31. Owen

Owen

"You are nothing without your Essence."

The muffled sound of the morning bell released Owen from the nightmare that repeated every time he slept. He always woke up right before Rem slit Gilda's throat, and every time he woke from it, he stared at the ceiling and tried to still the thunder in his heart and the heat in his veins.

Dawn light filtered in through the crack in the shutters, and Owen raised up from his cot with a groan. As he sat on the side of the bed, his mind turned to Mordren's plans, and he wondered how he would be sacrificed.

I can't defeat him.

I am nothing without my Essence.

When Rem suddenly barged through the door, Owen jumped, then relaxed. For once, Owen was glad to see his vile face over the god that wanted to kill him. Rem handed him his folded clothes, but these weren't as fine as the ones he wore before Mordren yesterday. They were made for rough work.

"Put these on," Rem demanded.

Owen did as Rem said and picked up the clothes. He pulled on his trousers first, then he turned around and pulled off his shirt. Thankfully, Rem said nothing in retaliation as he quickly changed .

After Rem placed the shackles on Owen's wrists and locked the chain on, he pulled him forward roughly.

Owen glared at him from behind, relieved that Rem had little to say to him this morning. But the man was more aggressive as he yanked Owen's chain along mercilessly, making him stumble several times.

When they came into the throne room, Owen looked around, expecting the god to be here. Instead, it was empty, with only a single pail and mop near the wall.

"Clean the whole thing." Rem unlocked his shackles, which surprised him, but he made sure Owen knew not to escape. "Remember that what you wear around your neck prevents you from going far."

"I'm not running," Owen said simply.

Rem met his eyes. "I need to attend to a few things in the side office. I will be able to hear if that door opens." He strode away, his heels clicking along the shiny marble floor, and made his way to a door near the throne.

Owen blinked in surprise. He couldn't believe Rem had left him here alone. But then again, he was right, Owen couldn't run. Not with the emberstone around his neck.

I'm nothing without my Essence. I wasted my life not using it and now that I don't have it anymore, I am completely worthless.

Wincing, Owen took the mop and plopped it into the bucket of soapy water. Then he set to work mopping the floor, which was already spotless. Owen didn't mind the work, as it took his mind off anything else. All he focused on was wringing out the mop and gliding it across the floor. Back and forth, until an ache started in his lower back and hip, which he had hit many times. He straightened up to relieve the tension, but welcomed the pain .

When a door opened between the columns along the wall, Owen tightened his hold around the mop handle and glanced up. A woman came into the chamber with another mop and bucket. Perhaps she was here to help him.

As she drew near, Owen tried to avoid her gaze, but when she dropped the bucket with a firm clank , Owen looked up at her, only to realize it was Rhielle.

"I was told to bring more for you," she said, her voice low. Then she picked up the other mop and plopped it into her pail of water. She cast her eyes over at the office where Rem was before she wrung out the mop and started cleaning beside him.

"Keep your chin up," she whispered, but Owen kept silent. He wasn't sure what Rhielle wanted to tell him, or what she wanted from him. "We're on your side."

Owen's hands went still, but only for a brief moment before he continued mopping. Rhielle was on his side? Because of Elian? This news should have made him overjoyed that outside sources were aiding him. But not knowing if Colt or Brom were alive made the moment solemn.

He wondered, then, if Rhielle knew, and he looked over at the office before he dared to look at her and whispered, "Is Colt alive? Brom?"

She began to open her mouth when a noise came from the office. They both looked up as Rem marched their way.

"What are you doing here?" Rem asked Rhielle.

"Oh, m'lord, I'm so sorry," she said, bowing her head. "I was told to bring another bucket and mop, and I—"

" Leave ." Rem glared at her.

"Yes, m'lord." She bowed again before turning on her heel and leaving .

Owen listened to her steps fade, his mood souring as he considered her words. She'd said she was on his side, along with whoever else, but he had no idea who that meant. Rhielle hadn't given the slightest hint about whether Colt or Brom were alive when he'd asked. Even if they were both alive and trying to get to him, it didn't matter, it was a fool's errand. There was no way around or through Mordren. Owen wished he could've told her to find Colt and Brom and tell them to leave this place before their lives were also destroyed.

"Did she say anything to you?" Rem asked.

Owen shook his head, blinking at Rem as if asking, why would she talk to me?

Rem looked back at the side door as it closed, then at the floor. "You missed a spot here."

"You stepped there on purpose." Owen couldn't keep the hiss from his voice.

