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Chapter Twenty Nine

T he room felt like it might crack under the weight of unspoken tension.

Kent stood by the window, his back to us, fingers gripping the sill with a force that made the veins in his arms stand out.

He hadn’t said a word since we arrived, hadn’t even spared Camilla a glance.

Rankor, in stark contrast, leaned forward in his chair, his sharp gaze fixed on her like a blade pressed to her throat.

Neither moved, but the energy between them was sharp enough to cut.

Clay stood near the hearth, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his arms nearly completely black. His breath came slow and controlled, but the twitch in his jaw betrayed the restraint it was taking to keep from exploding.

It was Elaina who lingered closest to Camilla, her hands deft and deliberate as she adjusted the cloth on her forehead.

She didn’t look at any of us as she murmured, “She’s stable enough.

You can ask her questions.” But the way her shoulders squared and her body angled slightly toward Camilla made it clear—she was prepared to shield her patient, no matter what.

No one moved. No one spoke .

Camilla herself lay motionless on the couch, her gaze heavy-lidded but sharp as it slid over each of us. Her expression was unreadable as she looked at Rankor, at Clay, at Kent, and then, finally, at me. Her eyes lingered, dark and unsettling, before drifting closed again.

Clay caught my eye and gave a subtle nod, a silent command to take the lead.

I exhaled shakily, stepping forward and lowering myself into the seat across from her. My fingers tightened into a knot in my lap, the tension in the room pressing down like a hand around my throat. I took one last steadying breath, then spoke.

“There are things I haven’t told you all,” I began, feeling the eyes of Rankor and Kent lock on me. “There are aspects of my powers that are… unprecedented. Historically, it seems, there hasn’t been another Descendant as powerful as I am.”

Kent frowned, confusion etched on his face. “We know this.”

“Let her finish,” Clay commanded.

I took another steadying breath, my gaze fixed on the intricate patterns woven into the rug at my feet. “A few months ago, I visited Camilla. I… I asked her to explain why she’d done what she did.”

All eyes turned to Camilla, a shell of the beauty she’d once been. Her once-vibrant form was now frail and diminished, her dark hair dull and thinning, her skin sallow and pulled taut over her bones.

Her voice was barely more than a rasp. “I found a prophecy. It foretold of a Descendant of Hyrax who would lower the Veil.”

“That’s not possible,” Rankor protested, tightening his jaws.

“That’s what I thought,” Camilla replied. “Until -”

“Until I arrived,” I interjected, lifting my gaze. “Until I showed up out of nowhere with no explanation for how I got here.”

Silence fell as Kent shook his head slowly. “I don’t believe it. You wouldn’t do that. ”

“She couldn’t!” Rankor echoed, his gaze flicking between us. “ It’s not possible.”

“It’s not true!” Camilla snapped, pushing herself to sit up.

Elaina rushed to her side, helping her and propping a pillow behind her back before she continued.

“When I found it, I was practically out of my mind. I’d been hearing things, seeing things that weren’t real.

Then I found that damn prophecy and my grandmother convinced me I had no choice but to turn to shadow magic to kill Thea. ”

“I’ll have her head,” Clay growled, sounding more beast than human.

Camilla let out a bitter, hollow laugh. “Too late. She’s already dead.”

My breath hitched. “What?”

“I tried to tell you,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “I tried to tell the guards, but they wouldn’t listen. They ignored me every day, until one day they didn’t ignore me anymore…” Her voice trailed off, her eyes hollow as her throat tightened with memories.

Clay’s jaw worked in controlled anger. “I will hold them accountable for their actions. No woman should be treated that way, regardless of her crimes.”

Camilla’s lips trembled, tears shimmering in her eyes before she angrily pushed them away. Elaina touched her shoulder gently as Camilla steadied herself, her gaze meeting mine with a dark resolve.

“What did you need to tell me?” I asked, dread curling in my stomach.

She looked right at me, blocking out the men in the room. “After you left, she came to me. She told me everything, that it was all a lie. They forged the prophecy. She drove me out of my mind, knowing all along that I would never succeed in killing you. It was all a plan to get your blood.”

My skin turned cold, a chill crawling up my spine. It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t.

“Who ? ”

Camilla picked at her fingernails, the thin skin fraying and starting to bleed. “Alina wanted me to marry Clay so badly, but the Gods wouldn’t answer her prayers. So, she… she found a way around it.”

