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CHAPTER

SEVEN

Oralia

“I lay my heart in your hands.”

The words floated to me like mist on the breeze, and yet, I could not process them. Not when he was strung up with those dark chains. Not when his blood wept from each wound, pale face growing wan with each beat of his heart.

My magic woke slowly, stretching within my bones. I reached for it, welcomed it, begging it to respond as Typhon raised his sword. All eyes were fixed on the two timeless gods as I rose shakily to my feet, shadows pulsing around my palms. But I could only see Ren, lips parted on an exhale, darkness shooting from his lips and barreling straight toward me.

Typhon swung.

A sickening crack.

A hollow thump.

A bloodcurdling scream.

And an explosion of darkness.

I blinked, a rasping breath tearing through my lungs. Water lapped at my ankles. Mist curled around me, wiping at the tears on my cheeks and the blood from the wounds at my throat and around my wrists. Black, jagged sand crunched as I shifted my weight, a soft negation slipping from my lips, growing louder with each breath.

“No… no, no, no, ” I wheezed.

Ren’s power had done this. His last piece of magic before Typhon’s blow had not been to defend himself but to save me. I stumbled, falling to my knees in the damp bracken at the river’s edge, slipping in the dirt.

Arms banded around my middle, heavy breaths at my back as someone struggled to lift me. I recognized Drystan’s grunts of pain as he tried to hold me steady, so I did not claw at him as I wanted. His forehead pressed to the back of my head as I hung limply in his arms. The fight left me with another wave of exhaustion.

Waves lapped at our feet. The wide bow of a black boat sliced through the thick mist. Ren had sent me with the one person he knew he could trust most: the demigod who had willingly laid his life on the line to save me. Drystan froze, his grip loosening around my waist as I steadied myself on my feet, his hands rising to rest on my shoulders.

“Are we dead?” he murmured as the boat turned to dock.

I shook my head, my voice coming out in a rasp. “No, we are not dead.”

The blue light of the flame over the bow of the boat swung, illuminating the sunken features of Vakarys as she dug her punt into the water, anchoring to the shore.

“ Myhn lathira ,” she croaked, placing a hand over the ruined shell of her heart and dipping her head.

I thought perhaps I knew how she felt now as I stumbled aboard, barely managing to greet her in the old language. The mist thickened around us. My nostrils flared as I breathed deep—as if I could imbibe this small piece of Ren’s remaining magic the space where my heart had been. The bond we had only recently forged was brittle, weaker than it had been even when I crossed the threshold into Aethera. My power was aware that Ren’s soul hung somewhere in the balance between life and death, waiting for his resurrection, but I could not reach him.

“ Myhn Lathira…” Drystan whispered, stumbling over the language as he followed with a heavy limp. “What does that mean?”

I did not answer, too tired to do anything but sink to my knees. The boards, crusted with ice, stuck to the bloodied fabric of my dress and the bare skin of my ankles. I did not try to tug free, only stared at the flat edge of the boat as Vakarys pushed us away from the black river rocks. The water bubbled as countless mottled bodies in states of decay pushed close to the boat to shepherd us across.

“Where are the others?” I asked, voice soft, moving my attention to the back of Vakarys’s black cowl as she dipped the staff into the water.

“Waiting.” A skeletal hand rose, barely more than bone, to gesture to the dark land blossoming into view.

Each time I closed my eyes, it was Ren I could see so clearly now, the image burned into the back of my lids. Resignation to his fate written all over his face. Our vow the final words upon his lips. A hum of agony rumbled in my chest while rage bubbled beneath my skin.

In the quiet of the mist, I thought again of the way my shadows had changed in the throne room. The satisfied smile that had curled across Typhon’s lips, superimposed upon the water shepherds at the edge of the boat. Somehow, he had taken my power. Taken it and harnessed it against me. The ring was the key—the ring and the chains.

I could only hope once Ren resurrected he would be able to escape and my power would be enough to stitch him back together from whatever he lost in this new death. And if he could not escape, then it meant devising a plan to sneak into Aethera to find where Typhon was keeping him. We’d spoken enough of his power for me to know that he revived wherever his body was left, which surely meant Typhon would keep him under lock and key.

Slowly, Vakarys turned the boat, sliding the bow toward the rocky shore where Horace and Dimitri waited. I took one step off the boat, then another, stumbling on the rocks before Dimitri caught me, shushing me as I clung to him, the words spilling out of what Typhon had done.

“He will resurrect, and we will find him.”