Rem grabbed the mop, making Owen turn to face him, and grabbed his jaw. The man stared him down, his grip tight. "You will speak to me with respect. I am an authoritative figure."

"You're nothing more than a monster who uses others for his own gain."

When Rem pushed him away, Owen thought the man would let him go, but instead, Rem slapped him hard across his face.

Owen stumbled back, letting out a ragged breath as the sting spread through his cheek. Despite this, Owen couldn't help but huff out a laugh. The pain was much needed. He hated that he enjoyed it so much.

The laugh angered Rem further, and he grabbed Owen's collar and slammed him against the wall. "You think this is funny, Owen? This is not a game." Rem's dark eyes widened as they found Owen's. "Do I have to beat you senseless for you to understand that?"

"Just go ahead and hurt me already. I'm tired of your threats," Owen sneered through clenched teeth, his breath uneasy.

Rem's lips twitched, and he gave a soft chuckle as he released Owen. An odd spike of disappointment hit Owen hard. He'd wanted Rem to hurt him, but before he could think through that, Rem pulled out something far more harmful than a punch: a small red vial.

"It'll be more fun if you choose. I can beat you, per your request, or I can give you this."

The heat swirled around Owen. There was no doubt which punishment he would choose. He was prepared. His fists clenched as he plastered himself against the wall and braced himself for Rem's next hit.

It was approaching early evening when Rem brought Owen to the kitchens, which was bigger than any kitchen Owen had ever seen. Tall windows let in plenty of light from around the room. To the left, counters and cabinets lined the limestone walls, and a large cutting table sat in the middle of the room. To the right, sacks of food lined the wall, and a door led into a pantry.

There were only two servants in the kitchen, which Owen found odd, as he expected there to be more in something as grand as this. But with only Rem and Mordren occupying the citadel, he supposed they didn't need more than a few to do daily tasks .

"You will help prepare supper for Mordren," Rem told Owen.

Owen turned to him with a grunt from the pain still in his side from where Rem had beaten him. The man had let him wash and put on his finer clothes, but now he had bruises on his face and arms, and his body was sore. Every time he moved, pain radiated along his side and down to his hip.

"I don't know the first thing to make in a kitchen this big," he finally said.

"These other two will assist you." Rem left Owen's side to sit in a chair nearby, where he watched Owen closely.

The room fell quiet, and when Owen glanced over at the two women at the counter, they started back to work on the dough they were making. After a moment, one of the women set two balls of dough before him and nodded.

"Place that in the oven," she said.

Owen met her green eyes, noticing how a strand of brown hair had come loose from her bun. She looked away nervously, returning to her work. Taking the dough, Owen turned to find a giant brick oven with a small iron hatch. The wood inside was already burning nicely, so he took a peel nearby to place the dough on and pushed it inside.

He was then instructed to cut vegetables, which were placed with cooking meat in a flavorful-looking roast soup. Next, he sliced swiss cheese, peeled oranges, and washed a vine of red grapes. After it was all finished, each loaf of baked bread was put on two separate plates with butter, along with the cheese and fruit, then the soup.

Rem got to his feet and nodded down as Owen placed the plates on a tray. "Good. Now take it to Mordren. "

Taking a shaky breath, Owen picked the tray up. It was heavy, and his body was bruised, which made it harder to carry. Behind him, one of the servants carried a tin pitcher of something, and behind her, the other servant carried two glasses.

He must be dining with Rem.

Once at Mordren's chamber, the god opened the door before anyone could knock. Then Owen was ushered in, along with the servants. The room was spacious, with a large window overlooking the city and a big bed with a canopy of red fabric. A table with six chairs sat before a large hearth, where a purple fire roared.

Owen set the tray on the table, while the other servants set the glasses out and poured a dark red liquid into each. Then they both bowed to Mordren and left. Thinking he would do the same, Owen bowed his head slightly before turning to go, but when he ran into Rem, Owen's eyes widened.

Rem placed a firm hand on Owen's shoulder and turned him back around to face Mordren, who raised his brows.

"Leaving already? After I had a meal prepared for us?"

The hairs on his arms stood up on end. "Y-you want me to eat with you?"

"Of course. You deserve a fine meal. Rem, you may leave us."

When Mordren waved him off, Rem glowered at the god's back before turning on his heel and leaving. Now, Owen and Mordren were alone. When Owen stood at the table, his body tense, Mordren gestured at the chair at the opposite end of where he sat.

"Sit, Owen."

Taking a deep breath, Owen pulled out the chair and sat at the table before his plate of food. Had he known he would also be preparing his own meal, he wouldn't have put so much effort into making it look nice.

