“Okay,” I said, “that’s actually pretty good. But now I'd like some privacy, please." For good measure, I waved my hand, and after a bow, the servant left. Only when I was sure I was alone did I get out of the pool and dry myself with the most heavenly towels ever invented.
I found a brush—or at least a brush-like implement—and managed to untangle most of the knots in my hair. My arms were covered in faint bruises, and I had a shallow gash on my shin, leftover souvenirs from the previous night. I raided the closet, found a flowing dress in a color somewhere between gold and the inside of a seashell, and slipped it on. The fabric was frictionless, lighter than air, and it caught the light in impossible ways. The effect was… dramatic. I looked like the villain in a science fiction opera, or maybe a space pope.
By the time I emerged, the silver figure had already made the bed with fresh sheets and discarded my old clothes. He gestured for me to follow.
The suite was immense, a series of caverns linked by archways of live stone that seemed to shift and move. I tried to spot windows, but there were none, only wall panels that flickered between translucent and opaque, letting in light that had the blue-white cast of an aquarium. My suite overlooked a central atrium, where another, larger figure waited at a table laid for two.
Zapharos.
I had not slept.The hours bled together in a haze of red and black, even though my body lay still, my mind was a battlefield. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her, her wide mortal gaze, the fire that sparked in her blood, the tremor in her hands when she defied me anyway.
Part of me snarled that she was safe here. That I should leave her behind and return to the war, where my brothers fought, and the Mmuhr’Rhong pressed harder every cycle. That was my duty. That was what I was forged for.
But the other part—the darker part—whispered I could not. That leaving her now would be a betrayal worse than any wound. That I should have been at her side through the night, watching over her. Protecting her, claiming what was mine.
The war inside me was worse than any I’d fought in Nox Eternum.
When dawn came—or what passed for dawn in this hollow void—I rose, my body felt heavy, and my restless aura crackled between gold, red, and streaks of black. I stalked the halls of my palace, each step echoed too loudly in the silence. I got to the dining area where the servants had started to lay a table, and for the first time, I realized that a space meant to be occupied by a thousand or more was only inhabited by ten, me and nine servants. Well, eleven, I suppose, now, counting Ella.
Still, I was just as restless as last night. I paced the morning room and watched the servants set it with foods of all kinds, because I had no idea what I should have ordered for Ella. I stared at the chair she would soon occupy… if she came. I didn't like the thought of her defying me. I didn't like why I cared much better.
Why had I ordered her brought here instead of confined or forgotten?
Because she was my Aelyth.
Because for the first time in eons, the word meant something.
And I hated it.
Again, I thought of my duty. What I should have done was take her to the others the moment I realized who she was. But just like before, the thought of her being scrutinized by my brothers didn’t sit well with me.
No. Not yet. Not them.
My fists pressed flat against the table, hard enough to crack the stone. I forced the black down, swallowing the hunger it roused, forcing the red todim. What was I doing? Keeping her here like some secret? Like some treasure hoarded in the dark?
Yes.
Because the moment they saw her, the moment theyknew, everything would change. She would not be mine alone. And the truth was—the great abyss damn me—I wanted her to be mine. Mine alone.
My brothers could wait. The Hall could wait. Even the war could wait.
But she could not. She deserved to know the weight of what she was, of whatAelythmeant. She deserved to understand why the Abyss itself had bent to bring her here.
I drew a slow, ragged breath, lowering my gaze to the table. The decision settled in me like a blade sheathed: heavy and inevitable.
I would tell her. About the Hall. About the Seven. About the Aelyth.
About us.
And then—when the time was right—I would decide whether to bring her before them… or keep her from them forever.
The sound of footsteps pulled me from my storm. She entered the atrium, and her damp hair fell in dark waves down her shoulders. She was wrapped in silk that shimmered like it had been spun from stars. The sight of her—my Aelyth—made the storm inside me roar again. I forced a stern expression on my face and my voice to sound like a cold command. “Sit.”
The silver Veythari set down the trays and withdrew, leaving only silence and the spread of food between us. Fruits that glistened like jewels, steaming bowls of spiced grain, cups of black, deliciously sweet nectar. She sat stiffly opposite me, the shimmer of her dress caught in the pale light.
I should have ignored her. I should have let her eat in silence, fed her, clothed her, and then carried her to the Hall of Seven, where the others would strip away whatever illusion I had of keeping her to myself. But the truth had gnawed at me all night, and the storm in my chest would not still.
“You asked me who I am,” I finally pushed out. My voice was low, rough from disuse, but it cut across the table like a blade.