I nodded, extricating myself from his hold, giving Horace a grateful nod as he held me by the elbow.

“Dimitri…” Drystan breathed, footsteps clunky against the shore.

Ren’s second-in-command froze, eyes—the same size and shape as my guard’s—widening before he rushed forward to fling himself into Drystan’s arms.

“Tell me you do not come here for judgment,” Dimitri cried, face pressed into his throat. “Tell me you are not bound to these shores.”

Drystan cupped the back of his head, eyes glassy before they closed. “I am not.”

When Dimitri pulled back, he cupped the demigod’s cheeks tenderly. His shoulders rose and fell with heavy breaths, and though grief clung like tar to my heart, there was a small spark of warmth at this reunion.

“It is good to see you, Brother,” Dimitri said.

Brothers. Twins. Separated by death and now brought together by ruin. Drystan murmured in kind while they broke apart. Dimitri turned in a swirl of his cloak to press his hand to his heart and dip his chin respectfully.

“ Myhn lathira. ”

Horace repeated the words before gesturing toward the looming castle in the distance, a silent invitation toward home.

“How did you know to wait for me here?” I asked, gazing up into the ruby-flecked gaze of the God of Judgment.

The corners of his mouth hardened, a flicker of pain flashing over his face as he tapped his chest with two fingers. “Ren felt you through your soul bond. It was enough to tell us to be prepared.”

Tears burned my eyes, but I nodded. Drystan was close at my back, a hand wrapped protectively around my shoulders.

“Will we be safe here?” he asked, his other falling to his hip where his sword usually rested.

Horace’s brows pulled together in confusion. “Of course, you will, friend.”

“Trust him,” I encouraged, placing a gloved hand over Drystan’s, patting when he did not relax. “And if you do not trust him, trust in me.”

But he did not relax, even when Dimitri murmured that all would be well. I frowned at the sentiment, unsure if it was the truth. Something was wrong as if the world was not as it should be. Those chains…the ring.

“We should not linger here,” I said.

Quickly and quietly, we divided. Horace took Dimitri in hand, using his power to move him closer to the palace while I wrapped a hand over Drystan’s and did the same.

A shiver skated down my spine as my shadows swallowed us, the reminder of what Ren had sacrificed thrown in my face. I swallowed back the lump in my throat as the castle melted into view when I pushed us through the dark. The high towers and darkened bones, once so horrifying, were now the only place I could call home.

In silence, we walked up the steep stairway into the antechamber, Horace and Dimitri falling back to allow me to enter first. There was a rumbling from the throne room, voices sliding beneath the heavy onyx doors I stopped in front of. One deep breath, then another. Heat pricked at the corners of my eyes, and my knuckles bleached white against my bloody gown.

But I did not want to change. No, let my people see the horror Typhon had wrought.

“Oralia,” Drystan murmured. “Wait, we need to discuss—”

“Later,” I cut across him, not sparing a glance for my guard as he was held back by his brother.

Later, we would talk. Later, I would tell him all that had transpired from my time in Infernis and apologize for continuing the charade in his presence. The doors groaned, sliding apart with a whisper of my power. and blue flame light poured across my face.

The throne room was not as full as it had been for our soul-bonding ceremony. Perhaps only a dozen or so gods, demigods, and souls gathered around, speaking quietly to one another. Ren’s inner circle— our inner circle. At once, all turned to us. The familiar faces were a balm on the wounds pulsing through my chest and yet not enough to calm the rising grief.

He will resurrect.

He will return.

I did not hesitate as I strode into the room and tugged off my gloves—nor did I think of Drystan behind me as all dropped to their knees. No, I could only think of the first time I’d been brought through these doors, sure Ren had been my enemy, and had witnessed his people do the same for him.

Each being murmured my title, hands pressing over their hearts, and I took the time to touch each soul in turn while being sure to avoid the living. My fingertips passed over shoulders or brows, a small zing of peace flaring through them as I did.

“What…” Drystan repeated.

Slowly, I turned, surrounded by my subjects, all bowing. I was closest to Sidero—one I counted as a friend above all else and I placed a hand on their shoulder.

“I am Lathira na Thurath ,” I explained with an apology in my gaze for the secrets I’d kept.

There was something like heartbreak in his eyes as Drystan looked me over with an unfamiliarity—as though I was someone new standing before him.

“What…what does that mean?” he eventually managed.

It was Dimitri who stepped forward, encouraging Drystan down on one knee with a hand on his shoulder, head bent low to his brother’s ear.

“She is the Queen of Infernis.”