The slow, sexy smirk that curls one side of his mouth shouldn’t be that devastating. Or so mesmerizing. Stars above, what would a full smile look like on him? It would be a weapon of unmitigated destruction, leaving a slew of broken hearts—and ruined undergarments—in its wake.
“Why, Starbright? Afraid?”
“My name is Suraya,” I snap, peeved at myself for feeling so much as a whisper of delight at the nickname. “No, I’m not afraid. I have nothing to hide from you or anyone.”
“Noted,” he says, and then cants his head. “I can hear thoughts if they are not properly guarded, or if they are projected specifically to me. Intrusion into the mind is an indelicate, invasive thing, requiring an obscene amount of magic. I am capable of it, of course, but without consent, it is unforgivable. A crime worthy of severe punishment.”
I suppress a shudder. Power of that magnitude, being able to breach someone’s mind, is inconceivable to me. “If you believe I am such a threat, then what’s stopping you from finding out once and for all why I’m here?”
“Because as much as I don’t trust you, that is a path that leads to a place of darkness I don’t wish to traverse.”
Curious, I peer up at him. “Darkness?”
“Fero’s domain,” he says tightly.
The hairs on my nape stand to attention. Thanks to my mother’s books, I’m familiar with the pantheon of gods and goddesses. Saru, the god of creation, and Fero, his twin brother and eternal opposite, the god of death, are at the top. Do the Everleans serve the old gods? No one believes in them in Oryndhr, except for a few arcane heretics. When magic died, so did any devotion to the gods. But here, magic is thriving, so the gods must be, too.
An oily feeling kisses my skin—a sensation I have felt before—and I cringe. My head throbs as the fog in my brain convulses. The thought of Fero evokes something visceral... the memory of the dark god’s foul touch. Images burst into light in my mind: an altar and a sacrifice, the chanting of death magi summoning their master to devour my soul...
Something instinctive detonates inside of me—an explosion of heat—and the thick fog that has kept me prisoner clears for a few extended heartbeats.
But then my cuffs flare red, knees buckling as my eyes roll back in my skull from the instant compulsion of the runes. Quick arms catch me before I hit the ground, and I am swept up into a strong embrace. I close my eyes and cling to the king for dear life as his magic lifts us into fluid darkness.
When it clears, I’m horizontal and on the softest surface imaginable.
My eyes flutter slowly open. I don’t recognize the room, but opulence is in every detail—in the enormous mahogany pillars at each corner of the bed, the lavish furniture and ornate golden sconces, the rich carpeting and intricate tapestries from ceiling to floor.
“Where am I?” I mumble.
“My chambers,” a deep voice answers, and I feel the caress of it all over me.
As a result, my brain is slower than usual to catch up, but when it does, I balk. Sands, theking’schambers? Hisbed? I sit up and instantly blink at the dizziness assaulting me.
The memories I’d regained from the fog hit me next.
How could a queen turned death magi reincarnate a dead god... and usemeas a receptacle to do it?Andnearly succeed? Even now I can still sense the chilling grasp of the god of death reaching for my soul, and it feels like a thousand graveworms slithering across my skin, searching for the tenderest parts of me to consume. That cannot possibly be real!
I rub my arms hard, recalling the heated burst inside that had sent me spiraling into oblivion.
“What happened back there?” the king asks. “Why did you react so poorly when I mentioned Fero?”
“You worship the old gods?” I counter. I don’t know the full context of what I’ve remembered, no matter how impossible it is, and I’m not sure I want to share the pieces with him when I don’t understand or believe them myself.
He eyes me, his handsome face vexingly unreadable, as usual. “Don’t you?”
“No. In Oryndhr, it’s heresy.”
A grim laugh leaves him. “That’s rich, considering you are—” His words cut off as he blinks, stopping himself and looking away.
“I’m what?”An abomination? Unnatural?
“Nothing.” He turns and stalks to the window, his fists balling and releasing, standing there with his shadows swirling about him, as if they, too, are agitated by his state of mind. “Magic didn’t vanish from your realm. You were cursed and stripped of akasha by Saru himself.”
My jaw sags in surprise. I remember Ani alluding to a different explanation when I’d said Oryndhrians stopped believing in the old gods and that’s why we lost our magic, but she’d cut herself off before explaining. “What do you mean?” I ask the king now.
“The War of the Gods decimated nearly all of Endara,” he says. “Mountains turned to dust, cities were broken, and lands were swallowed by the seas. Whole realms were shattered and picked apart by monstrous things, because when gods go to war, everyone suffers. The three realms descended into chaos.”
I frown. “What do you mean three realms? There are only two.”
