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“Then why hasn’t it been changed?”
“I would if I were in a position to demand such things, but…”
“Only the Primal of Life can.” I sighed, understanding. “God, what if…what if all those Chosen who haven’t been killed are being turned into Craven like Andreia?”
“It’s hard to even comprehend,” he replied. “Though it seems like the Revenants are not the same as the Craven.”
I nodded, thinking over what Gemma had shared. “It sounded like Kolis has been tinkering with his creations. Changing them. Maybe improving on them.” I shook my head, exhaling. “If this plan works, what happens to Kolis? And the Rot?”
“If it works, I imagine I would Ascend again. The impact may be as…volatile as when Kolis stole the embers. It might not be. There is no way of knowing. But other Primals and gods would feel it. They would sense that Kolis was no longer the Primal of Life.”
“So, that doesn’t sound like he dies then.”
Nyktos laughed roughly at the clear disappointment in my voice. “Kolis is the oldest Primal alive. We may never be able to kill him. We may only ever be able to weaken him enough to entomb him.”
“Like…like the gods beneath the Red Woods?”
He nodded.
“But you’re wrong, though,” I said. “The way to weaken and kill him is sitting right in front of you.”
The eather intensified in his eyes. “You promised,” he said softly.
I squirmed in the chair. “I did.”
He watched me. “I’m trusting you to keep your word, Sera, and that trust is a very fragile thing.”
“I know.” I lifted my chin. “I’m just pointing out the truth.”
“It’s not the truth.” A muscle ticked in his jaw. “It never will be.”
Looking away, I tried not to dwell on that fragile trust that he spoke of. “And the Rot?”
“Once I have the embers inside me, the Rot should vanish from the mortal realm—from your kingdom.”
The relief that swept through me would’ve taken my legs out from under me if I’d been standing. It was that potent. An end to the Rot wouldn’t fix everything in Lasania, but with Ezra and Marisol’s leadership, there was more than just hope for my kingdom. There was a future for the entirety of the mortal realm. I could almost cry.
“Your relief,” Nyktos murmured, drawing my gaze to him. “It’s…refreshing. Earthy.”
I wasn’t surprised to hear that I was projecting my emotions. Nodding, I pulled myself together as something occurred to me. “The people here? They have no want for food?”
“Much is imported from other areas of Iliseeum, as well as the grain used to feed the cattle and hogs, but there is just enough to keep everyone fed.”
“Is it possible that food can be exported from these parts of Iliseeum to Lasania so the suffering can be eased until the Rot is fixed?”
“I wish that were something that could be done,” he said softly as disappointment swept through me. “The effects the essence has on mortals who don’t carry it in their veins—and even animals—also impacts other organic matter. The food grown in Iliseeum would begin to rapidly decay as it crossed through the Primal mists between the realms.”
I exhaled slowly, telling myself there was still a chance to end the people’s suffering. “And what about the Shadowlands? You said it didn’t always look like this.”
“The Shadowlands were always different from the rest of Iliseeum—the stars were visible, even during the day, and the nights were darker than any other place in Iliseeum. But, yes, it would recede from here.” He looked at the ceiling, dragging the edge of his fangs over his lower lip. The act snagged my attention, creating a soft whirl in the pit of my stomach. “The change here was slow at first. Parts of it fell to what you call the Rot by the time I was born. But most of the Shadowlands was still alive. Thriving. I think you would’ve found it beautiful. It resembled the woods around your lake—wild and lush.”
Hearing him refer to it as my lake did strange things to my chest that were best left alone lest I project my emotions down his throat again.
Thick lashes lowered. “Where land is barren and lifeless now, there were once lakes and fields of flowers as vibrant as the moon.”
“Poppies,” I whispered. The flowers that were nothing like those in the mortal realm had delicate petals the color of blood in the moonlight on the outside and were a shade of crimson on the inside. They only opened when someone approached them. Poisonous, beautiful flowers that were unpredictable and temperamental and reminded him of me.
“The poppies,” he confirmed. A few days after my arrival in the Shadowlands, one had blossomed in the Red Woods. He’d believed it was my presence bringing life back to the Shadowlands. “There were also seasons here. Hot and steamy in the summer, snowy and blustery in the winter. As a child, I used to spend many of those warmer days in the lakes that once stretched along the road leading to the gates of the Rise. When I grew a little older and had trouble sleeping, I would swim. It’s one of the things I miss most.”
“Is that why you were in my lake that night?” I asked.
“I’d been to the lake many times before,” he admitted after a moment.
I couldn’t help but wonder how many times we’d narrowly missed each other.
“Even when my father died, the Rot didn’t spread fast,” he went on after a moment. “It continued slowly, year after year, taking little pieces at a time and turning the world gray as the sun grew weaker and the nights even longer. Then, seemingly overnight, all the trees in the Dying Woods dropped their leaves, and all the lakes dried up. That was the last of the seasons and sunlight here. But outside of the Shadowlands, it continues to spread slowly.”
Tension settled in my shoulders. I suspected I knew the answer to the question I was about to ask, but I wanted to be wrong. “When did that happen?”
His lashes swept up. “In five months, it will have happened twenty-one years ago.”
Gods.
Sitting back, I turned my attention to the bare bookshelves. “Aios was right in a way, you know? When she said that the embers of life were protected while in a mortal bloodline. But when I was born, that was no longer the case. They entered a vessel with an expiration date.” Focusing on him, I swallowed. “I’m sorry.”
“Why would you apologize? It’s not your fault.”
“I know.” I lifted a shoulder. “But I’m still sorry.”
Nyktos stared at me for several heartbeats. “I have a question for you.”
“Ask away.”
“What do you think of this plan?”
“What do I think?” I rubbed my knees. “I hope it works. It’ll stop the Rot and hopefully weaken Kolis. And if it does work…” I trailed off, my throat constricting.
“What?” Nyktos asked quietly.
I didn’t know how to put into words what I was thinking, let alone feeling, because it was something I’d never considered before. A future without an early, certain death. A possibly very long future, one that could possibly span hundreds of years. I felt…hope. For myself. It felt a little selfish since his plan carried the risk of more attacks between now and then, and the possibility of us not being able to locate the missing god—or the god being of no help to us. There was a lot of risk, but there was also hope.
And hope felt as fragile as the trust he’d spoken of.
Aware that Nyktos was watching me, I cleared my throat. “I think it’s a good plan.”
He nodded and didn’t speak for a few moments. “We need to talk about the coronation.”
Gods, that was in two days. My stomach tumbled even further because it felt as if I’d forgotten.
“I realized we hadn’t discussed what occurs during the coronation in any real detail.” He chewed his food as neatly as he carved it. “I figured you would have questions.”
“Should I? You said I would be crowned before high-ranking gods and Primals.” I squinted. “Actually, you said that the attendance of other Primals was only a possibility.”