Chapter 29

CHAPTER29

As expected, my husband is fuming.

Literally.

Billows of black smoke roll across the dais, sparks hissing as they die on the cold stone. Ashen’s snakeskin wings drape from the armrests. Vivid orange embers twist between the scales. I can sense Ediye’s magic still binding him to the chair, yet Ashen sits as though he’s completely at ease, deceptively still. It’s all a menacing illusion, of course. I can see it in the bright crimson rings encircling his coppery eyes.

“Wife.”

Oof. It did not sound endearing that time. More like a barb hooking into my guts and tugging.

“I take it you enjoyed the show?” I say with a doubtful smile.

I get a growl in reply.

“So that’s a no then…”

Another growl.

“Your husband seems to have lost his colorful vocabulary,” Ediye says with a saccharine grin as I take my seat between them. “You missed some true gems. My favorite was ‘if you do not release me from this fucking chair this instant, I will find your anunnaki lover and feed him to the hyenas one piece at a time, starting with his dick.’”

“Ashen,” I chide with mock horror. “So rude. You need to start with his balls. I want to see if there’s glitter inside.”

“Nope, but his cum tastes like cream cheese icing,” Ediye says.

I whip around to face her as a thousand questions race through my head. “Seriously? He smells like a warm cinnamon bun.”

“I know, right? Delicious.”

“But if he smells like a cinnamon bun complete with the cream cheese icing, does that mean he’s always got spunk somewhere that it’s not really supposed to be? Like, does he jack off constantly and wipe his hands on his pants?”

Ediye’s brow furrows. “Legitimately a good question. He does spend a long time in the bathroom. I just assumed he was admiring his reflection. Do you think—”

“Enough.”

“Oh look,” Ediye says as we both turn to face Ashen. “It speaks.”

“Get. Out.”

Ediye gives a long sigh and brushes the front of her sparkling indigo dress free of wrinkles before she stands. “Fine. Just try not to lose sight of the fact that tonight was an unmitigated success. Not an insignificant amount of that is thanks to you being strapped to a chair. So, you’re welcome.”

Ashen lets out a final growl as my heart rate climbs. He’s by far the most pissed at me he’s ever been, and of course I can understand why. Nonetheless, I’m not looking forward to the justifiably harsh words I expect to come my way. I lean forward in my chair and signal to Cyrus who nods in reply, then strides away to start emptying the Gauntlet of excited demons.

“Good luck, my love. The spell will wear off when you’re the only two left and the last person has ascended the steps.” Ediye says as she leans down and kisses my cheek. “Be gentle. He’s pretty hurt beneath all that sexy fire demon facade,” she whispers in my ear.

A breath of a melancholy laugh whispers past my lips. “I know. Thank you. Love you.”

Ediye squeezes my arm and offers a final smile before she turns, looping her arm with Imani’s as they head toward the stairs.

Ashen and I sit in silence as the cavern empties of spectators and soldiers and guards. Valentina and the hybrids are led to a passageway to their temporary accommodations, an unused set of barracks separate from the community of demons. The audience files out of the structure, demons chattering with excitement as they recall their favorite moments of the show and make plans to drink at Bit Akalum. Many look my way with newfound admiration. Some even call out my name.

I remain seated in my chair, a fragile smile etched into my face as I nod in acknowledgement to those demons who solicit my attention as they pass the dais. I try to keep my expression serene, but beneath my skin is a jumble of emotions that never settle in place long enough for me to grab hold of just one. The feeling of treading water doesn’t subside until the last demon’s back is turned and they start to ascend the dark stairway.

With a breath that feels like a baptism of air, I rush off my chair and climb onto Ashen’s lap.

“I’m sorry—”

“You could have been killed, Lu. Before my very eyes.”

“I know, I’m—”

“Joash could have pulled you into that acid. What if he had somehow freed your blade?”

“He couldn’t, Ediye’s spell—”

“What if he was trying to get you into the Resurrection Chamber with some other traitor we haven’t yet flushed out? He could have been on you before I had reanimated by your side. Has that thought occurred to you?”

No, it hadn’t until Joash mentioned it, but I leave that part out. I grasp Ashen’s face between my palms and he glares back at me, the rage a thin veil for the kind of worry that nearly chokes me as it climbs up my mark and into my throat. “I am sorry, truly. We both knew this would be a dangerous gamble as much as an unmissable opportunity. But that doesn’t make me any less sorry for scaring and hurting you.”

Ashen’s eyes bound between mine, the rings brightening with my words as though I’ve stoked his anger, not soothed it. “We knew it was a gamble, yes. But I would have intervened. I needed to be able to do that.”

