A monstrous, inhuman creature.
The entity that has taken over the king of Oryndhr hisses like a serpent as Aran hastily conjures a portal behind them. One by one, they disappear, but right before he enters, the god-king pauses, his voice like knives against the senses. “I’ll see you soon, son, and next time, this realm will be mine.”
“Son?” I mumble, wondering whom he’s talking to.
His mouth curls into a gruesome rictus. “Oh, little Starkeeper. How much he has kept from you. Your precious fated is the heir of death himself.”
Part III
Hopelessness is not without hope; the dawn always comes,
even at the cusp of a starless night.
—EVERLEAN PROVERB
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Darrius Nightsong is the son of the god of death.
Two truths that I know unequivocally now: One, heismy soul-fated. I can fully feel him, since the cuffs are gone. And two, he is a starsdamned deity, a fact that I cannot seem to come to terms with, no matter how hard I try. Not just because his father is a colossal prick, but because he’s part fuckinggod.
“Fero is your father,” I say to Ani for the dozenth time.
“I don’t understand why this is such a point of obsession for you,” she says, tugging on the ends of her hair in frustration and flushing with discomfort. “You’re not exactly mortal, either.”
I stare at her and scowl. “I can still die!”
“So can we.”
“Why didn’t you ever tell me that you’re a baby-god, too? I thought we were friends.”
She stares, and I lift my brows before she sighs again and capitulates. “Wearefriends, and I didn’t tell you because who wants to publicly announce to the first person they actually like being around that their father is a merciless, sociopathic deity? And baby-gods are not a thing.” She stabs at the open volumes in front of me with a finger—one on runes and one on the history of magic across the realms. “Happy? Now study.”
Somewhat mollified, I direct my attention to the books, but I can’t concentrate on the words. I can’t help the gnawing hole of dread in the pit of my stomach. The resurgence of Fero and the perverted abominations he has made of Laleh and Roshan also weigh heavily upon me. We’re not on the verge of a war between realms—we’re on the verge of a war for life as we know it.
Again. Only this time, he already has an anchor.
Frowning, I chew my lip, my thoughts drifting to the king of Oryndhr. In the moments when I’d seen thetrueRoshan, I had sensed him in there, buried under the rot that is Fero. Is there a chance to save him before he’s lost forever?
And the question that haunts me: How long has he been under Fero’s influence? I think back to the moments when he’d been distant and callous, those purple flickers of flame the only sign that he’d become an ancient god’s puppet. I think of how cruelly he’d betrayed me, forcing my own magic against me, and my heart feels like it’s fracturing in my chest.
Because Iknowit wasn’t him.
It was never him, which somehow makes everything better and worse at the same time. I’d seen glimpses of him—a gentle stare, a softened smile, those brown eyes that saw right to the heart of me—like sunlight through a stormy sky.
Gods, could I have donemore? Seen signs of it earlier? Helped him somehow? Had I failed him before he failed me?
My throat feels tight as helpless emotions barrel through me. The thoughts are gutting, a marrow-deep sense of grief swirling through me at everything we’d built and lost through no fault of our own.
I never wanted to hurt you, my starling.
I’m always with you, Sura.
I don’t realize I’m crying until I feel the wetness on my cheek. Hurriedly, I swipe it away before Ani can see it. I don’t want her pity—she won’t understand. I can feel my magic rising to comfort me, my simurgh’s presence like a soothing balm to my jagged-edged sorrow. Without the bracers, I can feel her presence fully. I hadn’t realized how suppressed and subdued she had become.
Frowning, I rub my bare wrists together. It’s a relief to finally have the cuffs off, but at the same time, I’m also fearful that my magic will do something I can’t control. It’s like relearning to use an injured limb when you’ve taught yourself to exist without it. Everything is thrown out of balance in a terrifying way.
That’s the reason Ani and I are starting slow with the most basic runes. My magic feels like an enormous reservoir inside of me, with my reborn, formidable simurgh waiting for the chance to flex her wings. I sense her more keenly now, like she’s a true extension of my consciousness—part of me as she’s always been, but also her own wholly sentient self. It’s as though we’ve evolved into some ascendant version of ourselves.
