Page 14 of Zel (The GriMM Tales #2)
Red’s mastery of shadows meant citizens eventually feared they might be consumed by his darkness—or that parts of them would be if he was feeling cruel.
Orange lived mostly in the shape of animals, listening in on the citizens for dissension, so that meeting a bear in the wood often meant one had said too much.
Yellow magically buffed her physique so often that it became an obsession until nothing else mattered, certainly not protecting others even when they begged for it.
Green did not suffer insufficient recitations of her bard songs, and if a performer displeased her, she would make them relive what they sang—specifically those tales that ended tragically.
Blue was so distorted by disappointment in what often became of the people he aided that he turned instead to killing children before they could grow into bandits or grooming them to become more like him. Which fate was worse was often debated.
As the most powerful among them, Ulrich was also the most corrupt, never satisfied with what he had.
He sped through scenes to show him on his throne, closer to how he looked now, but surrounded by beauty fawning over him and presenting to him their skills, like dancers, musicians, and the best courtesans.
He sometimes did not wait to take them to bed, but fondled them on his lap, right there in his throne room.
He showed very little of his carnal encounters, but Zel’s blush proved that his betrothed's virginity in most ways had not been a lie. Despite having experienced it all firsthand, rewatching those moments stirred next to nothing in Ulrich’s own loins. No, they stirred not for the past.
“All power has its limits, Zel, but I sought to transcend that too.” Ulrich lifted his right arm, stretching out his bony black hand with its violet veins. “To achieve immortality, a price must be paid.”
Again, Ulrich moved the scenes forward, pausing on one with his hand already black, clutching it as he knelt upon the floor of a room he kept vague to Zel’s view. He would not show Zel what had led to that moment, how he had achieved it, but together they watched the aftermath.
The pain Ulrich had been in was followed by a surge of power infusing the rest of him, setting him aglow, and causing the stardust-like appearance he had now, for a part of the void, the unknown, the absence of everything that existed beyond the touch of magic lived within him and would forevermore because of what he had done.
When the void grew hungry, his arm ached, and the next scenes showed no signs of his former friends, only him devouring the souls of his citizens to subdue the pain both there and deep within him where he continued to crave more.
Eventually, he craved nothing but souls, for soon, the scenes, similar to those before of Ulrich being fawned over by dancers, musicians, and courtesans, showed how disinterested he had become of their company.
He still hungered, but his cravings, his desires, his spark of life was gone.
Those scenes seemed to trouble Zel least of all, perhaps because of having seen that none of it happened overnight. Ulrich had been tainted over years of poor decisions and selfish living, until living wasn’t what he could be called at all anymore.
“What I had not accounted for was that it would all ultimately grow stale. Everything does if it never ends. And so, I left and came here. Tell me, Zel, do stories persist of how the Immortal King made his exit?” The final scenes showed Ulrich in the wood erecting the tower to keep others away, and yet also needing the foolish thieves and wanderers who came calling, so he could continue to control his hunger and the pain he had willingly accepted when he thought the payoff would always be worth it.
“The stories do not say that the Immortal King and the sorcerer in the tower in the wood are one in the same, only that he grew tired of ruling and vanished.” Zel, still clutching the now cooling cup of coffee, looked at Ulrich, and then down at the blackened hand that had lowered to clutch the railing.
“The longer you go without feeding that way, the more your arm pains you?”
“My arm pains me every second a soul is not passing between my lips, but yes, it worsens the longer I go without.”
Zel set the porcelain cup on the railing and reached to place a hand upon Ulrich’s.
Ulrich inhaled sharply, not because he was shocked Zel would dare such a thing, but because the pain, for the first time since he’d lost his true hand, receded. He had not anticipated that. “Fascinating.”
“My lord?” Zel blinked up at him worriedly.
“Zel, might I touch the fall of your braids?”
Color filled Zel’s cheeks, same as when the scenes had shown a few sordid moments. “Y-you may. I appreciate that you asked first.”
“I never used to ask for anything, but constant worship grows stale too, for what can anyone believe of a slave who has no choice but to obey their master? Surrounded by fear and lies, all that remained of any truth in my life was the pain.” Ulrich lifted his black hand from beneath Zel’s.
At that moment of disconnect, it ached again, but with the first stroke down Zel’s braids, not only did the pain subside, but Ulrich’s hand swelled, plumping back to life almost as if it was normal, even a little less black in color.
Zel’s head snapped toward the reinvigorated hand to stare. “Is this why you wanted—”
“I did not expect this,” Ulrich cut off Zel’s question, for he had not.
The magic in Zel was to serve a different purpose, but this development was not unwelcome.
Just like the touch of Zel’s skin, as soon as Ulrich was not touching the strands of hair, the pain returned, and in this case, so did the shriveled blackness.
“It seems the effect is only temporary.”
Zel clasped Ulrich’s hand and brought it back in contact with the braids. “My mother used to help me with my hair, since it is difficult to manipulate such volume alone. Its length is not always a blessing since it cannot be cut.”
“It cannot be?” Ulrich had wondered about that.
“Well, I can cut it, but only me. We did not want others knowing that and thinking of ways to use it against me. I only used the knowledge to manage the hair around my face.” Zel brought Ulrich’s hand up to touch the fringe.
The hair was so wonderfully soft, but especially because Ulrich felt no pain while touching it. “Did you ever wish to cut its length?”
“Yes, but I have grown fond of it. I would gladly keep it this way forever now if I could style it on my own more easily.”
“Perhaps that could be the first magic I teach you.”
Zel’s eyes brightened. “I would like that. But even if you do, would you perhaps like to help me with my hair each day? When you have the time or desire to, of course. It is your brush my mother always used to comb it, and now that brush is mine. The silver one?”
“I remember it. And yes.” Ulrich allowed Zel to move his hand from hair to delicate cheek, while enough strands still brushed it to keep it plump. “I would like to assist you. Tomorrow then. For now, would you like to help me in the garden, Zel?”
“That sounds lovely, my lord.”
Lovely. So lovely.
Perhaps Ulrich had not accounted for everything with his would-be assassin after all.