“You think we’ll be able to go home that soon?” she asks, her voice growing closer. “We don’t know how long this ritual takes, or how long Ves will need to recover. Will that be enough time?”
“It’s what he hopes for,” Cyran replies.
It’s what I hope for, too.
I want this to be done and to go home.
“Patriarch Cenviri will do everything in his ability to ensureil-akivis as she should be,” Zirzol says, his low voice a coarse rumble.
There’s a brief pause before Eve asks, “What does he get out ofit?” It sounds more like a demand. “It’s not guilt driving him. Nor is it the goodness in his heart. There’s something else. There always is. What is it?”
“It is his Fate,” the First General answers with little hesitation. “Il-akivis the first of many Fated souls Patriarch Cenviri must restore.”
“The first? Has he not mended a person’s soul before?” Cyran asks, concern growing in his tone.
“Mending a mortal’s soul is simple,” Zirzol replies. “Il-akivis no mere mortal.”
“Makes sense,” Eve says with a huff. “She’s a demigod. Not like there’s a slew of them walking about.”
Fated to mend the souls of those Fated?
The cyclical nature of the thought is sure to inspire a headache.
Who am I to question Nektos and her web of weavings?
“Should we be concerned?” Cyran asks.
“As long as Patriarch Cenviri is kept safe during our time in the veil, no harm will come to your queen.”
The soothing rainfall fills the silence, or perhaps their voices fade into it. Either way, the sound sinks into my bones as I close my eyes and breathe in the scent of the night.
Whoeversheis—whoever Iwas—this creature harboring a deep cold, heartless rage—she doesn’t belong in the living realm. She’s become an errant soul, lost in the veil for at least twelve centuries. Part of me is sympathetic to her plight, but a larger part is selfish.
I will not allow her to ruin me or the life I’ve created here.
Nor can I continue to exist separated from her.
“Hey,” Eve’s soft greeting and gentle touch to my elbow cause me to jump. Her brows furrow as she steps in beside me. “You alright?” She asks, drawing her hood to protect her hair.
“Today has been… a lot,” I answer, my voice low.
“Yeah, I’d say,” Eve says with a small, huffed laugh. “But let’s be honest… this whole year has beena lot.”
I crack a smile, nodding. “It has.”
She pitches herself at the waist, leaning her elbows upon the rail to peer at the wilderness below. “Went to the market. Brought back food if you’re hungry. Learned there can’t bebusiness hoursifnothing ever closes.”
“Why close when undead rarely tire?” I laugh.
“I mean I get it… but seeing it?” Eve replies in hushed bewilderment. “They haveno eyes, Ves. It’sunnerving.”
“Neither do the constructs in Illa Ysari,” I counter with a teasing grin.
“And I don’t like them either!” Eve says, bursting into laughter. “But there’s a marked difference between a construct of Aether and using asoulto reanimate bones.”
“Perhaps.” I shrug. “But when placed on a list of things to be concerned about, undead and old magic constructs are low compared to the legion of demons skulking about.”
She shoots me a scrutinous glance before heaving a sigh. “Point made.” She shifts to peer up at me. “Cenviri mentioned finding your crystal here. And if you’re Cerwiden, it would make sense. You look more Cerwiden fae than Eldoterran.”
