A smile curls the necromancer’s lips. “Good to seeil-akivhas chosen a dedicated First General.” He closes the book. “I’ll have Zirzol answer all your questions, explain the process of descending, and what to expect while veilwalking.”
Behind him, his own First General nods firmly.
Cenviri rises, tucking the book under his arm.
“It will take me a few hours to prepare the ritual space and procure the bindings for the life tether,” he says. “I suggest you take the time to make the preparations you require. Clear your minds. Get rest. You’re welcome to explore the common areas of Cal Anore should you wish.”
Crossing the room, he pulls a door open, pausing.
“I’ll send for you once we’re ready to begin,” he says over his shoulder, and the door closes behind him.
Eve looks to Cyran. “You’ve been quiet, Cyran. What are your thoughts?”
Cyran pulls at his lowered cowl, adjusting it around his neck. “Later,” he answers softly. “First we learn what we need to do to keep our king and queen safe.”
?????????????
A light, gentle rain falls against my upturned palm as I stare at the darkened night sky. The stars, the moon, the universe—they all lie hidden behind a thick veil of shadowed clouds. Below, bright, bold, and bizarre flowers glisten under free-floating magelights, reminding me of summer in Ollora.
Cal Anore sits amid a wilderness I could have never imagined in all of my years. It’s verdant and lush and damp with tall grasses, broad-leaf plants, and curling vines. The trees hoist a canopy ofblueleaves in the same star shape as those along the docks of Illa Ysari.
Colossal violet and red unbelievably long, pitcher-shaped flowers emanate the strangest smell—the nectar too sweet—giving the impression its petals would be disastrously sticky.
Lowering my hand, I rest it upon the slick, obsidian rail. The sound of the pattering rain against the stone of the balcony, towers, and covered walkway creates a mellow wash of noise. Distant voices—chatter and laughter—carry, likely coming from the open halls we came through earlier.
None of this—not the lush landscape, the throngs of people going about their lives, or the warm welcome we’ve received—fits any of the notions I have about the dark fae or their lands. It’s not off-putting, but it’s… uncomfortable. And I find myself angry at Netharis and Vaelyn once again.
Whylie?
Unless, of course, all this is the result of Cenviri’s rule followinghis release from his contract. I’ve so many questions… if Illa Ysari requires the blood of a winged fae or nyraphim, what blood does Cal Anore require?
Cenviri already claimed he isn’t demon.
If demons walk in Cal Anore, does it mean he’s already ascended the throne? Is he High Emperor of Cerwiden—or however the role is titled here?
I’m curious about his Fate. I’m curious about his mate—whoever they might be. What are these gold souls—aside fromFated—and why are they so few? Why have they been fractured and scattered? Why do the gods hunt them?
Through the curtained line of arches behind me, a door closes softly. It’s followed by the sound of rustling paper.
“Where’s Ves?” Eve asks.
“On the balcony,” Cyran answers, keeping his voice low. “Being in here grew to be too much.”
My jaw tightens.
It did.
I didn’t realize it would.
The floors, the walls, the arches—everything’s cleaved from obsidian. It feels too much like the Tower, and despite knowing it isn’t, sharp unease circled in my chest anyway.
Out here, it doesn’t feel as smothering.
Out here, I can breathe.
“Ryc hasn’t returned?” Eve sounds surprised.
“Not yet.” More paper rustles as Cyran answers. A chair drags against the floor. “It may take him some time to reach Captain Hazelwind, having to trek through the citadel. He’ll tell him to return in two days.”
