Page 21

Chapter 21

In the Flesh

L eaves gently rustled in the wind, as they always did on spring days. Yet everything was dark, Sylzenya’s eyes were so heavy even her greatest effort couldn’t relieve her of this blindness. Fresh loam swept into her lungs as she took a deep breath, the air crisp and cool.

Evening, then. And she was outside.

But why would she be outside? She’d been lying in bed at the inn, the scent of earthy musk and worn leather consuming her every thought.

Consumed by him.

Elnok.

His skin had been warm, his muscles tough as she’d dug her fingers into his shoulders and back. Pleasure had been teased out of her, slowly and deliberately, and she’d sworn her power had returned when all she saw were sparks and all she felt was light. Pale green eyes, a relaxed half-smile. He’d felt like warm summer days swimming in lakes, cold winter nights snuggled beneath blankets, and hot rose tea warming her fingers.

She wanted to see him. He was here, wasn’t he? Had they gone out for a walk in the middle of the night?—?

The compass.

Clenching her jaw, she cursed her heavy eyelids. Nyla and Kharis had come to talk about the compass. They’d said something strange… something that made her fear for Elnok’s safety…

The wine. Nyla had sounded exasperated that Elnok hadn’t drunk any since he’d arrived, even mentioning how Elnok had thrown up her plum. The wine and fruits were laced with something; they had to be. It would explain why he kept puking. But what about the monster? He’d vomited then too. How did that have anything to do with it?

“She’s waking up, Your Grace,” a familiar voice—Nyla’s—said.

“Good,” the High One replied.

Fear gripped her chest.

She remembered how she got here. Dynameis had assaulted them, pushed them to the ground, Elnok’s fingers slipping through hers as he shouted her name.

Sylzenya finally forced her eyes open.

“Everything’s going to be alright,” Nyla whispered into her ear.

Sylzenya jolted, now realizing her arm was wrapped around her friend’s shoulder, like a limp vine on a wooden terrace. She tried pushing away from her, but she couldn’t; she couldn’t feel anything but her face and her chest, moving up and down with her slowed breaths.

“What—” Sylzenya fought the haze in her mind. Pale light illuminated blurred trees. “Nyla, where’s Elnok?”

“Do not fret about the prince, Sylzenya. He’s being taken care of, trust me,” the High One replied from somewhere in front of her, his figure a tall white blur.

Anger rumbled through her. Trust—a difficult flower to tend to—yet so easy to tear out of the ground. The moment the High One held the cure above her like a dangling carrot, the roots had begun to pull. And now, the flower didn’t have much left to hold onto.

“And how exactly is he being taken care of?” she demanded.

Her words surprised her, but she didn’t take it back. She wouldn’t, not until she knew Elnok was safe.

“I brought you here to say something important,” he said, approaching her with the same graceful steps he always did, “And it’s to say I’m sorry.”

She scoffed, heat building in her neck as she met his yellow eyes. “Rare to hear an apology from your lips, Your Grace.”

“ Sylzenya ,” Nyla whispered in warning.

“No, no, it’s quite alright, Nyla. I’ve done a terrible thing to her, and I mean to pay the price in addition to seeking recompense.”

“You can do those things when you tell me where Elnok is.”

“I should’ve never sent you away on that forsaken mission with that thief,” the High One replied, his eyes turning glassy.

It made her sick.

He continued, “I’ve learned many a thing about him during these last few days. Pillaging villages with his notorious posse, plotting to kill his brother and take the Crown, killing multiple Vutrorian guards in his escape from the dungeons: a nightmare of a man.”

She curled her fists. “You know nothing about him.”

“And you do? After three days?” the High One questioned. “Come now, Sylzenya, you’re being naive. Nothing’s royal about him besides his blood, but enough about him. We’re here so you might be given your cure.”

Her heart stilled. The High One dug into his pockets, taking out a vial filled with a thick dark liquid.

“Come,” he motioned for her as he alighted a small set of marble stairs, “Stand beside me and allow me to explain, and then we’ll waste no more time. Your power will be restored this very night.”

Nyla pushed her forward. Sylzenya stumbled, catching her balance as she gripped Nyla’s robe. Her limbs tingled, prickling like needles as she took in her surroundings. Tall willow trees encircled them, a white atrium covered in looping vines, and a single white marble throne sitting underneath it. The willow she’d created fourteen years ago stood tall behind the throne, and beneath her feet was the sacred soil bordered by marble.

The Willow Grove: the place where she’d failed her rite—where her father had poisoned her.

We never wanted to give you to the temple, Sylzenya , her father had said. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

His words tasted different in this moment, sounded less like a plea for her to come home and more like a desperate attempt to save her from something.

Save her from what?

A small golden light sparked from her willow tree. Sylzenya furrowed her brow, staring at the tree in a long silence.

“Sylzenya, if you would join me?—”

“Did you know Aretta’s Willow still lived? That it existed at all?” Sylzenya interrupted, gripping Nyla’s robe, the heat rising in her skin. “Did you know about the compass? About the monster living at the bottom of the healing pool?”

