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CHAPTER

TWENTY-NINE

Oralia

“What news do you have for me?”

Mecrucio stared with tired eyes, fingers tracing a vein of the dark marble beneath his hand. The plate in front of him sat mostly untouched, and Horace frowned beside him, though the God of Travelers and Thieves would not meet his eye.

“Typhon is building an army for battle. He has called all his outlying troops home,” Mecrucio answered, voice slow, so unlike the teasing tone I was used to.

“How many?” My stomach twisted. I did not know the answer myself and being left in the dark by Typhon for so many years rankled.

Drystan shifted to my right, exchanging a look with his twin before turning to me. “If he calls all battalions back to Aethera, he will have close to six thousand…give or take.”

Thorne cursed under his breath. I knew from our conversations that we had barely over two thousand soldiers, but we were spread thin to protect all the anticipated entry points through the mist. How could we ever hope to win such a battle against an army so large?

“We have the mist on our side,” Aelestor said slowly as if he could read my thoughts. “The magic of Infernis will help us.”

“Ren creating the mist was the only thing that saved us last time,” Thorne muttered, draining his goblet.

Dimitri huffed his agreement. “Typhon would have razed Infernis and taken it by the throat.”

My own throat clenched at the thought. No matter that these dormant powers were beginning to make themselves known, only Ren stood a chance against the Golden King. And each moment we spent searching for him was another soldier who returned to Aethera, another nail within our coffin.

“What are his plans for Oralia?” Drystan asked, cutting through the grumbling around the table.

Jaws snapped shut at the question and wary eyes turned toward our spy.

Mecrucio’s solemn face grew gaunt as he peered back at all around the table. “He has given up hope of swaying Oralia’s loyalty back to Aethera.”

“Well, at least one thing has gotten through his thick skull,” Thorne mused, leaning onto the two back legs of his chair.

“What is his plan for me instead?” I pressed, ignoring Thorne in favor of Mecrucio.

The latter fixed me with a gaze I could not understand. “To destroy you and everything you hold dear. He is confident now in the capability of his weapon. In killing you, he believes he can take your power and bestow it on another to rule in his stead.”

Thorne’s chair thudded back to the ground. Around me, all gave voice to their incredulity, their belief I would not be destroyed. But I held Mecrucio’s stare, understanding it was regret lingering on the edges of his expression. Typhon would try to destroy me, steal my magic, and give it to another.

“You have seen this happen with your own eyes?”

Mecrucio rolled his lips together before he nodded. “I have, Your Grace. He has successfully used his father’s ring to take another’s magic. The ring is imbued with kratus resin from Asteria’s tree and Daeymon’s blood that carries creation. The combination has constructed the perfect means with which to take another’s power.”

“And you have seen this for yourself?” Thorne rumbled.

Mecrucio ran a hand over his curls, gripping at the back of his head. “There was a demigod in court with a small bit of fire magic. Typhon killed the girl and wielded her flames before bestowing them on Hollis.”

Curses slithered throughout the room, but I only had eyes for Mecrucio. “He would not be so stupid as to give my magic to another. If he wants Infernis, he will keep it for himself.”

“He has said he has promised the power to another, Your Grace. He has a willing god who will take over the throne of Infernis.” His voice was dead, emotionless with the shock of whatever he had witnessed.

Aelestor gave an approximation of a growl. “Who is it?”

A pit opened in my stomach. I could not voice the fear aloud, but I wondered more and more if it was someone close. Someone we mistakenly trusted.

“He would not say. But he spoke of Oralia’s death being the beginning of a new age , a golden one.” Mecrucio turned toward me, eyes full of pleading. “Stop this mission to retrieve the pieces of Ren, Your Grace. I fear what might happen if you leave these lands, what trap he might have lying in wait.”

Shaking my head, I lifted my hand to stop him. “I will not be cowed by the threats of a madman.”

But Mecrucio’s face filled with horror. His eyes shone in the light as he stood from his place at the table and lowered to his knees beside my chair, taking my gloved hand in his and squeezing once.

“You do not understand, Oralia,” he breathed, so soft it was as if he spoke only for my ears. “He does not care how long it takes. He will destroy you.”

I gave him a soft, sad smile. In the last few weeks, my magic had grown to a fever pitch. Even now, it was humming like a song I used to make the grass outside the palace grow. I lifted my gloved hand to cup his cheek, mirroring his whisper.

“Not if I destroy him first.”

* * *

The light of the sun was so bright it burned my eyes. Ten times what it had been in Aethera, twenty times how it shone in Infernis. I drew the cowl higher over my face, glancing at Drystan and Aelestor, who did the same. Samarah had not bothered with a cloak or cowl, and her gown of bones clicked in the breeze.

“Could you be any more conspicuous?” Aelestor muttered.

Samarah’s auburn hair—left down today—shone bright red in the sunlight when she shrugged. “I could, if you like.”

