Page 39 of Prisoner of Darkness and Dreams (Fated to the Sun and Stars #3)

Morgana

“ A nd this void within him allows him to absorb anyone’s power?” Letrium asks skeptically.

We’re back with the council, although now we’re in the entrance chamber of the city hall so that all our party can join in the discussion.

I know Leon still finds it insulting, the fact that we’re not all allowed into the rest of the tower, but he listened when I said we shouldn’t push the dryads on this.

It’s progress, but now I’m also trying to make headway with the Agathyrians, explaining Caledon’s power so they have some idea of exactly how dangerous he has the potential to be.

“He can’t absorb everyone’s power, no,” I clarify. “He can drain the power from anyone, but he only absorbs celestial magic—that’s what helps him stay young, for some reason.”

“It’s the solari condition,” the dreadlocked dryad, whose name I’ve since learned is Inas, says.

“If a terrial magic user was to steal another’s magic, they may become more powerful, but it would have no impact on their physical condition.

But celestial magic deals with the spark of life itself.

Absorbing more of that magic means rejuvenating himself with more life. ”

“And yet,” Diomi says, thinking, “Her Highness says he never holds onto the power for very long. That must be due to the void within him. Eventually, the foreign celestial magic, like all other magic, drains away into it.”

“But none of that explains how he could make himself immortal,” Leon points out. He’s been doubtful from the start that the dryads could help us with this, but they’ve agreed at least to consider the questions we have for them, even if they haven’t promised answers.

“Well, that depends on your definition of immortal, I suppose,” Letrium says.

“Becoming a god,” Leon replies impatiently.

“It’s true that gods are immortal,” Diomi muses.

“But I suspect you can be immortal without becoming a god.” He sees the questions on our faces and tries to clarify.

“What is immortality? When it comes to the gods, we say they cannot be harmed and they cannot die because most mortals—fae, human, or dryad—couldn’t harm or kill a god no matter how hard they tried.

Stories of that happening barely exist. But there are legends of gods harming each other . ”

“And let’s say you were able to become invincible,” another dryad pipes up. “You’re almost impossible to kill or maim, but you have no divine nature, nor do you ascend to the celestial realm. Some would say you’re immortal then, but not a god.”

I blink, trying to follow their lines of argument. This is all theoretical, and I have a feeling the dryads will sit discussing semantics and hypotheticals all day if we let them.

“Why don’t we pretend that’s what Caledon is aiming for?” I say, cutting off more theorizing. “He wants to become unkillable, and he wants to never die. How would he go about doing that?”

“He would need a celestial flame that can never go out,” Inas says, and the way the other dryads look at her, this seems to be a reference. “That would grant him eternal life.”

“And that’s possible?” Leon asks.

“According to our histories, that’s what Ethira did before he ascended.”

I shake my head. We’re back to Ethira again. We’re going in circles .

“Yes, but how ?” I demand, unable to hide the frustration in my voice.

“Your Highness, what is the symbol of the Temple of Ethira?” Diomi asks.

“A scythe,” I answer.

“And is a scythe the only symbol associated with that god?”

“No,” I say, thinking of the mosaic in the high temple. “He also carries a bow and arrow.”

“You’re forgetting the cup and the seal,” Tira points out.

Her knowledge of religion is far deeper than mine, thanks to learning it in school.

“They make up the four tokens of Ethira. In the stories, he uses them all the time before he becomes a god on his travels across the three nations. That’s how he became the patron god of travelers. ”

“There are some points where the Temple’s teachings and our histories differ,” Diomi says.

“From what Etusca tells me, the Temple teaches that Ethira was simply gifted his godhood as a reward for the sacrifice and discipline he showed through his feats. But our histories tell a version where the tokens are directly involved. Individually, the objects were supposedly blessed by the gods during his mortal lifetime.” He looks to Tira. “Does the Temple tell those stories?”

“Yes,” she says. “There’s a legend that Classitus was impressed by Ethira’s skills as a warrior, so he blessed his bow and arrows so they were stronger and reached farther than any others.

And when Ethira protected fellow travelers from thieves and bandits, Winnivus blessed his seal with the gift of safety so he would always be protected while traveling with it. ”

Diomi nods. “There are stories like that for each of the tokens—or artifacts, as we call them—explaining how they came by their magic. I don’t know if they are all true, but we do know that once Ethira became strong and powerful, he was able to combine them, and it was their magic and divine blessing together that helped him transform from man to god.

“However, in these accounts the tokens are so powerful that an ordinary person wouldn’t be able to survive using all four at once. It was only Ethira’s great strength of body and spirit—his extraordinary natural gifts—that allowed him to combine the artifacts without dying.”

“You think Caledon wants to use these artifacts?” I ask .

“It would certainly be a starting point if he believes in the legends,” Inas shrugs.

I do think Caledon believes it, and that he sees himself as following in Ethira’s footsteps.

My mind whirrs, considering how Caledon might have taken the Ethirans’ original legends and obscured the true significance of the tokens from the Temple’s teachings, knowing one day he planned to seek them out himself.

“That’s why he wanted to know how I’d become so powerful,” I say to Leon as it slots together.

“Why he was searching for the source of celestial power mentioned in the prophecy. He needs enough strength to survive using the artifacts.” I look up at Diomi, eyes wide. “How many do you think he already has?”

“That, I’m afraid, is well beyond our knowledge,” he says.

“The artifacts are either lost to time or being kept by powerful people,” Letrium adds.