“And if you had, you would have undermined my credibility as someone capable of leading this realm. If I can’t look after myself in this world, how am I supposed to look after anyone else?”

“How are you supposed to look after anyone at all if you’re dead?”

We stare at one another, both unyielding, both right, both wrong. A rumble of discontent rolls through Ashen’s chest as his gaze drifts away from mine. The muscle in his jaw clenches and releases as he chews on the words he must want to say but won’t. I stroke Ashen’s cheek, and even despite his fury, he drags his gaze back to mine. And what I feel when I look at him isn’t just the frustration of landing at an impasse, or the sadness of wounding him deeply, or the guilt of deceit. It’s love. It’s love so big I can touch it, so rich I can taste it, so bright and blinding it burns. Its facets are ever changing. I turn it in one light, and it reflects the joy I feel when I make Ashen laugh. I turn it another way, and passion consumes me, burning my belly with an ache for his touch. If I twist it again, there’s the deep love I feel when we repair our trauma and wounds together, a comfort much like the warmth of the travertine pools of Pamukkale as I watched the sunrise in the protection of Ashen’s embrace. But the one constant in every facet of love is choice. I choose to always hold on to it. Mated mark or not, whether in happiness or anger or sorrow, I choose Ashen.

And I understand now. Maybe he feels like I didn’t this time.

“I’m sorry, Ashen. I won’t put you in that position again,” I say.

The magic encasing his wrists and ankles begins to wane. I expect he’ll probably toss me off his lap as soon as he’s free. His body smolders, the smoke unabated as it cascades across the dais in swirling waves.

But when the magic disappears, Ashen wraps his arms around me and crushes me to his chest, burying his face in my neck. I clutch him back and we stay like that for a long while, just holding one another in the silent cavern, the only sound around us the rippling flame in the torches set along the walls. When we finally do part, Ashen grasps the back of my neck with a calloused palm, his thumb gliding across my skin in a gentle caress.

“I will only fight with you because you are worth fighting for,” he says, pressing his forehead to mine. He sighs as though a pain has been lifted, like a deep splinter has been pulled free. “You are right, just as I am. But it doesn’t matter who is right in the end, or who is wrong. I love you, Lu. I am so proud of you. I truly am. Do not let our disagreement detract from your success. You were a force on the playing field. The Goddess of the Gauntlet.”

My smile is caught up in Ashen’s kiss. His tongue sweeps into my mouth and the vibration of his relieved moan shakes the worry from my heart. His anger still simmers in the tether between us, but other emotions are there to soothe its ache, pride and love most of all.

“We’ve done big and bold,” I whisper against his lips when we part. “How about we get to the subtle and soft part of tonight’s agenda?”

Ashen’s final kiss holds a different kind of worry, one for his own reparations and the uncertainty about charting through waters he’s never traveled. “Are you sure about this?” he asks.

“Less sure than I was about the Gauntlet.”

“That’s comforting.”

“I know, right? Let’s go get it over with. I want some angry makeup sex before the wings subside,” I say with a wink as skim my fingers across the scales before shimmying off Ashen’s lap to his groan of desire.

“We could just stay,” he says, adjusting his pants around the growing bulge straining the fabric.

“Or we could swing by the suite to get some rope once we’re done and then come back so you can tie me to the chair, Reaper. Maybe I need a little punishment for my tricksy ways.”

The words have barely left my lips when Ashen sweeps up my hand and drags me toward the stairway, the sound of my laughter warming the cold stone. With every step we ascend, every word spoken and heated look shared, the hurt chips away, a little bit at a time.

Ashen holds my hand as we walk to the Kur, Zida and Urtur following as our only guardians in the fog. The night air is humid. It feels like an unseen storm lingers in the distance. The thoughts of the crawlers and souls press on my mind but never breach the barrier I’ve gotten better at holding between us. But I know they lurk in the shadows, now a comforting presence despite their broken minds. My steps become more determined, because the path I’m walking now is the one I’m taking to help them… I hope.

When we get to the Kur, we go straight to the Throne Room where Ashen pulls my heavy polished chair back from the Council table. He turns it to face the windows that look across the Bay of Souls, the black water barely visible in the night, even to my vampire eyes. I sit and he stands next to me, taking my hand while we wait. The pattern his thumb taps on my skin is the only outward sign of his nerves.

