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“I’m guessing it wasn’t supposed to feel that quick to me,” I surmised.
Ash was still holding me tightly, my feet several inches off the ground, chest to chest, heart to heart. His was beating faster than mine. “We traveled even farther than the last time. And between realms. It should’ve knocked you out.”
“The embers,” I said, sighing. “I know. They’re getting stronger.”
Lowering me to the ground, he drew his hand up the length of my braid. “They’ll be out of you soon.”
Hopefully, I thought, but I didn’t say that. I didn’t want to give life to the possibility that we wouldn’t find Delfai or that he wouldn’t be able to help us. “So, what are we going to do? Walk straight up to the manor’s entrance and demand to be taken to the Princess?”
“Sounds like a good enough plan to me.”
I raised a brow. “Really?”
“Do you think they will refuse a Primal’s request?” Ash gave my braid a gentle tug.
My forehead creased. “You’re going to reveal who you are?”
“It makes things a hell of a lot easier, doesn’t it?”
“It does.”
A grin appeared, beating back the shadows that had gathered under his eyes, and I felt the curve of his lips tug at my heart. “Plus, there’s some level of amusement to be had when mortals realize they’re in the presence of a Primal.”
Some of the anxiousness eased as I laughed. “I bet it will involve a lot of screaming and yelling.”
“And praying.”
“This should be entertaining.” I stepped back.
Ash’s hand slid to mine, stopping me. The feel of his skin being warm once more sent a pleasant thrill through me. “It’s going to be okay, Sera.”
My breath caught. “Am I projecting again?”
“You were.” The eather had calmed in his eyes.
“What…what does anxiety taste like?” I asked.
“Like too-heavy cream.” He swept his thumb over the top of my hand. “What does it feel like to you?”
Pressing my lips together, I thought about how to explain it. “Like it tastes to you. Like something…too thick to swallow. Suffocating.” Uncomfortable, I looked down at our entwined fingers. The golden imprint along the top of his hand shimmered in the soft, dappled sunlight. I shook my head as we stood in silence. “It’s this…constant feeling that something bad is about to go down, even when nothing is happening. And when there’s a chance that things can go bad? It becomes the only thing that can happen.” My throat thickened. “I know that probably makes no sense, but it’s like a crushing weight on your chest, and it’s always there, even when you get used to it and don’t really feel it. It’s still there, just waiting. And I…I don’t know. That’s how it feels.”
“I get it,” he said, his throat working on a swallow. “I don’t know how it feels firsthand, but I understand what you’re saying.” His thumb kept moving over the top of my hand, tracing the lines of the imprint. “I wish I could do something to change how it feels for you.”
The swift, swelling motion in my chest threatened to lift me to the needled branches. My cheeks warmed, and I wasn’t sure if it was from what I’d shared or his words. His understanding. His desire to make it better. I wasn’t entirely embarrassed by what I’d shared. I just wasn’t used to talking about it. But it felt…good to do so. Almost like a chunk of the weight upon my chest had eased. I imagined that was a little like how he’d felt after speaking about Veses.
“I do think it will be okay,” he continued quietly, his gaze catching and holding mine. “We’ll find out how to remove the embers, and we’ll be successful. I believe this.”
I inhaled sharply, wanting to believe that, too, but the dread was there. It had been there when I awoke and was now nestled deep, along with the embers. For once, I didn’t think it had anything to do with the anxiety, but I nodded. “I guess it’s time to go scare some people.”
He chuckled roughly. “I think so, too.”
Fallen needles crunched under our feet as we started toward Cauldra Manor—it was the only sound to be heard. Tipping my head back, I searched the heavy branches for birds, but they remained quiet and hidden. There were no signs of life. No wind. The Pinelands were still, holding their breath. It was like nature recognized that a Primal of Death walked the realm and had gone quiet, wary, and watchful as we left the forest.
Sunlight bathed the rocky hill that Cauldra sat upon, reflecting off the bronze armor of the guards who patrolled the land around the manor. Unlike Wayfair, no i
Cauldra Manor came into view, the gently swaying ivy clinging to the ivory stone stilling as we crested the top of the hill. From the nearby stables, horses whi
“Halt!” a guard near an open set of doors shouted, striding forward, steel sword drawn. Several guards at the stables turned, and I imagined it wasn’t often they came across people strolling out of the Pinelands. “A
I glanced at Ash.
One side of his lips curved up as he continued several more steps, something the guards coming from the stables didn’t appreciate. They, too, drew their swords. “I am the Asher, the One who is Blessed. The Guardian of Souls,” Ash said, and I swore even the clouds above stopped moving. “The Primal God of Common Men and Endings, the ruler of the Shadowlands. I am Nyktos, the Primal of Death, and this is my Consort.”
Silence.
About half a dozen guards stared in utter silence.
Then the one who’d spoken first laughed. “And I’m the fucking King of Irelone,” he scoffed, his declaration met with raucous laughter.
“Well,” I said under my breath. The guards were too far away to notice anything off about his eyes. “That didn’t go as expected.”
Ash smirked as he turned his attention on the guards. The embers in my chest suddenly vibrated, responding to the charge of power hitting the air around us.
Behind us, a rush of birds took flight from the pines in a flurry of wings. They flew over in a wave of black, startling the guards. Tiny bumps spread across my skin as I glanced at the Primal. In the distance, from the valley below, dogs howled, and the horses’ whi
Ash’s chin dipped as his skin thi
The air near his shoulders thickened and sparked. A rush of wind tossed tendrils of hair across my face as the faint outline of wings arced high above us. “Then you must be the King of Irelone,” Ash said, eyes filling with churning wisps of eather. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
The guard had gone slack-jawed and as pale as a corpse. I would’ve laughed, except he and the others looked close to passing out. Several of them stepped back. None ran, though. Or screamed.
They dropped to their knees like dominoes. Swords clattered off rock and earth as heads bowed, and they pressed shaking hands to the ground and against their chests.
“I’m sorry, Your Highness.” One spoke above the murmurs of…prayers. “We didn’t know. Please—”
“There is nothing to apologize for,” Ash interrupted. The charge of energy faded from the air as the rippling shadows vanished around us. The howling stopped. Horses quieted. Ash’s grin had spread to a smile. “Rise.”
The guards clumsily stood, eyes wide with fear and bodies trembling. I couldn’t blame those whose lips still moved in silent prayers, but it struck me—what had been said about how mortals felt when near Kolis, the true Primal of Death. How they reacted to him.