Theentirelength.
The usual barren landscape sits transformed into an ambrosial feast. Platters, plates, cake stands, and tiered towers—all filled with eye-drawing and mouth-watering sweets.
My steps slow as I take in the sight.
And Eve matches pace.
Chocolates, cakes in the hues of the sunset, truffles, and berry-topped parfaits. Candies, tarts, custards, and iced sweetbreads.
EverythingI could eat myself sick on.
Andmore.
“What in the nine hells, Ves,” Eve breathes in awe.
It’s opulence and gluttony on exquisite display.
I could spend hours alone looking at it. Committing it to memory.
“Now that I have your attention…” Lilith’s voice chimes from across the room.
The Sovereign Queen Emeritus stands beside her usual seat near the end of the table, a glass of pale pink wine in hand. Wearing the same black silk dress—sans daggers, or any weapon for that matter—she offers Eve and me a smile.
“Let me show you howIerase a bad day,” she says and the smile on her face grows as splendid as the table itself.
?????????????
Eating myself sick is exactly what I did.
In fact, it’s what we all did.
And to my infernal surprise, Lilith and Eve didn’t bicker.
Not once.
I didn’t completely forget about the day’s events, but the desserts, the company of Eve and Lilith, their laughter, and a bit of wine did help lessen its sting. Followingdinner—both Lilith and Eve insisted it could still be called that—I sought the solace of thelibrary with the honest intention of readingThe Joining.
But, after an hour-long attempt and barely making it through the first chapter before growing bored and distracted, I gave up. Now the table’s grown cluttered, covered with an abundance of strewn-open books—all open to pages featuring my mother.
Heaving a tight sigh, I pushThe Joiningfarther aside, making more room for the book with a rather intricate color portrait of the moon goddess. It’s an impressive likeness—capturing many of her finer details. Moreso than many of the others I’ve seen. The artist must have seen her at some point.
The piece features Celesta in her typical navy robes, a silver rope drawn around her waist. My eyes trail up her lifted arms to her left wrist and find it bare. No strange, dark rune on her skin.
I cannot be the only creature to have noticed the marking on her wrist.
All the other portraits and renderings I’ve stumbled across have been the same. None of them show the runeI knowI saw. They capture her beauty, her mourning, her ethereal presence, butfailto provide the most important detail—the detailIneed.
I can loosely recall the rune—I’ve sketched it hundreds, if not thousands of times by now. But it doesn’t serve me if I’m not recalling it correctly, and in the depths of mysoul, I know it’s tied to where she’s gone. I figure out the rune, I find her.
What’s worse is I know I’ve seen it before.
I just can’trememberwhere.
And none of these books have helped anywhere near enough to be worth the ink and paper used to create them.
A gentle touch on my shoulder startles me, and my knee slams into the underside of the table. Books rattle, Malbolge curses fly, and Ryc’s surprised laughter cuts through the quiet of the library.
Eyes wide, I meet his stare as I rub at my sore knee.
