Page 7 of The Vespertine Treaty

I let out a wet, shaky laugh. "You're a fox, Poppy. Cain Alistair is a monster who consumes suffering. I don't think ankle-biting is going to be an effective strategy."

"It’s about sending a message,"she insisted, her mental voice crisp and unhinged."It says, 'We may be small and fluffy, but we are also filled with rage.' That’s how we survive, Ophelia. We don't overpower the big, bad wolf. We annoy him until he regrets ever looking in our direction."

She rolled onto her back, exposing her belly—a gesture of trust she offered to no one else. I scratched her chest, feeling the familiar hum of her Life magic against my fingertips. It was a tether to who I was, to the softness I was terrified of losing.

"You really think we can survive this?" I asked, my voice barely audible.

Poppy flipped back onto her paws, looking me dead in the eye."I think you are a blighted Aenite, but an Aenite nevertheless. We survive because we bend without breaking. And if that brooding gargoyle of a husband thinks he can break you, he’sgoing to find out that even soft things can choke you if you try to swallow them whole."

"That is... vivid," I murmured, wiping a tear from my cheek.

"It’s inspirational,"she corrected, hopping off the desk and heading for the door, tail held high."Now, fix your face. If we’re going into the belly of the beast, let’s at least make sure we give him indigestion."

I took a deep breath, the phantom warmth of her pep talk settling in my chest. It wasn't hope, exactly, but it was enough to make my legs move.

I walked out to the courtyard. The three Aenites were waiting cordially. Two joined the driver, while Bess opened the carriage door to let me in, and followed me inside. She sat across from me, her presence a silent, final show of solidarity.

The carriage, a grim, rattling cage, was ready to lurch forward precisely as the clock chimed its final, fatal count. The rhythmic beat of the hooves became a sombre drum, marching my life toward its inevitable consumption.

As we drew closer to the heart of the capital, the city centre came to life. The air grew thick with emotions, a cacophony of fear, hope, ambition, and disdain that hit my Empathy like physical blows.

Then, Ifeltit. A tremor in the magical fabric of Aeternia itself.

A brief, nauseating flicker of what I assumed it was—Cain Alistair’s aura—somewhere in the distance. It was a cold, consuming Void, a magical gravity well that pulled at the edges of my own weakened core. But it wasn't just cold; through my Empathy, I tasted the acidic, overwhelming residue of tenthousand consumed terrors, the raw, toxic burden of the Pain-Eater’s existence. He was a monster, but he was also a wound to the realm itself. He was here somewhere. He was waiting.

I closed my eyes, trying to block out the presence that was now a part of me. “Just breathe. Just breathe. We’ll get through this.”Poppy’s frantic mental chatter was the only thing keeping me grounded.

The carriage continued its journey; the hooves scraping against the polished cobblestones of the capital. I opened my eyes and looked at the Consortium Hall, a magnificent, sprawling structure and towering, unforgiving arches that seemed to pierce the sky.

The carriage slowed, the scraping of the hooves ceasing. I felt the vehicle settle.

Bess leaned forward and reached out to place a reassuring warm hand over my gloved one for a quick, silent beat of connection, before moving to the door.

I watched as she drew back the lock, the cold metal clinking loudly in the sudden silence. Taking another steadying breath, I reached down and smoothed the flowing silk of my sleeve, a final, silent check that I was whole. I dreaded the moment I had to step out into a world that was about to hand me over to a monster.

CHAPTER 4

CAIN

The scream was a symphony of breaking, and I was the conductor.

“Louder,” I whispered, my hand tightening around her throat just enough to restrict the air, but not enough to silence her.

The Aenite diplomat writhed on the stone slab, her fingers scrabbling uselessly against the granite. There were no shadows holding her down; she was pinned solely by the paralytic terror of my proximity and the weight of my free hand pressing flat against her sternum.

I treated my Death Touch like a dial. A fraction more pressure, a slight shift in intent, and her heart would stop. A fraction less, and she would merely wish it had.

“Please,” she gagged, tears streaming down her face. “My Lord… I came for relief… the Consortium sent?—”

I pressed my palm harder against her chest, letting a spike of pure Death Magic seep into her skin. It wasn't enough to kill,but it was enough to make every nerve ending in her body fire with the sensation of frostbite.

She shrieked, her back arching off the stone.

For a second, a dark, petty impulse flared in my gut—the urge to deny her the relief she came for, simply to spite the Aenite weakness she represented.

“I don’t want to feel like this anymore,” she sobbed, clutching at my wrist with weak, trembling fingers. “Please... take it away.”

Too late, I scoffed internally, the thought bitter as bile. It already was too late for all of us. The hunger in my own core spiked—not for her death, but for the feast she offered.