“A loophole?” Clay’s voice was a dangerous growl, his body tense as he came to stand between Camilla and I.

“ She promised Alina the power to make me pregnant if Alina sacrificed her mortal body.”

“Alina sacrificed herself?” Kent questioned, horror evident in his words.

I could barely hear him, though. I couldn’t breathe.

It wasn’t true.

“Who, Camilla?” I screamed, shattering the tension in the room with my desperation.

Clay was at my side in an instant, a hand coming to my neck, concern etched on his face, but I couldn’t look at him. I couldn’t focus on anything my Camilla.

Her voice trembled, her eyes darting to mine. “Pasnia. Alina sacrificed herself to let Pasnia take control of her body. The Goddess of Madness is here in the Mortal Realm.”

Pasnia. The Goddess who had been absent during every one of my visits to the Underworld. The Goddess who was apparently so ill she was close to death—and yet, somehow, she was here. In the Mortal Realm.

T he wind slapped my face, cool and biting, as I sat on the steps at the back of the manor.

I’d bolted outside without explanation, barely hearing the others as I left.

Power had surged in me so suddenly that the ocean had risen in a towering wave before crashing back down with a thunderous roar.

Now, I barely noticed my legs give way as I sank onto the stairs, struggling to breathe through the tempest in my chest.

The storm in my mind was louder than the crashing waves.

Clay’s presence reached me before I saw him, a steady warmth that seemed to anchor the chaos spiraling inside me.

He draped a quilt around my shoulders and settled down beside me, close but not suffocating.

He didn’t flinch when the ocean swelled and roared again, but his gaze lingered on me, steady and unreadable.

His jaw was tight, and for a moment, I couldn’t tell if it was worry—or something else.

“You doing okay?” His voice was low, gentle, as though he was afraid a louder tone might shatter me.

I almost laughed, a bitter sound that never fully escaped my lips. Okay? Nothing about this was okay. Nothing had been okay since I’d ascended to the Council. “Do I have a choice?”

“With me, yes,” he said, his tone soft but resolute.

I turned to look at him, and the concern etched into his expression made my defenses waver. He meant it. If I wanted to fall apart right now, he’d let me. He’d hold me together, so I didn’t have to do it myself. But that wasn’t who we were—neither of us. We didn’t fall apart.

We endured. We fought. We led.

And I wasn’t about to start backing down now.

“So,” I cleared my throat, trying to steady my voice. “Pasnia’s the one who’s looking for the Sword of Zion.”

Pasnia’s the reason that the town of innocents is dead. They were driven to madness by her magic.

Clay’s gaze shifted to the horizon, the endless rhythm of the waves reflected in his steady demeanor.

He folded his hands together and nodded.

“It would seem so. But something doesn’t add up.

I’ve been looking into it, and according to everything we know, only the God bonded to the weapon can use it.

Neither Hyrax nor Pasnia can harness the Sword’s power. ”

The words echoed the suspicion gnawing at the edges of my mind. There was still something we were missing. If Pasnia couldn’t use the Sword, why go to such lengths to find it? Why risk everything for something that wouldn’t serve her purpose?

Unless… the Sword wasn’t the purpose at all.

A chill crept down my spine as the thought settled, dark and heavy.

What if the Sword of Zion was just a distraction?

A means to cover her true goal? Camilla had been insistent that the prophecy was a fabrication, a manipulation by Pasnia to lure me into her schemes.

But what if it wasn’t entirely false? What if I was the Descendant destined to lower the Veil?

I’d already proven I could breach it—maybe not permanently, but long enough to traverse realms.

That couldn’t be a coincidence.

What if every scheme, every sacrifice, every twisted game was part of Pasnia’s plan to make me lower the Veil? To free Hyrax?

The realization settled like a stone in my gut, hollow and unrelenting. My chest tightened as I grasped the truth I’d been avoiding for so long.

“I need to talk to him,” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the crash of the waves.

Clay sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly, as if he’d been waiting for me to say those words. He reached for my hand, threading his fingers through mine with the same steadiness that had kept me grounded time and time again. “Yes, you do.”

“I’ve asked him for answers before and he won’t give them to me. He’s vague. It’s like he’s holding back until I give him something in return.”

Clay squeezed my hand. “Maybe I’m not the only person who’s seeking honesty from you. ”