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CHAPTER

TWELVE

Oralia

“Typhon has found a weapon,” Aelestor said at once.

My chin dropped, and Drystan huffed a humorless laugh. From the way Typhon had somehow twisted my shadows, I’d assumed as much.

“You are unsurprised?” Mecrucio asked, brows ticking up.

Pursing my lips, I nodded, gesturing between myself and Drystan. “I believe we received a firsthand demonstration of the weapon.”

“According to the gossip of the soldiers, it is something ancient,” Aelestor offered. “Though none save Hollis know exactly where it is from. Some believe Typhon has contacted the gods on Iapetos, while others think he slipped through the veil of the realms and into the human world.”

Each was as unlikely as the next. Iapetos was the island most of the timeless gods had fled to when Daeymon—Ren and Typhon’s father—had shut Asteria up into the first kratus tree. It was said to be impossible to reach unless the gods granted you favor, much like Infernis.

Though now, of course, Typhon had found a way through. Perhaps he had done the same with Iapetos.

“What is its purpose within this war?” When neither answered, I pressed on. “What is the purpose of this weapon?”

“To take Infernis,” Aelestor murmured. “He has said if you will not be swayed, your death will allow him to put another in your place.”

I shook my head, but Dimitri’s huff rumbled through the room. “But such a thing takes time, centuries. He cannot know how and who Oralia’s magic will manifest into when she reincarnates.”

Aelestor’s face paled, a greenish sheen dancing across his cheeks. When he swayed, I reached out to steady him with a hand on his shoulder.

“The weapon…it draws magic to itself. He believes it now has had a taste for hers. Should she die, it will call her magic to it, and he can use the weapon to place it in another body.”

Drystan scoffed. “Lies.”

“It is not a lie.” Horace’s arms lowered to his sides, and he exchanged a look with Thorne. “Daeymon was obsessed with creating such a weapon. He spent centuries working on a way to take another’s power. It was how the first daemoni were made.”

Nausea curled in my gut, and now I understood why Aelestor looked so sick.

Thorne nodded, tugging at the end of his beard in a nervous sort of way with a distant expression on his face. “Before he died, there were whispers he was close to finding a way. When Asteria was imprisoned and my mother and the other timeless gods left, I believe they stole most of his work in fear of what it might do in his hands.”

I thought again of the ring Typhon had slipped on his finger and the dark metal chains that cut into my wrists. “And now it has been returned.”

Aelestor nodded.

Mecrucio, silent through this exchange, cleared his throat. “We also know Typhon has found a way through the mist, though only a select few of his highest-ranking generals know the route. But he boasts of his ability to enter Infernis now, as if he is taunting you and Ren. And he brags of having allies ‘beyond our borders,’ allies who have provided him power which ‘transcends our understanding.’”

With a frown, I turned toward Thorne, who oversaw our own soldiers and borders. He nodded, though his gaze was still distant with the past.

“Patrols of our border have been increased, Your Grace, and in the last day, many souls from Rathyra have approached asking to enlist into our ranks to better serve. I feel confident we will be able to protect our borders from any Aetheran who seeks to make their way through.”

Drystan let out a small huff. “A single soldier, yes, but what about an army?”

Thorne frowned, but I had to agree with Drystan. Our ranks were perhaps two thousand strong, but Typhon’s? Typhon had an army twice the size, perhaps more, all spread out through the world.

“We will prepare, Your Grace. We will be ready,” Thorne answered.

“That is all we can do for now,” I agreed before turning to Horace, steeling myself with a deep breath. “What of Ren’s resurrection?”

He knew what I meant—what I could not bear to say aloud: could Ren resurrect with the pieces of himself strewn across the world? Horace crossed his arms over his chest, dipping his chin in thought. His ruby eyes danced across my face before falling again to the blue flames in the hearth.

“With time, the pieces would find their way back together if unencumbered, and he would revive. There is also a chance a new body would grow from his heart. But the process would take time, Oralia. Time we don’t have.”

Acid pooled in my gut. “How long?”

Slowly, his attention moved back to me, and for a moment, I was reminded that before me stood a timeless god, the same as Ren and Morana. Horace might not have wings as Ren and Typhon did, but his power manifested in other ways, like the brightness in his irises—the same as the scarred god I’d seen in my dreams.

“Centuries, perhaps longer. A millennium.”

The corners of my eyes burned at the idea of so much time without Ren, time we did not have. “So we find the pieces.”

“You might be strong enough—” Horace started.

“We find the pieces,” I cut across him, raising a hand. I did not want to hear how I might be strong enough to get us through this war without him.

Aelestor ran a hand over his face before drawing back his copper curls into a twist at his nape. “But how? It would be like…”

His voice trailed off, and I nodded, repeating the words of the scarred god. “Like finding a golden thread in a haystack.”

The God of Storms gave a hum of agreement, and around the room, they all shifted uncomfortably. The scarred god had spoken of how there was a way for our bond to be resealed—if I was brave enough to use it.

Though I had slept for so long, weariness curled around my shoulders, tangling with the threads of grief that lived in the space where our soul bond used to live. I pressed my hand to my chest as if it might stanch the invisible wound bleeding out.