A few moments later, Davina and Imani enter, and after that Cole, Ediye, and Eryx, the group escorted by Cyrus and two other guards. Cole looks tired, the grief of the recent revelations about his former lover still etched into the dark circles that sweep beneath his eyes. He glances at Davina and Ashen only briefly, then keeps his bloodshot eyes on mine.

“Cyrus told me you needed me,” Cole says when our brief greetings have passed. “What can I do?”

“Two things, but only if you’ll have them. You can refuse and no one will hold it against you,” I reply. Cole’s eyes dart to Davina, but when they return to me, he gives a decisive nod. “First, Ashen told me back in Ravello that the human scientist you used to free me from the dungeons is still alive, still here.”

A crease flickers between Cole’s brows. “Yes, Dr. Keller. He’s being kept under guard at House Urbigu.”

“I know you weren’t at the Gauntlet tonight—”

“I’m sorry, Lu, I just couldn’t—”

“I know, it’s okay, Cole. I didn’t expect you to be there,” I say. Cole’s fallen expression seems to lighten a little, and Eryx squeezes one of his hands as Ediye holds on to the other. “But you missed the best part. The hybrids made an appearance.”

The surprise in Cole’s face is the first genuine curiosity I’ve seen in him in days. “Hybrids? Here?”

“Yes, and Valentina as well, though I’m not sure how long she’ll stay. I know Dr. Keller was working on a serum to finish my transformation. If he’s been making progress, maybe he can find something to reverse it. Perhaps he can find a way to treat the hybrids and return them to their previous forms in exchange for his freedom. I’d like you to work with him and supervise this, if you’ll do it.”

Cole’s eyes widen and he takes a little shuffle forward. “Yes. Yes, I would love to do that, Lu.”

A wave of relief passes between Ashen and me. I’d hoped we could find something that would inspire the angel in Cole, the part of him that wants to serve. He needs to heal and protect others, and in time, I hope, he can heal himself too.

I lean forward in my throne, bracing my forearms on my knees as I regard him. “The other thing, Cole…it might be a little harder. It’s okay to say no.” I cast a glance up at Imani and she smiles, knowing implicitly that I want her to continue because he’ll be more comfortable telling her no, if that’s what he wants.

“We still need a representative for House Mushussu on the Council,” Imani says in her soothing, lyrical voice. “Queen Leucosia has found a soul who might be a good fit. She’s quite rare. In speaking with Davina and a few others, we began looking into her background. We feel as though she might be able to help us rehabilitate even the crawlers and perhaps get them to the point where they too can be safely resurrected.”

Cole looks between us as his head tilts and his brow scrunches. I get a flash of the youthful side of him in the way he looks at us, trying to work it out. “Rare immortal? What do you mean?”

“She was a witch,” Imani answers. “A Dreamwalker. Her name is Naya.”

Cole seems to crumble from within, even though his body stays upright between the grip of his two lovers. His knees tremble. His shoulders drop and shake. An anguished breath tumbles from his lungs. But as his eyes fill with tears, there is deliverance in the way he says her name. “Naya? You found Naya?”

I nod and Ashen’s grip tightens on my hand, my heart pounding in my palm. “We can bring her back now, or we can wait until you’re ready. There’s no rush. No time limit. But when we do bring her back, I would like you to help her adjust, because she’ll need somebody. Maybe it should be you.”

Cole doesn’t hesitate, even despite the tears that flow down his skin in glistening channels. “Yes. Yes, I will do it. Now is good.”

“You’re sure?”

A vigorous nod is his only reply.

I look to Cyrus and he whistles toward the open door behind us. A moment later, a guard walks in, his hand gently clasped around the arm of a soul with cloudy grey eyes and wispy, shoulder-length hair. They draw to a halt in front of Davina.

“Are you ready?” Davina asks, her words soft and kind. Cole nods once more and wipes his face, but more tears replace the ones drawn away by his sleeve. When Davina turns toward the soul, she raises her palms and begins to chant, the sigils etched into her skin glowing with golden light. She closes her eyes as she whispers, and when she opens them, the green flame within reflects on the soul’s translucent skin.

Davina pushes her palm to the soul’s chest. “Sag anir niggiggaa udmi nibzal zale,” she says.

Light erupts from the specter’s skin and she falls to the floor.

Convulsions spasm through her muscles. She thrashes on the cold stone, her alabaster skin warming to a rich, medium brown as golden light eats through her flesh. Tattoos burn to the surface of her chest and arms. The geometric face of a hyena, the symbol of House Mushussu, overlays patterns of honeycomb and flowers that spread from her heart to her shoulders and back. She gasps for breath, curling her legs to her chest as Davina kneels at her side and covers her with a black silk robe. After a few moments, she’s able to sit up, and she pushes her dark hair from her eyes to take in her new surroundings.

