He hesitates as if unsure whether to share more, rubbing his oversized thumb on the small ring, and ultimately lets the jewel fall back into the box. A heavy stretch fills the room, and I can’t shake the niggling itch in the back of my head that there’s more than the version he’s giving me.
I twist my hand in the bedsheet. “You aren’t telling me everything.”
He barks a laugh. “Four thousand years of history can’t be explained in the span of one evening.”
“It’s more than that.” My voice cuts, jagged, and a flare of anger ripples under my skin that feels cold and wrong. “You’re keeping secrets on purpose. What don’t you want me to know?”
At my side, Basten rubs a steadying hand down my back. His head cocks as though he’s using his godkiss to listen to my pulse, my breathing, my scent, my temperature.
“Easy, wildcat,” he murmurs, and I have to wonder if I registered as human to his senses…or something else. “You’re still weak.”
Vale moves back to the window with a grunt that I’m not sure signals approval or scorn. “Your man is right.”
“No,I’mright.” I throw off the sheet, swinging my bare feet off the bed. I marshal my strength to push to my feet, holding onto the bedpost for support. “I’m strong enough. Now, tell me.”
Vale peruses the orange-pink blossoms growing on the vines climbing my bedroom wall, as though searching for something.
Finally, he plucks one.
He spins the blossom in his finger slowly as he explains, “Every fae must undergo a process called the Gloaming upon waking to their true self. It is not easy on any of us. However, after sating their hunger, the other nine gods have always readily embraced their true divine identities. Solene has always been anoutlier among us. In both the Beginning, as well as the First and Second Returns, she has…resisted her Awakening.”
He presses his thumb into the flower’s center, splintering the delicate petals. A dissection. “She’s the Goddess of Nature, and nature is in opposition to divinity. It’s more akin to the wild, barbaric realm of humanity. In the previous Returns, her Awakening has proven contentious. That is why, this time, I decided to attempt a different approach.”
Strange energy rustles up my spine, kicking my heartbeat up a notch. I rub my thumb over the bedpost’s natural bark exterior. In a way, I feel like I’ve been here before, many years ago. Felt this same rough bark against my skin. And the flicker of ancient life that’s still buried deep in the wood’s core.
Basten stands up and tugs a velvet dressing gown out of the dresser, draping it over my thin cotton shift. His hands close protectively around my shoulders, tethering me back to the present.
“Maybe you should rest more,” he murmurs.
I shrug off his suggestion, clutching the bedpost harder as I ask my father, “Shouldn’t I remember? The times when I was Solene before?”
Vale folds his fingers over the blossom, crushing it like a mosquito. “Memory is like mist. The more you chase it, the farther away it drifts. All you can do is simply wait for it to come.”
He opens his hand and lets the crushed petals waft to the tufted rug.
Outside, a hawk caws sharply.
I glance out the window. The bird soars past, its course dangerously close to the castle tower. It falters before regaining its flight. As broken and unsteady as my mind.
“This whole ‘different approach’ plan,” Basten asks, his voice laced with poison. “Did it always involve stabbing your daughter in the heart?”
Vale scowls. He lets his heavy boot fall on the plucked petals, grinding them into the floor. “That’s on you, human. For trying to take her away from Volkany.”
Basten laughs darkly as he rakes a hand back through his hair. “Sabine won the Night Hunt, fair and square. The prize was our freedom. Just because that ass, Artain, didn’t come crawling to you for permission first?—”
“Raise your voice to me, mortal, and?—"
“Stop it!” I throw out my hands between them, my head aching. I glance at my father. “Basten asked a good question.”
Vale prowls over the rug, further tromping the flower petals. “The truth is, the Serpent Knife is indeed the key to awakening. The human soul must die for the fae inside to arise. But it wasn’t supposed to happen as it did. There is usually a ceremony. An agreement. It is meant to be a beautiful, holy process. Not…” he scowls, hand flexing. “Violence.”
My hand drifts to the place between my breasts, just reachable between the string ties of my shift, where he plunged the Serpent Knife into my heart.
The skin is smooth now. No wound. Not even a scar.
Vale clears his throat. “I had hoped to bring you slowly to awareness of your true self. To first introduce you, in your human form, to the Fae Court. I thought if you met your brothers and sisters, learned our ways, saw our world, then the transition would be more seamless this time. That you wouldchooseto undergo the Gloaming, eagerly, as the others do. Instead of having it forced upon you.” He lets out a long breath, heavy with the trace of myrrh and Wicked Weed. He mutters almost to himself, “But it seems history has a way of repeating itself.”
I rub my finger over the place where a scar should be, wondering how many times the skin has been torn, ribs broken, by the knife blade.
