Страница 36 из 155
“I lied,” he admitted without shame. “I figured learning that Primals would be there would make you nervous.”
“It doesn’t.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Okay. It makes me a little nervous, but it’s not like that news is something I can’t handle.”
“When we first discussed the coronation, you’d just been brought into the Shadowlands and discovered that it was not I who had made the deal that forced you to become my Consort. Your entire life, whatever it may have been, had just been upended right after you were whipped,” he stated, his eyes flashing to a steely gray. I quickly shifted my focus to the bare shelves. “Even one as strong as you can only take so much.”
“You never know how much you can take until you can’t take more,” I said. “But I…I appreciate the motivation behind the lie.”
Nyktos chuckled. “Sure, you do.”
“So, there is more than just me being crowned and calling it a night?” I asked, looking up at him.
“Is that how Kings and Queens are crowned in the mortal realm?”
“Gods, no. There are days-long celebrations. Feasts and parties. Fireworks.” I smiled. “I do enjoy fireworks.”
“There will be no fireworks.”
I pouted. “That’s disappointing.”
His fingers partially hid his smile as he scratched his chin. “Nor will there be days-long celebrations.”
“I’m relieved to hear that.”
“But there will be a feast after the coronation.”
“Here?”
“No. The coronation will be in Lethe, at the Council Hall,” he said. “And we won’t see each other tomorrow. It’s tradition—a belief that not seeing one another before the start of the coronation will ward off bad luck.”
“You believe in that?” I asked, genuinely curious.
“You know, I’d rather not take any chances, so I will honor the tradition to the best of my ability.” He tipped his head back. “I will meet you before the ceremony. We will ascend the dais together, and it will be I who crowns you and bestows a title upon you.”
Realizing I hadn’t seen him with a crown yet, I wondered exactly what it looked like and if I would be expected to wear it. Crowns looked absurdly heavy. “So, what is my title?”
A wry grin appeared. “Not sure yet.”
I arched a brow. “Nice.”
“I’ll come up with something,” he promised. “If the Fates find us worthy and everyone behaves with the decorum that is expected, the feasts will begin.”
“And if they don’t?”
“You will be heavily guarded throughout the entirety of the event,” he shared. “I will not allow any harm to come to you.”
“I don’t need you to keep me safe.”
Thick lashes lifted, and those wisps of eather fragmenting the silver in his eyes were brighter than I’d ever seen them. “But you do.”
“I think I proved on more than one occasion that is not the case,” I replied, tensing.
“You showed no fear with the dakkais and didn’t hesitate when the entombed gods were freed,” he said as my gaze dropped to my hands. “I know you’re strong and can fight. That you’re brave. Needing me or anyone to look out for you doesn’t mean you’re weak, that you can’t defend yourself, or that you’re afraid. We all need someone to watch over us.”
Heat crawled up my throat. “Do you?”
“Desperately,” he whispered.
My gaze flew to him. Nyktos might be the youngest of the Primals, but I’d seen him in his true form. He was a winged being of night and power, able to obliterate gods with a mere look. I’d seen him turn trees into ash in anger. But there was a truth in that one word, a vulnerability I found myself wanting to protect.
Nyktos pushed off the desk and walked to the credenza. He opened a drawer and pulled out a thick, bound tome. “We will also need to get a handle on what happened last night.”
“The dumping me on your bed and taking my clothing off part of last night?” I suggested.
He sent me a dry look as he sat. “The eather you wielded. Right now, that may just be tied to your emotions. I don’t know if removing those embers will stop you from doing it again until you complete the Culling. It may not. What I know is that the embers have already changed you. There is eather in your blood. That will not be removed, and you will still be able to harness eather once you complete the Culling.”
“But not restore life.”
“Not without those embers.”
I glanced down at my hands. I wasn’t sure if I would miss the ability to restore life. The ability to create life out of death didn’t always feel like a part of me, but it was a part of me. The embers in my chest warmed at the thought, but they were also bound and determined to kill me.
“The ability could come to you more easily between now and then,” he continued as he began unwinding the twine. “Like it would for a god-born destined to Ascend to Primalhood.”
“Like you?”
He nodded. “There are ways we can try to draw it out of you again that won’t run the risk of weakening you, as long as you’re not using the eather in other ways and are taking care of yourself.”
“Really?” I sat forward, my interest more than piqued. “Is that something we can try now?”
A faint grin appeared, but he froze. His gaze flicked over my shoulder. A moment later, I heard a knock. “Come in.”
I twisted in my chair as the doors opened to reveal Saion.
“There is…a problem at the gates,” he said, and a wicked sense of déjà vu swept through me.
“Elaborate,” Nyktos ordered, closing the tome.
Saion sent me a quick glance. “The Cimmerian are here.”
I tensed as Nyktos sat. I’d learned of the Cimmerian during my studies. They were lesser gods a couple of generations removed from Attes, the Primal of Accord and War, and Kyn, the Primal of Peace and Vengeance. Gods born fully formed as warriors. There were even legends about them being brought forth during mortal wars by Kings brave—or foolish—enough to summon either Attes or Kyn. “Why would Attes or Kyn send warriors here?”
“Not all Cimmerian serve Attes and Kyn. Some serve in other Courts. These have come from Hanan’s,” Saion shared, and my stomach dropped.
Nyktos glanced at Saion as he replaced the tome and opened another drawer. “Where’s Bele?”
“With Aios,” Saion answered. “Nektas is taking Jadis and Reaver to them.”
“Good. Bele will not leave the younglings.” Nyktos grabbed straps that went around his waist and chest, designed to hold swords and other sharp, pointy weapons. “How many are at the gates?”
“About a hundred,” Saion said.
“Fuck,” Nyktos growled.
“Most of the guards are on the Rise along Lethe as you requested, keeping an eye on the Black Bay.” Lamplight from a nearby sconce glanced over the rich, black skin of Saion’s cheek as he cocked his head. “There are only about a dozen here. So, if things go south…”
“And if they do go south?” I rose as Nyktos opened a cabinet door and slid out a long, wide shelf full of weapons. “I’ve seen what you’re capable of—”
“Cimmerian are not your run-of-the-mill gods. Using eather around them feeds their abilities,” Saion said.
“Like the dakkais?” I asked.
“The dakkais want to devour those with eather in them, but the Cimmerian pull strength from it. The essence amplifies their abilities. Makes them stronger.” Nyktos withdrew a sword, strapping it to his back so the handle pointed down, and leaving me to wonder exactly how deep the credenza was. “And they don’t fight like anyone you’ve ever seen.”
Dread quickly blossomed. “How do they fight?”
“They can summon shrouds of night to blind their opponents,” Saion told me. “The kind that not even Nyktos can see through.”
My heart kicked against my ribs. That had not been in any of my studies. “And they would try to fight you?” When Nyktos didn’t answer, I twisted to Saion. “Will they?”
Saion nodded. “Fighting is one of the few things that seem to bring those fuckers any joy. They’re willing to fight with just about anyone, including Primals.”