“So for now, who returns to Aethera?” I gestured between Aelestor and Mecrucio.

Both froze.

“One of you must return, if not both. We need information, and Typhon must believe he has spies within Infernis.”

It was Aelestor who moved first, gesturing toward Mecrucio. “He would be better suited to return. Typhon knows of my loyalty to Josette.”

Josette, his human mate who resided within Rathyra, her memories only recently restored after drinking from the waters of forgetting—the Athal. It was the reason Aelestor had turned spy all those centuries ago: so he might have a chance to be in her presence, to build some new bond with the shell of what she had once been.

“And what of your loyalty to Infernis? To me?” The words were strange on my tongue. Yet, I knew these were the questions Ren would ask…so I asked them for him.

Aelestor blanched as if I’d slapped him. He took one step closer, spreading his hands wide and staring down at them as if he might find something there to offer me. “You have given me something I never hoped to receive, Oralia. You are the reason Josette remembers me, loves me. It is a mercy and a gift I can never even begin to repay. And beyond that?” He shook his head, laughing bitterly. “It does not serve me to betray you. I want Josette and nothing else. My loyalty lies with you, with Ren and Infernis. Without Infernis…”

He trailed off, eyes turning glassy. Without Infernis, there would be no reaching Josette. And who was to say what Typhon would do to those gentle souls if he were to somehow control these lands?

We stared at each other, a silent understanding passing between us. Aelestor would not offer me the flowery language of loyalty. He would not fall to his knees to offer me his sword as the rest had when I’d arrived back covered in blood. But what he did offer was understanding—the understanding which comes from being willing to sacrifice everything for the one you love.

I gave him one short nod and turned to Mecrucio. “Then it is you who will return to Aethera and Typhon. Find out all you can, delay what you can, and report back.”

Mecrucio’s expression darkened uncharacteristically, but he fell to his knees and pressed his hand to his heart. “I am yours to command, Your Grace.”

I managed a small smile, gesturing for him to rise. “Keep yourself safe.”

The darkness in his features evaporated in the wake of the charming smile he usually wore. “And you, myhn lathira.”

Without another word, he nodded to those in the room, lingering for a moment longer on Horace before he left in a swirl of his dark blue cloak.

In the silence, Drystan cleared his throat. “Who will you take with you to find these parts of Renwick?”

Some tight knot within me loosened at his question. It was something I’d been considering for the last few hours. Sidero and Dimitri could not leave the boundary of Infernis, as they were souls. I could not take Horace or Thorne. They would need to care for the souls and prepare our borders in my absence.

“You and Aelestor,” I answered, looking between them.

Aelestor ran a hand through his copper curls, worry tight in his expression. I knew he was thinking of the mistakes he’d made, the storm he’d created which had almost cost Caston his life, the countless years of taking his anger out on me for the hand he’d been dealt. Yet I trusted this god. We had reached an understanding within our short time in Infernis.

“Do you accept?”

Drystan murmured his acceptance immediately, but Aelestor’s throat bobbed with a swallow. He dropped his hand before bowing his head once, placing a palm over his heart. “I will follow you to the ends of this world, myhn lathira .”

Horace stood, a shimmer of white mist slithering around his palms before a familiar black box appeared, pressing it into my hands. “Go, rest, and we will speak more tomorrow. The ascension begins, and we will need your assistance in Ren’s place.”

The ascension… I held back a frown, a bubble of anxiety broke through the heavy weight in my chest.

Horace smiled gently. “I will guide you, Oralia, I promise.”

With a nod, I allowed myself to be steered from the room by Sidero, Drystan following behind. But it was alone that I entered Ren’s and my chambers and placed the black box on his bedside before crawling beneath the dark blue sheets. The muted light of day flared out the window as I stared at the box until I flipped it open.

Ren’s heart was as perfect as if it had only recently been ripped from his chest, dark red and glistening in the drab afternoon glow of the mist. Each passing breath was another beat of Ren’s heart, a reminder that somewhere his magic lived.

The heart was the key, but I must be brave. The scarred god had spoken of his intuition, guided by his magic, and how the fates spoke in his ear, though I did not understand the term. Slowly, I pushed myself up onto an elbow as the last of the light died from the window, the hearth in the room flaring to life with bright blue flames.

When I closed my eyes, I saw Ren standing beneath the Tylith Mountains, cloak swirling around his feet, black waves of his hair caught in the wind. There was the sensation of his hand on my face, fingertips over my eyelids, thumb stroking my cheek. His was voice deep and low in my ear.

It is your fear you feel. The fear amplifies, the fear multiplies, and it is the fear you are a slave to…You are more powerful than you know.

With trembling hands, I lifted Ren’s heart, cupping it reverently in my palms, and the action reminded me again of our vows as we bonded our souls. The tang of pomegranate, the way his eyes shone with love and relief at our union. My power, working through him, stitching together the lost pieces of himself while he mended the pieces of my broken heart.

Slowly, I brought my hands to my lips, iron splashing across my tongue.

I ate his heart.

And welcomed this small piece of him into my soul.