To her precious Klaus.
Iliana studied him for a long moment, a sadness flitting across her expression. “My darling little brother.” She cupped his cheek, a soft gesture that soothed a bit of his anguish. A mysterious power of Iliana’s that had affected him since he was a mortal boy. “Ruelle was a snake. She fooled us all. Do not let her drown you in despair.”
Acacius recoiled from her touch, baffled by the dissonance of her tender tone married to such disdainful words.
He turned away from her. “Leave me, Iliana.”
The ricocheting of rain against the marble echoed louder. Its veil thickened, hazing the view of Ruelle’s statue.
Iliana stepped back, chin down, without another word. Her divine power lapped behind him, a wetzipannouncing her departure.
Rose petals lifted and floated in the grooves of the granite from the floral arrangements decorating the statue’s base. Acacius stared at the lone white petal twirling and carrying itself along the small stream to the side where it drained out.
He was alone again.
The petal stuck to the marble, and the rain pummeled down on it.
Iliana’s request echoed in the back of his mind, his chest clenching at the thought of disappointing her. And for a brief moment, he considered attending the next Council meeting. All because his sister asked, a frustrating pull only his two siblings had over him.
And the worst part was Iliana knew this. He had known this ever since they were children. Acacius, young and full of life, had admired her and Cassius. In his mortal life, he’d wished to do and beanything they wanted of him.
His absence at a Council meeting was hardly abnormal. Schedules and consistencies were never his strengths. Over the years, he would miss a few in a row, and eventually, Cassius would appear and chide him. A fun ritual now ceased.
Acacius gave one last look at Ruelle’s statue—the regal pose of her arms down at her sides, palms facing outward, chin raised gracefully, and the exquisite, gloomy backdrop of the ivy and rain. The sky was weeping, just as Acacius had for the last four months.
However, the time for tears was over.
Acacius ripped around, giving himself permission to channel his ruinous impetuosity on the task at hand.
The act of turning his back on the statue and exiting the alcove lanced in his chest.
With each step, the fissures webbed deeper through him. He couldn’t help the inherent need to cling to the only thing left of Ruelle—a fucking statue.
The harsh reality once again knotted like a ball of roots in his stomach.
Without his consent, Ruelle’s final moments flashed like strokes of lightning in his mind. The dirt staining her skin,the dull strands of her amber hair, the dagger in her grip, the delicate gold thread.
Enough of this.
A midnight-blue cloud rippled up from the ground and devoured him.
In his next step, the scenery expanded to an atrium that acted as a concourse for traveling deities. The grand hall existed between realms, a bridge escorting gods and goddesses into Isolde.
Morning sunlight cracked through the dense clouds. Rays of amber shone from the skylights and reflected off the slate walls of the colossal hall, a smooth, mirrored surface like melted metal.
Acacius strode in pace alongside those heading toward the city. Alongside those who had never once seen his face. It was ironic, for they had not the slightest clue who he was without his eldritch mask.
He preferred remaining an enigma, as it was a small luxury to blend amongst them in secret without provoking fear or unease.
Grand columns lined the cathedral. Long, thick branches of ancient ash trees reached up toward the open ceiling, with marble fountains and gardens of narcissus and hyacinths adorning their massive trunks. Individuals sat on the iron benches nearby in conversation. Others sauntered around the sights, admiring the thicket of clematis and honeysuckle.
Acacius stepped out on an alabaster entresol at the end of the hall overlooking the city. Flanked on each side of the balcony were curved staircases leading out into the heart of Isolde.
The realm’s air was light, carrying the whisper of a breeze across his cheek. A reprieve from the rain that pelted down on the impenetrable glass dome encasing the city.
Acacius took in the view on his way down the stairs. Paved veins wove in between the ashlar masonry. Light flooding in from above slowly darkened, as if the clouds were digesting the sun. A smoky shadow washed over the buildings, and the warm glow of the lampposts spilled like syrup along the streets.
Isolde stretched out as far as he could see, its structures layered and connected by steel bridges.
