Page 73 of Claimed By the Depths

“I, alongside a handful more Fae and Shifters, elected to visit your realm to serve as a warning. In doing so, the gods my people have come to know—your gods’ other halves—intercepted us. The nuances of double-sided fate were explained.” Her throat bobbed as she met Rohen’s stare. “There is no future for any of us if the lot of you cannot deconstruct the veil Sorva put in place upon our arrival to Wraelira. The dystopia that is Narvendor will become your reality, and with it, both continents will fall.”

“She’s right,” Ignis chimed in, his all-white eyes finding the woman who had arrived unannounced. “The intricacies of what was woven when the gods fell solidify the collapse of both societies. Our only hope for the realms outlasting the maliciousness that blankets them lies with the Divari, both here and on Narvendor, because, like your parents,” he gestured between Rohen and Alastair, “you too have counterparts that developed as a divide amongst the Damned.”

“Your divinity,” Lorelie said without missing a beat, “requires protection, which is why creatures like myself and Ignis, as well as Parran, are here. Our introduction to your gods prompted conversations, which led to an agreement to offer guidance and influence to their respective Child. That is why we crossed paths, as if out of nowhere. It is why I was there in that forest,” she finished, glancing at Sapphira.

Alastair pivoted, his attention settling on Parran. “Is that true?”

The periwinkle Fae nodded once.

“Okay…” I practically whispered. “Since we are airing things out, do you care to enlighten us on what you are?”

Smiling, Lorelie dipped her chin. “I can offer you all I am able with the current binds in place, and that is that I am a Shifter. One Rohen knows well.”

All our heads spun toward the auburn-haired woman, whose glare intensified. “What? I don’t fucking know what she’s talking…” Words fading, she paused hesitantly before her eyes widened. “Wait. The serpent.”

“Not the term I prefer,” Lorelie laughed, “but you may be on to something, Levitte.”

“The fucking leviathan that dropped you off on the docks as if you were royalty?” Leilani inhaled, her touch moving from her weapon as her hand returned to her side. “Well, I suppose things are beginning to make sense.”

Unconvinced, or rather too convinced, her counterpart prompted, “If that’s the case, then perhaps you can save us the headache of having to hunt for the sacred texts in Caspian’s office and instead enlighten us on the steps of summoning all five gods once we have all five artifacts.”

“Did you inform them of where they were?” Lorelie asked, but her query wasn’t pointed at the male who spoke to her, but at Ignis.

“Yes, I did.”

Nipping her bottom lip, she turned back to Alastair. “I fear that is all we can offer you. Sorva’s hold prevents most of us from speaking on all things, and I fear further details beyond mere location are forbidden. But…”

“But what?” we all asked, Ignis and Parran included.

“There is one more thing I can offer you.”

“Which is?” Rohen pressed, her agitation more than evident.

“While you still have to go through the texts and hunt through Caspian’s quarters, there is one of you here that will—as soon as your touch grazes the applicable material—know you’ve found it.”

“It’s not here.”

Peering up from where I knelt, Alastair ran a hand through his hair. Chest rising and falling with rapid breaths, he planted his other palm on Caspian’s desk as a means to stabilize himself.

“We’ve checked every godsdamned crevice, and it’s not here.”

Syoran blew out a breath from my left as he sifted through yet another journal, his eyes sweeping over the text as if he could read it as fast as he flipped the pages. “It has to be here though. Isn’t that what Jaskor said?”

“Yeah, but we’ve cleared his shelves, Kao! Every drawer, every inch of his desk, every corner of this fucking room!”

“Alastair!” I shouted, the syllables in his name carrying a newfound intensity. “Calm the hell down or get the fuck out. Pick your poison.”

His golden stare flared. His irises pulsed in partial surprise at my sternness, but the remnant of his emotions teetered on the line of concern. While it was an expression he rarely wore, I knew it all too well—a man desperate for answers when grave risk presented itself. A man who had recognized his faults and misconceptions, fearing it was too late to salvage what once was.

Rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, he exhaled heavily. “I’m sorry, I’m just…”

“Concerned?” Syoran asked, though the usual sarcasm he wielded was no longer present. “We all are. Hell, it’s part of the reason we kicked Rohen out of this space. The time we are running on is borrowed, and with everything Lorelie brought to the table, it is clear that seconds cannot be wasted. But if there is one thing I have come to acknowledge through all of this, it’s that the gods who are pushing us toward this prophecy do not lie. If Jaskor stated that there are sacred texts here, then…”

His utterance faded as I shifted from my position. Pushing myself upright, I wandered back over to the multiple bookshelves that Caspian had piled countless pieces of literature on. My fingers brushed mindlessly over the wood, thoughts spiraling to the potential “what-ifs” of all that awaited us.

A war was undoubtedly on the horizon, and with Sorva’s influence creeping in, as well as Caspian’s slipping health, we were all reaching our wits’ end. It was clear all five Divari were needed to ensure the summoning, and with one of the main aspects to that requirement being out of commission, I couldn’t help but question the malevolent entity’s intentions. Did she desire Caspian Vayne solely because it granted her the ability to control Elaros? Or was it because, like the ancient text only available in the libraries in the palace warned, Elaros posed a threat far graver than he was often credited for?

With my thoughts wandering, I hadn’t realized I’d stepped around the side of the shelf furthest from the door until I brushed over a gap between its back and the wall that seemed far too intentional. Similarly to the archives, and unable to help myself, I reached behind it. Something akin to worn paper caressed my skin, but before I could call out to Alastair or Syoran, a vision collided with me with enough force to draw the air from my lungs.