Mordren looked at his food. "An ordinary meal in an ordinary world."

Owen wasn't sure what to make of his comment, so he stared at his food.

"You may go ahead. Eat." The god picked up his spoon and began shoveling the steaming contents of the soup into his mouth. He ate aggressively, giving no attention to what silverware should be used, nor any table manners. Owen also didn't know the etiquette of eating in a citadel. He supposed this god was no different. He had been caged within a dark, desolate place for centuries. Why should he have manners?

Grabbing his spoon, Owen dipped it into his soup and ate a bite. It was delicious, the flavors bursting with spices and the tender meat melting in his mouth.

Outside the window, snow began to fall, white chunks drifting down without a care in the world. Despite Mordren's release, despite his siege of Luthien, the snowflakes still fell as they were supposed to.

"You look lost, Owen," came Mordren's voice.

"I'm just… thinking." Owen ate another bite of his soup, his hand shaking.

"Thinking about what? About what's happened? About your father? Perhaps… your lover?"

Owen paused for a moment, his spoon midair, before he took another bite. Then he ate another one quickly, along with a bite of bread.

"Take comfort in knowing he's dead. There will be no pain from him knowing of your demise. You will meet each other in the Vale instead, and spend all of eternity together."

His whole world seemed to stop. Owen's lip trembled, his voice quivering as he said, "He's not… dead. "

"Are you sure?" Mordren tilted his head to the side and looked at him darkly. "Every man perished at the fort. You saw the walls. They crushed everyone."

The darkness of the room grew denser as Owen shrank into himself, feeling the weight of loss fall over him yet again. Colt was… dead? No, he couldn't be. When part of the roof had slid off, Owen had reached out his hand and used his Essence to angle it so that it didn't crush Colt.

He was sure of it. This god wouldn't have him believe it any differently.

"The Vale… was abandoned by you," Owen retorted. "It's nothing but a hell for spirits."

Mordren frowned. "Do you know how long I dwelled in that place? How much time I spent tending to the channels, sending souls off to the firmament or into eternal death? Do you have any idea of the toll that put on me?" He breathed out a laugh. "You should know. Living in your lonely little cottage, with no parents and an uncle who couldn't even be bothered to spend time with you."

"Loneliness I can understand," Owen said. "Pain, even anger, yes. But I don't understand harming people, or taking over entire cities and making up lies, just because someone's hurt you."

The room suddenly grew dark. A deep rumble shook the room, and Owen clutched his chair as he looked around. The fire in the hearth dimmed, and the curtains on the windows closed, blocking out all light. Something yellow glowed nearby. It flew off the end table next to the bed and into Mordren's open hand.

The dagger.

Owen's eyes widened. It was so close to him, yet again. The god had stashed it out in the open, as if daring anyone to try and kill him .

He gets a thrill from this.

As Mordren made his way around the table, Owen rose slowly to his feet and backed away. He watched as the dark god stalked up to him. Then he felt the cold, flat metal of the dagger beneath his chin. He flinched, but he allowed this demonic being to lift his head. Owen let out a breath as he met Mordren's dark, reddish eyes. His hands shook, his chest shuddering with each rapid beat of his weakened heart.

"The pain inflicted upon me goes deep," Mordren said, his voice resonant, as if Owen could hear it from all around him. "Centuries' worth of disregard and rejection, dwelling in darkness with nothing but the dead to keep me company. The vocation I was given when created by those higher than myself was never considered. What must I do to achieve gratitude and adoration? Those things no longer matter… I have become too numb to the things I once wanted. The only path before me now is retribution. And it is paved in the blood of innocents. All their souls bleed back to me!"

The tip of the blade dug into Owen's skin, making him wince.

"You are nothing without me, Owen Greene," Mordren hissed, grabbing his neck. "Now say it. Say that you are nothing."

When Owen hesitated, fury flashed in Mordren's eyes.

"Say that you are nothing without me!" he shouted.

"I… am nothing!" Owen choked, closing his eyes against Mordren's hand. "I am nothing without you!"

The rumbling in the room stopped, and Mordren's face finally softened. The grip the man had on Owen's neck loosened, and when the god pulled his hand away, Owen let out a few short breaths. He looked away from him, his whole body vibrating with fear .

Mordren drew the dagger away, nicking Owen on the chin and leaving a sting there. Owen could feel the blood running down to his bruised neck.

"Oh, my little lamb…" Mordren sighed and put his gentle hand on Owen's shoulder, making him flinch. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me."

