Page 4

CHAPTER

THREE

Renwick

This kingdom held no beauty now.

For a brief moment of my existence, Infernis had blossomed like the spring, blooming into shades of green and whites and purples. The scent of death and decay had been replaced by fresh breezes and happy sighs. The souls had blossomed, too, turning Rathyra into a true city as I had always dreamed. But now?

Infernis was as empty as a tomb.

I slid a hand over the smooth white stone of the throne before me, thumb tracing a carving of an asphodel flower. A week ago, I’d had Oralia in my arms. Only a week ago, I had been here, kneeling before her, hands traveling up the fabric of her gown.

“There is no time,” Oralia breathed, fingertips raking through my hair.

I hummed, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of her knee, gazing up into her dark green eyes. Her hair was a mess of sunset waves around her cheeks, the obsidian crown of stars nestled within her curls. Our inner circle had only recently left, and we were set to depart in the morning for Aethera. Horror was already taking root, dread knocking at the door, and I could find it there, reflected in her gaze.

“Then I will make time,” I murmured, wrapping my hands around her hips and dragging her forward to the edge of the seat.

Her knees widened to allow me to slip between them, the pale skin of her creamy thighs dotted with constellations of freckles. I traced them with a fingertip, smiling when they prickled beneath my touch and a shiver ran up her spine. Her scent deepened, swirling around me with whiffs of sage and wildflowers.

Oralia’s laugh was soft but hollow. “Time is untouchable.”

It was true. After the Great Mothers had created time, it had been an unreachable magic. No god possessed the power to alter it.

She traced the line of my cheekbone with her fingertips as if I were beloved. With a pang, the truth of the thought hit me. My chest was full of warmth and love and contentment, but it was threatened even this night. And yet I would give up all my warmth if it meant having her return to the safety of my embrace.

My lips pursed over her thumb, leaning into her touch. I could not get enough. Even now, I wanted to pull her closer, to climb inside her skin and live within her heart. To be parted now, so close to the soul-bonding ceremony, was beyond agony—it was cruelty. Yet we must, for the good of our people.

“I offer you my service,” I whispered, pressing a kiss to her inner thigh, dragging the thin fabric hiding her from me to the side. The words mimicked the vows those within our inner circle had offered her tonight one by one. “I offer you my sword.” I leaned forward, inhaling the scent of her arousal. “I offer you my body.” Slowly, languorously, I licked up her center, gathering the taste of starlight on my tongue. “I offer you my soul.”

She whimpered, tangling her fingers in my hair, holding me to her. Her hips tilted up to meet my face before I slid one finger through her need.

“My queen,” I finished, before devouring her whole.

“Ren.” Dimitri’s voice cut through my reverie, tugging me back into empty awareness.

Oralia was not here. I could not pretend she was in the next room, training with Horace or wandering the grounds with Sidero.

“I heard you.” My voice was flat, but I did not turn to look at them and see the worry hidden behind smooth facades, as mine was. I knew it was there, as I knew Horace stood with his arms crossed over his wide chest, chin dipped in contemplation. As I knew Dimitri stood with his hand on the pommel of his sword, white hair tied back at his neck. As I knew Thorne would be leaning against the window, lips pursed and quick eyes assessing, looking for a solution for an impossible problem.

There was an ascension in only a few days. Twelve souls who were ready to give their magic back to the world to begin again, whether in this realm or the next. I blew out a breath, running my hands through my hair before turning to them with a grind of my heel.

“I will be in Aethera until then,” I answered. Already I was itching to make my way through the mist. To stretch the only wings I had left to me and glide through the wards to see what I could through the gilded glass of the castle of nightmares.

Even if it was only to catch a glimpse of her.

Dimitri shifted uncomfortably, but it was Sidero who answered, stepping forward with a slither of gray robes.

“She will survive,” they said, the fervor of belief suffusing their words as they slid a hand down their thick black braid.

“You serve her better by not straining your—” Thorne began.

I let out a roar of frustration, fire careening through my chest until I was sure I would spout flames.

“I cannot feel her.” My voice rang through the room, each god and soul stumbling back a step save Horace, who merely reacted to my temper with something like relief. “The distance is too vast. I only know that she is alive. All else is lost and silent, and there is nothing I can do.”

My power was nothing in the face of the mountain we must climb. I might have been a timeless god, one of the most powerful within our world, and yet all I could do was pace the castle like a predator in a cage and beg the universe for her safe return. The helplessness was acid eating through my bones, like the golden fire of my half brother, Typhon, searing my skin. I was not sure if I could endure it.

The moment Oralia had stepped through the wards of Aethera, our soul bond had pulled taut. Even when I shifted into my raven form and glided through the boundary, I could not feel her as I had before. There was only the hollow echo of her heartbeat in my chest and the soft shimmer of her magic tangling with mine. But it was as insubstantial as the mist wafting around the dark windows of the throne room.

“The only one who benefits from your fury is Typhon,” Horace said, ruby-flecked eyes boring into mine.

I took a breath to calm the furious rhythm of my heart. He was right. Of course, he was. But after centuries of ice hardening in my chest and the cold eating away any semblance of feeling, these emotions were overwhelming. I was as volatile as a god hitting prime and ascending into their power—unable to control my temper and my sorrow. But what a gift to feel such things. A gift Oralia had given to me.

My wife.

My soulmate.

My queen.

“What news from Mecrucio?”

But I was not truly listening as Dimitri explained that no word had reached them yet as to how Oralia had fared once received within the castle. Neither Mecrucio nor Aelestor would return until it was safe. Instead, I was searching through my power for the small glimmer of her.

Are you there, eshara? I wanted to ask, though I knew no response would come.

One hollow note of her heart.

Then another.

Faster and faster, until my heart was beating in time with hers. Until my hand was covering my chest, my eyes wide and unseeing as they stared into the blue flames of the chandelier overhead. Panic spiked through my veins, our hearts reaching a fever pitch. I pushed my magic to her in a desperate attempt to help her overcome this silent struggle.

Voices murmured my name, but I could not see them. I could not hear their questioning cries or the hands shaking me. I could only feel my mate’s heart as it beat within her chest, the terror thrumming through our soul bond as tangible as the air in my lungs. And the only thing I could speak in response as I careened through the throne room and out into the night air was her name before the bond echoed once with a hollow thump.

Before I could feel her no more.