The High One spun around, his eyes wide and brows dipped—as if he was hurt.

Her shoulders dropped. Guilt weighed down on her like a fallen tree, her heart faltering as the man that stood before her, the one who had comforted her in times of need, stared at her as if she’d caused him pain.

But things had changed. He’d led her to believe Aretta’s Willow was a myth, sent her on a petty mission to prove herself worthy of her power, and then sent his warriors in a rampage to take back the compass which he’d sworn didn’t exist.

“ Did you ?” she asked again, the force behind her words causing her own spine to shudder.

He said nothing.

Tears stung her eyes. How many other ways had he lied to her?

“I swear on Aretta’s blood, I will never take your cure,” she said.

Slowly, his features shifted: dipped brows relaxed into a harsh gaze; his downturned mouth a straight line; his yellow eyes sharp and poised to strike.

“Know this, Sylzenya,” he said, his voice deep and grating, “things could’ve turned out differently tonight if you had so chosen.”

The High One returned the black vial into his pocket. A familiar glimmer of light shone before he closed it.

Her heart stuttered.

The compass.

He wouldn’t put it anywhere he wouldn’t deem safe; he wouldn’t trust anyone else to hold it, of this Sylzenya knew with certainty. He had only ever trusted her with such tasks.

The High One looked past her and flicked his head. “Restrain her and retrieve him.”

Before she could react, the glowing chest plates of two Dynameis appeared out of the grove’s shadows. With a flash of power, they quickly pinned her arms to her side. She cursed, not having checked her surroundings well enough to see the hidden warriors.

Her stomach dropped at the familiar red hair and freckled face, and the familiar golden skin and black hair.

Westley and Marlo.

The Dynameis who’d approached her and Nyla for orodytes the other day. Westley… the only other man she’d ever been intimate with.

“Westley, please let me go,” Sylzenya whispered, “ Please .”

But he said nothing, his grip tightening with each passing moment, his eyes distant. Nyla kneeled to the ground, burying a piece of orodyte. Their goddess’ golden light erupted from the earth, encircling her body while thick vines birthed from the ground and twisted around Sylzenya’s legs and arms.

“What are you doing?” Sylzenya questioned, her voice shaking.

Her friend looked up, but her amber eyes didn’t glisten like usual, her mouth was thin, facial expression bored. Nyla didn’t answer as the vines wrapped tighter—harsher.

“Nyla, what’s happened to you? What’s happened to Westley?” Sylzenya pleaded.

There are many things that I cannot say, even if I wish to , the bird in her vision had said. But I will say this—be wary of who you trust.

Sylzenya fought against the tightening vines and rough hands keeping her in place as she tried to help her friend remember herself.

Kharis, the Dynami Elnok had trusted, and another Kreena entered the sanctuary, carrying between them a man with dark hair, tattered clothes, and a blood-stained face.

Elnok’s pale green eyes grew wide as they found hers.

Sylzenya screamed his name as she lurched forward, only for the vines to squeeze her skin until it burned.

Horror ripped through her as Elnok fought against Kharis’ hold, her name falling from his lips as Kharis shoved him to his knees, directly across from her. He grunted with the impact, his face—covered in bruises—was strained in pain.

The Kreena kneeled next to Elnok, the golden light of their goddess being used to secure Elnok’s wrists to the ground and to bury his feet into the soil. Their goddess’ power no longer a source of life, but a weapon.

“This is madness !” Sylzenya shouted.

“It is retribution,” the High One replied, “You are Estea’s salvation; this filth of a man has poisoned your mind away from your destiny and towards nothing but distraction and hedonistic pleasure.”

“It isn’t him who’s been poisoning minds,” Sylzenya spat.

The High One’s brows raised, nostrils flaring as a cruel smile curved on his thin lips. “You’ve been observant.”

“What’s he talking about?” Elnok questioned, his eyes drooping and body swaying as if he was barely hanging on by a thread.

Face burning, she wrestled harder against the vines. “He’s been poisoning the wine, all the wine. And since Kreenas’ blood mixes into the soil while we create, it’s also been infecting the vegetation. It’s why Nyla and Kharis aren’t acting like themselves… why Kharis kept pressuring you to drink the wine and why Nyla wanted you to eat the plum.” She took a deep, shaky breath, “The wine rituals, the kingdom-wide banquet… everyone in Estea’s under its influence— his influence. But not you, Elnok, because you can’t keep anything down besides food that’s been boiled.”

Elnok’s eyes widened.

The High One laughed, the sound causing her insides to freeze.

“And can you tell me why it is that you are no longer under my influence, Sylzenya?” the High One said in a dark grating voice.

The truth ran in her veins, gold and bright. “The orodyte serum.”

He smiled. “A side effect I hadn’t taken into consideration until I learned what you and this ruffian had done in the healing pool. But it’s no matter, considering I’ve made sure no one will ever defect again. Not your parents, not any other Estean—not even you.”

“What have you done to my parents?” Sylzenya shouted, despair lacing through her bones like a thorny vine, piercing her insides.

