Page 11

CHAPTER

TEN

Oralia

If I had experienced this feeling before Ren was destroyed, I would have called it pain, agony perhaps. Now I could only observe it with an empty detachment as my power ripped me from the inside out, my cries breaking off and darkness swallowed me. Icy fire tore through my limbs. My bones broke only to mend again. My body was and was not. Pain existed and yet was intangible.

All at once, the pain vanished as I fell to my knees. Wood groaned beneath my weight, warm beneath my palms from the sunlight streaming overhead. Nothing hurt. There was no agony—no exhaustion. But the light was too bright as it played across my clean hands, and when I lifted my head, I had to shield my eyes from the way it rippled across vibrant water.

Before me, a dock extended out over the bright blue sea, where a few large ships were moored. Grand, vast ships, the kind I had read some humans built within their world to traverse the oceans and conquer new lands.

I blinked as if it might change the vision. Slowly, I reached down, dipping my hand into the water. It was warm, like a bath, lapping at my fingers with the waves from the ships. Yet it did not feel real. My body was too light and at the same time so heavy I struggled to rise to my feet. When I turned, the movement was both fast and slow as if time did not behave the same.

The city before me bustled with activity and was filled with bright colors, down to the humans who wove through stalls piled with wares. The mountain above was crammed with building upon building, painted in different designs and hues like a vast field of wildflowers.

Yet, for all the countless humans who rushed past me, not one noticed me. I slid a hand down my gown, only to realize it was not bloodstained. No, in its place was soft white fabric, gathered at each shoulder with bright gold pins before falling to my feet. When I lifted the skirt, it was to find leather straps across my feet, holding thick soles protecting me from the rough wood beneath.

Panic spiked, and my heart thrummed in my chest so hard it echoed in the crooks of my elbows. I fisted the fabric of the dress tighter, my knees threatened to buckle, and I squeezed my eyes shut. If this was a dream, then I could wake. I could force myself to open my eyes.

“Breathe,” a deep voice soothed.

When I opened them, it was to find a man beside me, black hair like a waterfall around his shoulders and chest, save for a bright white streak framing the left side of his face. I startled, stepping back, only for him to catch me by the wrist with a scarred hand. His beauty was disarming and yet heartbreaking. Though there was a strange film through which I saw this world, he was clear.

“It takes a moment to settle,” he encouraged, thumb running once over the thin skin of my wrist before letting go. “Take a breath.”

I shook my head, rubbing my tingling wrist from where he’d held it, and found I could not breathe. He touched my shoulder, encouraging me to turn back toward the boats.

“Count the masts.” His scarred hand pointed toward the large sails before us.

My brows furrowed, and though I called to my magic, I could not find it. Yet it was unlike when Typhon had clapped me in chains. I could sense my magic was there, only it could not reach me through this dream. So I took a breath, counting the masts with him as he pointed to each in turn until my breathing slowed.

The man nodded, and his eyes glowed bright through a half-skull mask fitted snugly across the top half of his face. Power rolled off him in waves as ancient and unknown as the magic that had clung to the box with Ren’s heart in it, yet it was not the same. This magic felt kindred to mine like Ren’s did.

His lips pursed as he caught me assessing him. The scarred left side of his mouth pulled taut from the movement. “It has been a while since one of you graced this world.”

I cleared my throat. The slowing beat of my heart picked up speed again. “And what world is that?”

The god shrugged, gesturing with an open palm toward the bright buildings beyond. “This is the city of Yesinda, the capital of the country of Mycelna.”

I blinked, following the journey of a woman swathed in white robes, a diaphanous veil over her face held in place by many tinkling chains. Every few feet, she was stopped by another human, appearing to listen intently before dipping the tip of her finger into a small bowl she carried in the palm of her hand and pressing it to their brow.

“There are so many humans…”

He gave a hum of agreement. “This entire world is made up of humans. You are quite far from home.”

I whirled on him, pain pricking across my palms as my hands fisted. “Then how do I get home?” When he did not answer, my voice rose in volume. “Who are you?”

The god smiled, and the sight of it sent my heart to aching. It was a smile I thought I had seen on Ren’s face—the echo of a millennia of suffering, of coming to understand the meaning of the world through agony and heartache.

“I am the scythe in the hands of my queen. I am not the harvest, but the vessel that carries the grain.”

My brows furrowed. “I do not understand.”

He shrugged, and with the movement, his mask disappeared, eyes flaring before dimming to a normal brightness. The right was a similar shade of midnight to Ren’s, but the left? The left shone a milky white, the scars of his face creeping around his brow into his hairline.

What could have done such damage to a god?

“You have no such god within your world because I am here. We are the cast-offs who fell to the wayside when time began.”

Ren had spoken of such things—of gods in other realms who possessed powers beyond our understanding. I’d also been told stories of the gods humans worshipped within their world.

“He never told you?” the god asked with lifted brows.

I licked my lips, throat dry. “Who?”

But I already knew, didn’t I? There could only be one he this god referred to.

The god before me smiled so sadly at me, it pricked the corners of my eyes. “This is the land Renwick’s soul travels to when he dies, called here by the souls of the dead who await my reaping or my queen’s judgment.”

Grief burned through my throat. “Is…is he here?”

The god shook his head, hair spilling across his chest. “He is not.”

