There’s nothing scrutinous about his tone.
But it grates against me all the same.
“How does one show proof?” I counter as heated, indignant anger prickles down my spine. “I know what I saw, what I felt when I touched it. A Fate Reader confirmed my weaving asgold. It is mine.”
A cold, jaded rage emerged from the darkest recesses of my essence and closed its demanding, icy grip upon my heart. And whatever proof the necromancer sought, he seems to have found it. His scrutiny falls away, his expression taking on a degree of regret.
“Then like me, you’re both involved in a game the gods have rigged,” he says. “There are things you should know—need to know. Let us talk. Join me in Cal Anore.”
He swings an open arm behind him in invitation as he pulls himself from the pillar, and my eyes meet the stare of at least twodozen dark fae clad in a mix of black and crimson robes standing near the center of the room.
I hesitate.
Stepping through the Ferry Gate means stepping onto Cerwiden soil. I’ll be an entireoceanaway from Illa Ysari, from Erus, from Eldoterra. Surrounded by necromancers, bloodmancers, demons, and gods know what else.
“You are safe among those in my House,” Cenviri says, noting my hesitation and concern. “Though I cannot make the same guarantee should you decide to venture beyond Cal Anore’s island.”
We’ll also be leaving a door wide open between the two lands. Glancing over my shoulder, the rows of sentinel constructs take several,silentmarching steps forward. Four pull from the ranks and position themselves behind us.
“Illa Ysari is well protected,” Cyran says, his voice low. “If Your Majesties would prefer, I can remain here.”
“No,” Ryc and I say in unison.
Cenviri snaps his fingers three times and four more Generals step into the view granted by the gate. “Remain here, keep inquirers at bay. No one through. Answer no questions. Zirzol with me,” he says, the language of the hells racing from his lips.
“Ready?” Ryc asks, offering me his arm.
Taking it, I breathe deep and nod. “I’m tired of waiting.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Structurally, Cal Anoreis an exact reflection of Illa Ysari.
With the same gatehouse, veranda-like walkways, circular throne room, the differences lie in a few small details—and a single major one.
It isn’t empty.
It isn’t abandoned, or desolate, or left to wither with time.
Cal Anorethrives.
It’sfilledto the brim with thousands of dark fae and humans, hundreds of undead, and dozens ofdemons.
Drukaisn’tthe only demon who’s escaped the hells.
I draw a deep breath, trying to slow my thoughts and heart.
An influx of demons in the living realm is bound to cause issues—and notsimpleissues either. It’s going to causefantasticalissues that destroy lives and skew the balance of the realms.
How many are there?
Dozens? Hundreds?
The sinking notion in my stomach grows. They’ve all deserted their Houses, which means House Patriarchs hunt them—easy enough to do in the hells… but how does that work when they’rerealmsapart?
Are they even stillHoused?
As much as I want to know, launching a series of questions at Druka after centuries of not seeing her, after the way we were separated… I’m not going to do that.