Leon doesn’t move, but I get a sense that what Letrium’s just said has given him an idea. Our eyes meet, and I know that whatever it is, we’ll discuss it later.

“Wherever the artifacts are,” I say, “it sounds like what Caledon wants to do is actually possible—and if he can make himself invincible, he might as well be a god for how hard it will be to stop him from doing whatever else he wants.”

The dryads say nothing, and I feel a twinge of frustration. Aren’t they worried about this? Don’t they care that a maniac might get access to unmatched levels of power? I try to find the words that will make them see the threat like I do.

“I know you have objections to the way we live in Trova and Filusia,” I say softly.

“Any violence is too high a price to pay in your opinion. And I respect that. But believe me when I tell you that Caledon is the worst of us—the opposite of everything you stand for. It isn’t just that he wants to be like a god—it’s that he thinks he deserves the immortality and adulation of a god.

If he undergoes the ritual, he’s not going to stop there.

Life has no value to him beyond his own, and he won’t rest until he has everyone in Trova bowing to him.

He’ll come for Filusia, and Agathyre will be next, until everyone in Tiearland is dead or has submitted to him. ”

“You’re trying to scare us,” Letrium says, frowning.

“Yes, because you should be scared. That’s what she’s trying to get you to understand,” Mal says, speaking up in frustration.

He stands, glaring around at the dryads.

“You know, it’s all very well thinking you’re too good to fight down in the dirt with the rest of us, but doing nothing doesn’t keep your hands clean either.

If you stand by and let a war happen that could’ve been avoided, you might as well have killed Caledon’s victims yourself.

Because there will be thousands upon thousands of them, you can guarantee it. ”

The dryads shift uncomfortably. It seems that being lectured on this matter by one of their own—or at least someone who’s partly one of their own—helps the message hit home.

“What would you have us do?” Inas asks calmly.

I exhale, knowing what I’m going to ask next will surprise them.

“The gaidonesti are incredible sources of power, and?—”

“No,” one of the dryads snaps.

“Absolutely not,” says Letrium, and his cheeks flush with outrage.

I try to calm them with a soothing tone. “All I’m suggesting is that you allow us to use them, if needed.”

“I’ve told you how precious the gaidonesti are to us,” Diomi says. He looks disappointed in me for even asking. “We will not risk them, especially not for a war.”

“It wouldn’t even be something we need to organize right now,” I say. “But when—if—the time comes where we need to make a stand against Caledon, I could use that celestial power.”

“You learned of the gaidonesti against our will, and you’ve clearly shared that information with your friends,” Inas says witheringly.

“We allowed you to access them in a ritual to make up for the way our people have wronged you, and because you were in need. But no more. You have asked enough of us. ”

My shoulders slump as I realize I might have just burned through what little good will I had with the dryads.

“Very well,” I say. “Thank you for your help. For everything. You may not believe me, but I am truly grateful.”

Inas gives an abrupt nod as I rise, indicating our meeting is over. I’m sad it’s ended on this sour note, but I knew I couldn’t leave Starfall without at least trying. To defeat Caledon, we need bigger, better weapons in our arsenal.

But the dryads won’t be the ones to give it.

“Well, that went as well as to be expected,” Alastor says as we leave Aquila Hall. “I suppose we better get packing. I get the feeling we’ve overstayed our welcome.”

I nod, but stop Tira before we separate to return to our individual rooms.

“Can we talk?” I ask.

“Sure,” she says, curiosity wrinkling her brow. I catch Leon’s eyes as I suggest Tira and I go to her room. I know he understands what I’m going to do. What I need to do, if I’m going to keep the darkness at bay.

When Tira and I are alone, and I start talking about Kit, she immediately stiffens. I push on, not giving myself a chance to back out as I describe in detail what Caledon did to Kit, and the choice I made.

I watch her face as I share the story, her expression turning from confusion, to shock, to sorrow. When her eyes shine with tears, I want to reach out and comfort her, but I’m not sure if she would even want that from me, now I’m explaining what I did.

The idea hurts, but I remember what I learned in the dryads’ temple—I have to let go of my guilt. That’s what’s been blocking me, and keeping this from Tira was just a symptom of that. Now I have to accept the consequences, even if it means changing how she sees me.

“I wanted to shield you from the reality of what happened,” I say, staring down at my hands. The nails are a long way from growing back. “But I think I also wanted to shield myself too.”

“Was it quick, at least?” she asks, her voice flat .

“Yes. I made sure of that,” I say, hating the crack of my voice as I reply. I wrestle my emotions under control. It’s not fair to Tira for me to break down before I finish saying what I need to say.

“I’m so sorry, Tira. I understand if you can’t forgive me for this. I can hardly forgive myself. It took coming here to even be able to tell you what I did.”

Her eyes widen. “Ana, is this why you haven’t been able to use your magic?”

I nod. “I think that’s what triggered it. I couldn’t face what I’d done. But I realize now that it’s the only way to move forward.”

“Then you’ve been punishing yourself all this time without telling me,” she says, sounding stern. I feel a twinge of hope.

“Yes, I think I have,” I say.

“Well, that’s a pretty fucking stupid thing to do,” she says. “Kit wouldn’t have wanted you to go around destroying yourself because of him.”

“You’re right,” I say. “It’s really fucking stupid.”

She nods approvingly. “But you have your magic back now, which means you’re going to stop torturing yourself, right?”

“Right,” I say.

“Thank you for telling me,” she says, her sarcasm giving way to sincerity, and I nearly collapse from relief.

She forgives me, and that’s a thousand times better than winning over the dryads.