A light in the flame

“I know,” Nyktos remarked coolly. “I expect I will have numerous unwanted visitors.”

“Being his Consort will offer you some level of protection,” Penellaphe said, looking at Nyktos. “Until then, any Primal could make a move against her. Even a god. And it would be unlikely you’d have the other Primals’ support if you retaliated. The politics of our Courts?” Penellaphe sent me a sympathetic grimace. “They are rather archaic.”

That was one way to describe them. Cutthroat was another.

“But a coronation won’t be without its risks,” Penellaphe added. “Most of the gods and Primals from all nine Courts, including yours, will show for the ceremony. They should follow the customs, which prohibit…conflict at such events. But as you know, many like to push that line.”

“Do I ever…” Nyktos muttered.

The goddess winced. “Kolis doesn’t make a habit of joining such festivities, but…”

“He knows something is here. He already sent his dakkais and draken, as I’m sure you know.” Nyktos pi

“Unfortunately, you would be correct,” Holland confirmed, and I wondered if knowing and not being able to say anything was more frustrating than having no knowledge at all.

Probably not, considering how a

Despite the temperature of the room returning to normal, a chill broke out across my skin as I thought of what could come. “What will happen if Kolis enters the Shadowlands?”

“Kolis can be unpredictable, but he’s no fool,” Nyktos said. “If he can enter the Shadowlands and comes to the coronation, he won’t try something in front of the other Primals and gods. He believes he’s the fair and rightful King of Gods, and he likes to keep up the façade, even though the Primals know better.”

“But if he—” I started.

“I won’t let him lay a finger on you,” Nyktos swore, his eyes flashing.

My heart tripped. While that was a nice vow for him to make, I knew it stemmed from the knowledge that I carried the embers of life in me. And because Nyktos was decent. Protective. Good. “Thanks, but I’m not worried about what will happen to me.”

Nyktos’s jaw hardened. “Of course, not.”

I ignored that. “What will Kolis do if he realizes you’re shielding someone who carries the embers of life?” I demanded. “Or discovers that I carry Sotoria’s soul? What will he do to the Shadowlands? To those living here? I want to know what my presence will cost you.”

“Your presence will cost me nothing.” Shadows deepened once more beneath Nyktos’s flesh.

“Bullshit,” I said, and the silver of his irises shifted to iron. “I don’t need to be protected from the truth. It’s not like I’ll be so frightened by it that I’ll run off a nearby cliff.”

Holland sighed.

“That’s good to know,” Nyktos replied dryly. “But I am more concerned about you ru

I lifted my chin. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Bullshit,” he parroted, and my eyes narrowed. He was right. I absolutely knew what he meant.

Whatever.

“Kolis already knows that there is something here with the power to create life,” Penellaphe interjected, ignoring the furious glare Nyktos sent her. “But as Nyktos said, Kolis is no fool. He sent the dakkais as a warning. A way of showing Nyktos that he is very much aware.”

“But that was after I brought Gemma back,” I said. Gemma was one of the third sons and daughters given over during the Rite to serve the Primal of Life and his Court. A tradition honored and respected throughout all the kingdoms in the mortal realm.

An honor that had become nothing but a nightmare under Kolis’s rule.

Gemma had been one of the few that Nyktos had secreted away from Kolis’s Court with the aid of gods like Bele and others and then sheltered in the Shadowlands. He gave them sanctuary. A sliver of peace.

The things my mere existence threatened.

Gemma hadn’t gone into detail about what her time spent in Kolis’s Court had been like, but she hadn’t needed to for me to know that being Kolis’s favorite for a while wasn’t anything pleasant. Whatever had been done to her was bad enough that when she’d spotted one of the gods from Kolis’s Court in Lethe, she had panicked. So afraid of being sent back to him, she had run into the Dying Woods—where certain death awaited her.

“He hasn’t responded to what I did to Bele,” I continued. And then added, “As far as I know.”

“Only because I imagine that act caught him off guard,” Penellaphe mused. “Neither he nor anyone else would’ve expected that.” She glanced at Nyktos. “He hasn’t summoned you?”

“No.”

“Is that the truth?” I demanded.

Nyktos nodded. “I can only delay in answering his summonses. I can’t deny them.”

“He’s likely cautious right now,” Penellaphe said. “And I imagine he’s also very curious, considering exactly what could be hidden away in the Shadowlands, how it could be possible for embers of life to exist, and how he could make use of whatever this source of power is.”

“Aid him in whatever twisted ideal of life he believes he’s creating,” Holland tacked on.

“You know what he’s been doing to the Chosen who have gone missing?” Nyktos’s gaze sharpened on him. “These things called Revenants?”

“I know that what he calls Revenants are not the only mockery of life he’s managed to create.” Holland’s dark gaze locked on Nyktos. “And you’ve already seen what he’s had a hand in creating. What some of the gods of his Court have been doing in the mortal realm.”

Nyktos’s brows pinched together, and then he glanced at me. “Your seamstress.”

It took me a moment to realize he meant my mother’s seamstress. “Andreia Joanis?” Before I found her dead, I’d seen the god Madis near her home in Stonehill, a district that faced the Stroud Sea. Her veins had darkened, staining her skin as if ink filled them, and her eyes…they had been burned. Nyktos had been following Madis that night, and he’d ended up there. He too had believed she was dead. “She came back to life or something. Sat up and opened her mouth. She had four fangs I do not recall her ever having before.”

Holland barked out a short, guttural word in a language I didn’t recognize as he turned his head, spitting on the ground.

My brows flew up. “Come again?”

“Craven?” Nyktos’s eyes narrowed as he recognized whatever Holland had said.

The Fate nodded. “It is what becomes of a mortal when their life force—their blood—is stolen from them, and the loss isn’t replenished. It does not matter who the mortal was before. The act rots them, in body and in mind, turning them into amoral creatures driven by an insatiable need for blood. Craven.”

Nyktos had gone still. “The act of killing a mortal while feeding has been forbidden since the dawn of time.”

“And that outcome is why,” Holland said. “It is a balance.”

I threw up my hands. “How in the hell is turning a mortal into something like that a balance?”

“The balance here demands that the life taken is then restored to serve as a reminder to the gods that their inability to control themselves has consequences. Maintaining balance isn’t always as simple to understand as it is when, say, the Primal of Life restores a mortal’s life.” His eyes fixed on mine. Hard. All-seeing. “Another’s life must be forsaken in their place.”

I sucked in a sharp breath, my stomach hollowing. “The night I brought Lady Marisol back to life, my stepfather, the King of Lasania, died in his sleep.” I hadn’t even considered that it had anything to do with my actions. “Good gods. I killed my stepfather?”

“No,” Nyktos cut in, his eyes narrowing on the Fate. “You didn’t.”