He took it from her, and it bit into his skin, a shock of ice that seeped instantly to his bones. With a start, he dropped the ring. It bounced, spun, and came to rest on the floor.
They both stared at the object for a long moment before he crouched to pick it up. After the initial shock, the cold was bearable. He turned the ring over in his hand.
It wasn’t just black, it was a void, the absolute darkness of a starless night. The light seemed to bend around it, refusing to land.
Everything about it felt strange, including the way it pulled at him.
August’s finger traced the smooth surface, pausing where the shape flattened at the top. There was an engraving. A signet of some sort. It reminded him of something, though he couldn’t place what. He lifted it to the light, trying to see the shape, but it was hard to make out against the impossible black.
A knock came at his door and August jumped, stuffing the ring into the pocket of his trousers.
“Coming,” Lottie called. She grabbed a black cravat from the wardrobe and tied it around his neck. “Ready?”
With a deep sigh, the full brunt of his attention turned back to the impending dinner. Yeah, he definitely felt like he was on his way to his execution.
Lottie opened the door and greeted the royal guard on the other side by name, as she always did. August could never remember any of them. They were a singular blur of cobalt blue and rigid posture.
The guard bowed, then looked at August. “Aesran Erynda wishes to speak with you,Mo Aesling. You are to wait here.”
The words made his stomach lurch, and when he asked why, it was closer to a squeak than an actual question.
“I’m not sure,Mo Aesling. You’ll have to ask her.”
His mother didn’t pay him visits, didn’t stop by to chat. There was a time—thebeforepart of his life—when she treated him differently. She was never the sort of doting mother that existed in stories. She was stern and awful and overbearing, but she at leastspoketo him back then. Disciplined him, held him to impossible standards. Something that, in a brutal, terrible way, felt a little like love.
However, in theaftershe didn’t bother. When she looked at him, which she rarely did, there was always something behind her eyes that, if August didn’t know better, he may havethought was fear. Perhaps it was just disappointment. Maybe she stopped trying because she realized he was a lost cause.
Now, in theafter, she was overbearing in a different way, through her endless rules and the royal guards. She was protective, but it didn’t feel like love. It felt like he was a possession. Some found object she hid away.
Leaning against the table in his chambers, August watched the dying fire, his mind racing with possible reasons why she might want to talk.
A few moments later, a different royal guard pushed through the door, holding it open so his mother could enter. This one hedidknow by name. Sebastian. His mother’s personal guard.
The aesran was dressed for the banquet. Her midnight blue gown, trimmed with delicate threads of royal cobalt and silver, hung elegantly, almost caressing the floor with each step. Rows of pearls were draped over her collarbone, only a few shades lighter than her pale skin.
He pushed off the table and stood up straight. “Hello, Mother.”
The guard closed the door, leaving them alone, and she lingered at the door, not stepping further inside.
Her eyes quickly assessed his clothing, then slid past him to the fireplace.
“Your last public appearance was quite some time ago,” she said, and August almost smiled, thinking how accurate Lottie’s imitation of her was. “I trust you recall the appropriate response to the inevitable question.”
He nodded. Of course, he remembered.
The rings around his pupils were only visible up close, and no magic manifested as silver, but the last thing the aesran wanted was for someone to mistake the heir aesling for a wielder, especially when she knew perfectly well he wasn’t. So she forged a lie and drilled it into his head until it was impossible to forget.
“Go on,” she said.
He resisted the impulse to roll his eyes. “It’s a side effect of the illness I survived as a child,” August recited, the words worn smooth from overuse.
When his mother arched her eyebrows expectantly, he sighed and added, “The royal priest claims it was Baellas and Daeban fighting over me. A spat between two immortal lovers. Baellas won, and as a bitter loser, Daeban left her signature greys as a reminder of death’s strength.”
He felt ridiculous every time he said it. The idea of the goddesses of life and death sparring over him was laughable.
But it had worked so far. People adored the drama, the grandeur, and more importantly, the story shut them up. They didn’t question it further. Nobody would ever question a royal priest.
Which was funny because therewasno royal priest. August had learned about the six gods through lessons from a tutor.