“Let us hold off for now,” I said, stepping forward, only for my feet to sink into the ground.

My heart hammered in my chest for a moment. My mind flicked back to the swamplands before dry sand shifted beneath my boot, wind stirred up, and stung my eyes. The silver thread in my chest thrummed, and I did not know if it was in response to my proximity or the deepening bond since my time in the in-between. Last night, I’d dreamed of Ren and been sure there had been a moment when it had been real and I had been in the in-between with him. He’d held me in his arms and pressed a kiss to my lips before ushering me into the beyond where he could not follow.

It made me feel a little less alone, even if he could not be here with me in this realm.

There was a collection of ramshackle huts before us. I was not sure if I could even call it a village. Weathered wood groaned, tattered fabric door hangings flapped in bouts of wind, and rusted metal roofs sizzled in the sun. This was by no means a pleasant existence, and the toll was obvious upon the faces we passed. Each human was weathered with deep lines upon their faces and skin darkened by the sun.

Millennia ago, humans had slipped through the veil between our world and theirs, mostly by accident. A few had returned home but many more stayed, wandering this world to find a better life than the one they led in their own. Or so the stories said. Humans worshipped us because of all we offered: salvation, comfort, guidance.

I could not find a worshipper among the suffering here.

“How do they get their water?” I breathed as we passed a low-roofed hut. The man lying on the packed dirt floor was barely more than a husk.

“Aethera provides them their supply,” Drystan answered, but he did not sound convinced.

Samarah chuckled. “You children are so gullible with your tall tales.”

We ducked beneath the hangings strung between two slightly taller shacks, tattered laundry drying in the bleaching light. There was nothing but the scent of heat, the dry sand, and something mineral, like rock. Even from the safety of my cowl, my skin ached with the burn of the sun.

“Aethera’s reach is not so far,” Aelestor murmured, touching the short sword concealed in his cloak when a grizzled man stared for a moment too long before striding off. Strange, but the human did not even notice Samarah beside us.

She gave a noise of agreement, scratching her nails across a crumbling stone. “This is the Western Reaches, sweetling. Here nothing grows, nothing thrives, and nothing survives.”

“Except for these last few mortals,” Aelestor added.

Odd to see them in agreement on something.

The silver thread tugged, and I picked up my pace, uninterested in the conversation. But Drystan pressed on, asking for clarification. I swiped a hand over my forehead, wiping it on my cloak before pointing to the offshoot of what appeared to be the main path through the tiny village.

“The Western Reaches were said to be rich with resources—” Drystan started.

“Said to be,” Samarah cut across him. “And they were, once, before Typhon and Ardren Daeymon drained these lands dry within the first centuries of the humans settling.”

“ Ardren Daeymon?” I questioned over the beat of my pulse. Sweat trickled down the back of my neck, forcing a shiver.

She nodded, violet eyes flaring. “Yes, Ren and Typhon’s father Daeymon.”

The silver thread shifted, and a pang echoed through my gut. I barely heard Samarah’s answer before changing course. The sand slowed my feet as I ran, and I was grateful for the compact dirt of the main road. My three companions followed. Though I lost them in my haste when I skidded around a corner and shouldered my way through a weathered door splintering into pieces.

My shadows wrapped around a man holding a bundle tight to his chest, my thick ropes of night squeezing his throat. He dropped it, fingers scrambling around my power as if he might pull it off. My knife glinted in the sun pouring through the slats in the roof as I pressed it to where his neck met his shoulder. Someone shifted in the room, and I did not need to look at them before my shadows sliced through the air toward them, a gurgling cry echoing through my skull.

The blood on the air made my mouth water, my stomach clenched with the need to destroy. I recognized these men from my time in Aethera. They had sat around Typhon’s table, drank his wine, and exacted his horrible orders.

The man I held before me turned a strange shade of red, deepening to a purple.

“Where are you taking this piece of Ren?” I gritted through my teeth.

“Oralia,” a voice called.

But I did not pay it any mind. I pressed the blade high beneath the demigod’s chin, a glimmer of blood dripping onto the dark metal.

“Shadows?” I murmured. “Or fire, demigod?”

“ Oralia ,” a familiar voice snapped and I froze. “Let him go.”

The heel of my boot scraped against the dirt floor as I turned, lips parting on a silent gasp. The demigod behind me fell to the floor with a thud , sucking a lungful of air. But I could only stare at the god before me, rose-gold skin darkened by the sun, wary gaze so different from his usual expression.

His shoulders lowered a fraction, and I realized he was missing his usual gilded armor. He was dressed much like the man behind me—much like the party I traveled with, who now burst through the door behind him. But Caston did not turn to look at them, even when Samarah withdrew a deadly curved blade, from where I could not imagine, to hold at his throat. He merely narrowed his gaze.

“Where is your heart, Sister?”