“We don’t have months, Ryc,” I say. “We have until Ashdown. This has to work.” I slip my hand from his and give him my back, sweeping my hair over my shoulder. “Would you?” I ask.
Without hesitation, Ryc answers the request, his fingers finding the first of the silver buttons.
“When you made mention of requiring necromantic text, I started doing some digging of my own,” he says and I peer over my shoulder. “Illa Ysari has its own archive of records. We may find what you need there.”
“Is the place not beholden to Eldoterran law?”
“No,” he answers with a small smile. “It’s not. The caveat is Rowen was unsure how to access the archives. It’s not a place he was ever granted permission to visit.”
“Rowen was alive when the thrones were last occupied?” A small breathy scoff escapes me.
That would make Rowen what… at least sixteen centuries old? Likely much older. And worth more than simply his armies—I’m going to need to know everything he knows about the process for High Rulers in a few weeks’ time.
“He was,” Ryc chuckles as he finishes with the last of the buttons. I turn to face him, tugging my arms free from the silken sleeves. “Granted, he was not Sovereign King when Illa Ysarifell. He didn’t become Sovereign King until much later.”
“But he knows about this place?” I ask, reaching for the clothing I pulled from the wardrobe. A silken crimson puddle forms around my feet as my dress falls. “He’s certain an archive?”
“Yes.” He smiles.
“An archive with necromantic and-or demonic text?” I refuse to be swindled by fae wordsmithing.
“Yes.” His smile grows as I throw on my long sleeve, black shirt and reach for the matching pants.
“And Sovereign Kings swear an oath to protect this islandknowingsuch information is kept there?” I ask and he laughs.
“The oath encompasses more than protecting an island or our people,” Ryc replies, picking up my leather breastplate. “It deepens our connection to Aether. We’re granted access to a second innate because of this. As it stands, fae birthrates suffer because there isn’t enough Aether in the realm for our populations to grow. The oath renders Sovereign Kings and Queens into conduits of Aether.”
“Are the High Empress and Emperor also conduits?” I ask, trying to wrap my mind around the concept of being asourceof magic.
Ryc nods. “Yes. They harbor a direct connection and the oath bestows a deepened connection among the Sovereign Kings—to those willing to make the oath, at least.”
Placing the breastplate upon me, I hold it in place as he reaches for the first of the dark metal buckles along the side of my ribs.
“Nyraphim used to walk among us on Illa Ysari,” he says. “They were the first to die out when Aether was trapped.”
“Trapped?” My brows furrow as our eyes meet. “You speak like Aether was a living creature rather than a primordial god.”
“She was both,” he says with a soft smile. “All the elder gods walked among their creations. Some ruled lands.”
“I’ve never heard any such thing,” I counter as he grips my waist, pivoting me to work the buckles on the other side. “How do you know this?”
“Stories, histories… all passed down through the Witherhorn family,” he says. “One of the many duties of Sovereign Kings is to remember. Though, I believe it’s grown too easy for more than one to forget.”
The primordials left these realms long before I ever existed.
I shake my head. “I don’t believe it. The primordials created the realms and left their shadows to do as they please.”
The gods are their shadows.
Always striving to be more like the primordials, but failing miserably.
Ryc pauses, his brows furrowing at my words.
“The gods were left because it’s what peoplewanted,” he replies gently. “People wanted a higher power to celebrate, to question, to believe in, to turn away from, to love, to hate…”
I’m hard pressed to believe any such thing.
The primordials left and the gods continue to bastardize, manipulate, and do as they please with little regard for anyone outside the pantheon.