Westley yanked Sylzenya back, her cut blooming with pain.

“Your parents are fine,” the High One replied, “Just enjoying their lives in the dungeons, drinking wine so they don’t become parched. Surprisingly, it was your mother who held out the longest; almost died until your father convinced her to drink it.”

Angry tears fell from her eyes. Her father hadn’t betrayed her at the Kreena Rite… he’d tried to save her.

“Why are you doing this?” she demanded, hating how tears streamed down her face.

“You figured out the wine, found the compass, but don’t know the answer to your question?” He smiled.

It was as if the earth had tilted: trees planted into clouds and growing from the sky, rain rising from the ground and soaking into the leaves, fire cold as ice burning along her arms.

“That’s impossible,” she whispered.

“And what might that be?”

“You don’t worship Distrathrus,” she argued, “You worship Aretta. You’ve erected statues of her everywhere. You had me create willows in her name throughout the gardens.”

“A rather clever facade, isn’t it? Hiding behind the deity everyone’s sworn they love to no end; their creator whom they’d die for if asked.” He tilted his head. “But still, you’re missing a rather important detail.”

“I don’t understand,” she choked, voice breaking.

“Can you really not figure it out?” He approached her, leaning in close, his cold hand brushing her cheek. “My sister protected you violent creatures, making excuses for your spears, your anger, your need to dominate. My creation was blamed for it all when it was humans who made the first kill. And then she cursed me into one of your own filthy, weak, powerless bodies to try and contain me, leashing this pound of flesh to this forsaken kingdom’s soil.” He gripped her jaw tight, Sylzenya’s skin ripping beneath his icy touch. “Humans poisoned my sister’s mind, turning her against me. I mean to end your race’s reign once and for all.”

“No… ” She faltered, the reality too absurd, his words nothing she could’ve ever imagined. “You can’t be…”

“Distrathrus.” He smiled. “In the flesh.”

Acid rose in her throat as the world continued to tilt, turning and spinning and spiraling out of control. This had to be a nightmare, nothing more. And yet, his familiar yellow gaze no longer spoke of comfort, but of insanity.

“But you…” She forced bile down her throat. “You’ve been like a father to me. You can’t be…”

His eyes flared, a thin silence hanging in the air. “And you’ve been the closest thing to a daughter I’ve ever known.”

Squeezing her eyes tight, she choked on her tears, despising how weak she’d become. How utterly small and helpless.

How much of a fool she’d been this entire time.

“Enough tears. It’s time you regain your power, for I have need of it,” he said.

She seethed, lifting her head and gritting her teeth. “I won’t become your puppet.”

“You talk as if you haven’t been one this whole time.”

The High One—Distrathrus—approached Elnok. He placed a long, thin finger underneath Elnok’s chin, forcing his eyes up, “I was a fool to let her run around with the likes of you: human waste from the streets. You thought she could be yours, but you knew from the moment we met she would always be mine. ”

Kharis grabbed Elnok’s hair and pulled up. Elnok winced; his black tunic, almost ripped in half, revealed the bright red bruises on his chest. Sylzenya wanted to reach forward and cover them, bathe them in salve and whisper soothing words into his ear until the pain in his face disappeared.

“She belongs to no one,” Elnok seethed.

Distrathrus clenched Elnok’s face, “Don’t tell me you actually… care for the woman?”

“I don’t give a fuck what you do to me, just let her go.”

Distrathrus laughed. The dark scratching sound echoed in the grove. He gripped Elnok’s face so hard Sylzenya thought he might crack his jaw.

“A fruitless offer,” he said, “besides, you’d be singing a very different tune if you knew everything Sylzenya has done in her lifetime. In fact, she’s committed atrocities far worse than yourself.”

Sylzenya’s gaze fixed on Distrathrus, her stomach twisting into itself. She didn’t know what he was talking about, and yet, something inside herself did. Something that’d been lurking just underneath the surface for years. A truth meant to stay buried.

What had she been doing as an acolyte all these years underneath this god’s commands?

Elnok sneered. “You’re even more insane than this kingdom’s lore suggests.”

“Don’t believe me?” he questioned, “Kharis, your sword, please.”

Sylzenya’s stomach dropped.

The warrior gave Distrathrus his blade, the weapon glowing a bright yellow from the orodyte serum. Sylzenya pleaded to her goddess to save them, looking towards her willow tree behind the throne as if Aretta could somehow resurrect herself and come to their aid.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Shock ran up her spine. A small spark of golden light flashed along a branch, dissipating into the night air. Surprise lit her chest as she felt it: the earth singing to her; the branches of the tree calling her name, begging her to touch it—to be in its power.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

She needed to get to that tree.

“I’m not one to tie you down and force the cure on you, Sylzenya,” Distrathrus announced, “And so I’m giving you a choice.” He stood behind Elnok, his white hair flowing in the breeze as the sword glowed. “Do you know why orodyte serum makes it easier for swords to slice through flesh?”

Sylzenya’s insides twisted as the god in human form pressed the flat side of the blade onto Elnok’s scarred back.

He smiled. “Because it burns.”