbelief.
“Yes.”
“I don’t have a dragon,” Deacon says, with almost a pout.
“Calypso isn’t—” I cut off abruptly, pain at the back of my throat, choking me. I haven’t thought of any of this in years. Echoes of a past lost long ago. Easier to shove it to the back of my mind and focus on the now.
“Isn’t what? A dragon? Is it something else? How come I’ve never seen one of these, whatever they are?” Deacon crosses his arms over his chest, and that is definitely a pout now.
“You don’t have your wings.” The answer isn’t quite that simple. I don’t know what happened to her, to any of them. Gyro has searched and found nothing, not so much as a trace of them. If Calypso lives, she won’t be able to find her way to Deacon, not while he’s in this half state. He’s not powerful enough to draw her. She’ll be lost until them. Possibly even after. She may never return. It’s all just guesswork at this point.
Deacon’s upper lip curls. His eyes flick to where my wings are draped over the back of my chair. They’re all but vibrating, being this close to Gluttony and after the power surge earlier. I won’t get this chance to feel them so alive ever again, and I wish I had more time to simply enjoy them.
“And how do I do that? The Sins mentioned Conor doesn’t have his either. Why does that matter?”
“It’s a sign of maturity, when your full Fae magic activates. It’s your immortality, your power, your strength.” So intrinsically entwined with us. Mine are losing life because my very essence—my magic—is slipping away. Conor will slowly go mad if he doesn’t get help. Lust will help Deacon avoid that, especially now that he has his tattoo, but we still need him at full strength.
Lusts purses his lips, still unsure whether to believe me or not. Not about the wings but about Calypso. He can look all he wants; my expression won’t give me away. I don’t need his trust, I just need them to listen and help me. I won’t allow it to be more than that. They wear the faces of those I loved most, but they hold nothing of the memories that connect us. Husks filled with experiences that don’t carry me in them.
“What is she?” Lust asks eventually.
This conversation isn’t going the way that I want it to. It’s too personal. Our specters don’t matter, only the survival of what’s left of my court. It’s what I sacrificed everything for. And Gluttony. I’ll do whatever I have to, to keep him safe. Even if that means being alone for the rest of eternity. Even if it means destroying myself.
“Conor hasn’t discovered his wings,” I say instead, veering away from the topic. “And the Sins are right to be concerned about what will happen when he does.” Not if. When. If he’s who I think… he’s always been too smart for his own good. A troublemaker, but not one that’s ever been on the opposite side of the fight before. Wrath tempered him, soothed the jagged edges. No longer. He’s not an enemy I’d ever wish for. “What he’s already accomplished… chimeras are the dredges of the monsters across the shroud. Mistakes born of misuse of magic.”
The only reason they exist is because the Sins have lost so much of who they once were. They never made mistakes like that. They commanded legions of demons, and not once did they slip and create a monstrosity. The one they call Nero, he’s the closest to the original powerful demons they once created. Lazarus is a close second. A miracle, all things considered. The rest of them are formidable in their own right but still weak imitations of those that made up their vast armies.
“There are worse things out there?” Deacon asks, mouth dropping open in shock. “Seriously?”
“Yes.” Not just monsters. Though they aren’t able to cross over. Those dangers are on the other side. The Light Fae are the worst of them all. If Conor gets their attention, we’re all in trouble. Especially if he happens to be one of the Seven chosen. The Light have no idea that any of us survived, whether in my form or as a reincarnation of themselves. They’d never let it stand if they knew, would have hunted us with a vengeance. “You need to find the rest of your missing kin, and I’m here to help.” Easier to do now that they know who I am.
“Are you?” Gluttony drawls. “Playing allies again?”
Not the kind of bait I’ll rise to. He’ll have to do better than that. “I can train you,” I say to Deacon. “Help you free your wings. You’re going to need them for the coming fight.” Virtus won’t go down easily, not now that they’ve risen this far. “Teach you what it means to be Dark Fae.” Not just the power, but our customs, our traditions, who we are, and the pieces we still hold tight to. Just like you taught me a thousand lifetimes ago. He was my teacher, my guide, my brother. A much quicker study than me.
And now he’s nothing.