“What…what is this place? Where am I?” Naya says between the shelter of Davina’s hands. Her dark eyes land on me, her confused mind already recognizing the authority a golden throne conveys.

“You’re in the Shadow Realm, Naya. You’re safe now,” I reply.

Naya looks down at her arms. She flips her hands over as though she can’t believe they’re real. She touches her chest to feel her beating heart. “I was in a dream. A nightmare.”

“This is real,” Cole says, and he takes a step toward her.

Naya registers his presence for the first time. A sharp inhale sets her heart racing and she recoils in fear, but Davina’s there to hold her steady.

“I was the one who reaped your soul,” Cole says as Eryx and Ediye release his hands and he takes another step closer to the trembling new demon. She tries to push further away from him, but she doesn’t yet have the strength to fight her way free. Cole kneels but comes no closer.

“Naya,” Ashen says, drawing her attention from the Reaper who killed her to a more terrifying option, one complete with glowing eyes and giant wings. “You were reaped for the Crime of Coercion. Do you remember?”

Naya takes a moment to respond, as though it’s taking effort to discern dreams from memory. “Yes, I remember.”

“The former Council of the Shadow Realm determined that you were entering another coven’s dreams to manipulate them into an attack against a third coven, one that was backed and controlled by the Council. Is that true?”

Naya squeezes her eyes shut. “It is.”

“No matter your motivation or the advantage the former Council gleaned from your actions, you already know it is a violation of the rules governing immortals. You were only to use your powers to guide and to heal, not to coerce,” Ashen says, his tone firm but not unkind.

Naya’s head drops with a heavy sigh, and she takes a deep breath before nodding. “I know.”

I rise from the throne and approach her with careful steps, crouching near the woman who’s doing her best to keep pace with a situation that’s long outrun her. But despite her fear and confusion, she’s holding her shit together. The only sign of her distress is the tremor that jitters through her body. “Naya, look down at the words that scroll across your chest,” I say. She reads the letters and meets my eyes.

“Shalasu Ningsisa,” she whispers. “Merciful Justice.”

I squeeze Naya’s arm. “I can’t free you of this place, not for the crime you’ve committed. But I can give you the chance to use your residual gifts to help other souls and rebuild this realm. I am offering you a position on the Council, and the opportunity to use your Dreamwalker capabilities to guide the most broken souls back from their suffering. And Cole will help you do it.”

Naya darts a wary glance to the demon kneeling nearby. His hands are folded in his lap. Tears still glass his eyes, but only a few fall. “I’m sorry, Naya. I’m so sorry I took you from the Living Realm,” he says. “I want to help you find a purpose here. You can help the Realm find the path back to what it was meant to be.”

“If I don’t accept?” Naya asks in a whisper, as though she doesn’t really want to know the answer.

“Then you return to being a wraith,” Ashen says. “We’ve looked through the texts. The rules are very clear. Ten years for every mind you coerced to commit the attack. One hundred and twenty years is your sentence.”

Naya was only reaped a year ago, but each moment must have felt like a lifetime, because the sound she makes is one of pure anguish. My heart sinks thinking what the other souls here must be enduring if one hundred and twenty years is unfathomable to an immortal. Even despite knowing what she stands to face, Naya reins in her fear and nods. “May I think on it?”

“Yes, of course.” I give her a smile and rise to stand next to Ashen. His fingers lace through mine as his thumb draws a lazy caress across my skin. Naya seems to notice the movement and a crease flickers between her brows. When she meets my eyes it’s as though the concept of love in the Shadow Realm had never occurred to her. Something about showing her otherwise through such a simple gesture warms my core. “You have two days.”

Imani offers Naya a hand and helps her from the floor. “Come. I will show you where you’ll stay.”

Naya’s gaze is still on me as her head tilts. Her eyes narrow as she tries to remember if we’ve ever met, though I already know we haven’t, unless she recalls fractured images of me in her time as a lost soul. “Who are you?” she finally asks when she’s sure she can’t wrest my name from history.

But before I have the chance to answer, it’s Cole who speaks.

“She is Leucosia of Anthemoessa,” he says. When he looks at me, I feel my Cole looking back, the one who once said we can give ourselves permission to accept love, even when it’s tarnished and imperfect, even when we feel unworthy. When Cole smiles, I know the bruises he feels now are on the way to fading. “She’s the Queen of this broken realm. And she’s going to fix it, one soul at a time.”