Perhaps that meant then that he was not dead…or he was already resurrected. And yet, I knew it could not be true. The pieces of his body were spread far and wide. His heart lay within a box in Infernis. It would take centuries, perhaps even millennia, for those pieces to find their way back together if allowed or for him to regenerate from the heart in the box.

My magic had brought me here for a reason. I could feel it, even if it was merely a dream.

So I cleared my throat, wiping quickly at my cheeks. “He is destroyed.”

A soft, warm chuckle curled around my face as a scarred hand covered mine. He placed it in the crook of his arm before guiding me through the crowd.

“He is not destroyed,” the god answered. “Merely waiting.”

I ground my heels into the dirt, ripping my hand from his arm. “You cannot know that.”

We paused to allow a man to pass, a wide plate piled high with fragrant spices balanced upon his head. Nearby, two soldiers ducked from one of the stalls, identical in their features, with closely cropped black hair and silver markings on their skin. The brother snatched a fruit from his sister’s grasp, peeling it quickly before stuffing a wedge between his lips. I caught a grumble from the woman in a language I could not understand as she raised her fist in retaliation.

When all was quiet once more, the god sighed. “I know many things. My magic speaks to me as yours does. The fates are even louder in my ears, telling me the truth of my words.”

With a shake of my head, I made to turn away from him but his hands closed over my shoulders, and he crouched so we were eye to eye.

“I know what it is to wait, Oralia.” My mouth popped open at his knowledge of my name. “I know what it is to feel a bond that has not been sealed, to ache for a mate who is out of reach. For the world around you to fall into chaos and yet you must stand in one place.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, blocking the sincerity dripping from each word. “Is that what this world is? One of chaos?”

The god straightened, and I chanced a glance at him as his mismatched eyes roved around us. “Soon, yes, this world will be one of chaos and sickness and pain, proscribed by the fates. But for now, it is merely the beginning of such suffering.”

My stomach gave a lurch. My attention caught on a mother swathed in bright pink robes, a baby swaddled against her chest dozing against her shoulder.

“Why?”

He laughed, shaking his head. “You are not asking the right questions. You are running as you always have.”

I clenched my teeth, fighting back the flare of anger. He was right, of course. I was allowing myself to worry for people I did not know instead of facing my failures.

“I do not know what to do.”

With a noise of understanding, he straightened, moving me forward with a light hand on my arm. We wound our way through the serpentine streets, dipping beneath vines heavy with white frothy flowers and climbing the steep staircase up one side of the mountain. Each step was more dreamlike than the last—the colors a bit too bright, the sounds of the city a touch too loud. I followed the god, frowning when we paused before a door fashioned from jagged rock. As a human might, he grasped the handle and opened it without effort, ushering me inside.

The room was vast with small alcoves filled with stone tables and tiny fragrant fires spiraling smoke toward the high ceiling. In the center of the room, a statue stood as tall as the chamber itself, a heavy shroud obscuring it from view. But we did not pause before the statue as many within the temple did. Instead, we made our way toward one of the alcoves and stopped before one of the stone counters where a wide bowl filled with ash lay.

“Tell me what happened to Ren,” he murmured as if he was being mindful of the humans who roved the chamber. Some were outfitted with strange delicate chains around their face and shoulders. The same diaphanous veils hid their faces from view.

I swallowed, the story raw within my throat as I explained Typhon’s wrath and the fate that had befallen us. The god’s face fell into the perfect expression of compassion as if he too understood such agony.

“I do not know what to do,” I repeated, hands spread before me. The dark scars on my wrists caught in the candlelight.

“Can a god be mended?” he asked, a scarred fingertip tracing the bowl of ash.

It was only then I realized his fingers were all tipped with black as if he had dipped them within a vat of ink.

My chest panged, and I swallowed the dread creeping up my throat. “I…I do not know.”

His smile was sad as he tilted his head back and forth before pressing his palm into the bowl. “I think you do. Only, you are too afraid to hope.”

Could a god be mended? Ren had once hoped he could be reunited with his wings—he wore his heavy cloak to keep him strong so he might take flight again. I had never heard of such a thing, but he was convinced if he reopened the wounds he could be restored.

“Perhaps…” I breathed.

The god nodded, fingers digging into the ash. “Then perhaps, he could be restored if you were to find all the pieces.”

I frowned. “He has been scattered far throughout my world. To find him would be like—”

“Finding a golden thread within a haystack. But through your bond, you could find a way.”

A shudder rippled through me. “Our bond is brittle now, broken by his destruction. It…” My throat thickened, and I stared, unseeing at the flickering candle before us. I breathed slowly through my nose to calm the rising grief threatening to sweep me out to sea. “It is one-sided.”

The god before me looked so sad. I wondered what he had meant by his words before. If he too had suffered the loss of a mate.

“You have a key if you are brave enough to use it,” he answered, his voice heavy with pain. Ashes poured from between his fingers as he lifted his hand, but a black heart rested within his scarred palm. “If you are brave enough to take within yourself a piece of him to link you together. Blood of your blood, soul of your soul.”

I lay my heart in your hands .

“What do I do?”

“You rise and begin again.”

The god tipped his wrist, the heart crumbling into ash to fall back into the bowl. His black-tipped fingers rose to press between my brows.

“Wake up, Oralia.”