Owen blinked and looked down, frozen in fright.

"You may go back to your room. We're done here."

When Mordren gestured him forward, Owen followed him to the door. Rem was already waiting outside, and as soon as Owen stepped out, Rem took Owen's chain and pulled him along the hall. Owen was shaking on his way back to his tower, overwhelmed by thoughts of Colt being dead. There was no way for him to know with the emberstone around his neck, but Mordren would know. He felt others' presences just like Owen… didn't he?

Colt can't be dead.

He fumbled over his memory again as he came into his room, recalling the moment when the fort fell. Anyone within the walls would have been crushed. Colt was on the outside of the inner wall. He had saved Colt, he was sure of it. But now that Owen tried to recollect the memory, instead he saw the wall he'd angled above Colt crumbling completely.

He trembled so hard, Rem could hardly get his shackles off.

"Keep still, Owen." Rem's words were soft for a change.

But Owen couldn't keep still, and as much as he hated losing it in front of this horrid man, he couldn't keep the hot tears from flowing down his cheeks. Tears of anger, of sorrow. Colt was dead. And Brom…

"Owen…" Rem scolded, trying to unlock his other shackle .

When Owen closed his eyes and let out a heavy sob, Rem took his shoulder and pulled him against his chest in an embrace.

At first, Owen savored the touch, allowing himself to be comforted from the loss he was feeling. But when he realized who was holding him, he froze, then pushed Rem back and stepped away. His breaths were short as he glared at the man.

"You should let me comfort you," Rem said, his brow dark.

"I don't want your comfort," Owen whispered. Despite himself, the tears still leaked from his eyes, which only caused Rem to step closer to him, until he was right before him.

Rem cocked his head and looked down at him. "For some reason, when I see you cry, something in me reacts." He kept his gaze locked on Owen. "We have four days before Mordren's plans take place. I have to say, your death will be quite… unnerving."

Four days.

Owen was lost in his thoughts when Rem leaned in and whispered in his ear, "I can offer you another option."

"There's nothing you can offer me that will bring Colt back." Owen sniffled.

"I can't bring him back, but I could release us from Mordren's hold."

Owen raised his blood-stained chin and stared at the man, his breath still unsteady. "In exchange for what?" His voice quivered.

Rem licked his thumb and cleaned off the blood from Owen's chin. "You," he said. When the man smiled crookedly, Owen tried to move away, but Rem grasped him tightly, bruising him. "You hold the blood of Mordren within you. It has the power I need to rule this world. Together, we can do away with the Legion and set up a regime that serves those who suffered and were silenced for too long. Those like yourself. Help me make slaves out of the elite who damned you. Just think of the possibilities." Rem's eyes danced in the candlelight. "Rule by my side, Owen."

"Stop!" Owen's hands shook as he tried to push this man away, and for a moment, he swore he could feel his Essence emerging from his hands. It was a slight pulse in his palms, as if his heart beat there for a second. He looked sharply at Rem to see if he'd noticed it, but Rem was still entranced by his own machinations.

When a knock sounded on the door, Rem finally let go of Owen and stepped back. The Hunter seemed to regain his composure, straightening his posture and smoothing his hair back. He opened the door and took a tray of food from the servant, then closed it and made his way back to Owen.

Owen was still shaking as Rem set the tray on the end table—the food he hadn't finished in Mordren's room. But Owen refused to eat it. This whole day had been a nightmare, and Rem had just made it worse by proclaiming his mad plan to kill Mordren and rule the world, with Owen by his side.

This isn't real. It can't be.

But every time he closed and opened his eyes, he was still in the same tower, with Rem still standing before him, watching him.

"Think deeply about my offer, Owen," he said. "Would you rather sacrifice yourself to destroy the world, or would you rather sacrifice your freedom to save it?" He paused, meeting Owen's eyes before he said, "I will be back in the morning."

When Owen heard the door slam shut and bolt, he took his bowl of soup and tightened his hold on it. Anger and sadness surged through him as he thought of Colt and Brom. They were gone. They had been killed at the fort.

Suddenly, the injustice of losing everyone dear to him slammed into him with such force that the anger inside drowned out the sadness. Rage spiraled up his spine as he thought of all the people he loved being taken from him: his father and mother, then Amias and Gilda, and now Colt and Brom. It wasn't fair. He squeezed his eyes closed. Heat surged through his veins, building into an inferno so hot, he felt he might explode.

And then a burst of purple brightened before him, and the bowl shattered in his hands.