Chapter 16

Karys

Two days after my mission into Ederis, I stood in the smaller of the Fire Palace's two kitchens, obsessively counting out the ingredients to an old family recipe I'd made at least a hundred times before.

I'd memorized the steps to it years ago, yet now I found myself second-guessing every measurement, checking off ingredients only to throw them back into their containers so I could take them out in a different way, line them up in alternative rows, count them by twos instead—whatever it took until they finally felt right .

It was the first time I'd been out of my room since returning to this realm. I'd been determined to make it out today. To not let myself be overwhelmed by the sights and sounds throughout the palace, the things that reminded me of what I'd become. Where I lived now. What I couldn't go back to.

Don't look back, don't look back…

I just had to find something to distract myself with and I would be fine.

The distraction of cooking had been Rieta's idea—she'd reminded my shocked and addled self that I had loved it, once upon a time, and she'd rearranged the kitchen in a way she thought would suit me best before kicking all of the usual servants out of it.

Mairu had offered her help as well, and had ventured briefly to the mortal realm to gather up authentic ingredients that I was used to working with, even though they didn't compare to the quality of the ones that originated in the divine realm.

They had both encouraged me to dig into these old recipes, to lose myself in the thrill of creating as I'd once been able to. They weren't trying to erase my past; it was me who couldn't seem to hold both Karys the goddess and Karys the elven rebel in her mind at once. It felt like trying to walk with two separate people controlling my legs.

I took a deep breath.

I was out of my room and moving, at least, even if I occasionally stumbled. Even if I didn't feel like I could create anything real or worthwhile at the moment.

I was fine.

Everything was fine.

I surveyed the kitchen, pointing and calling out the things I would need for the next steps of the recipe. It was an old trick my sister had taught me—when my unconscious mind tried to overtake things and deaden my emotions, forcing it to focus on tangible things brought me back to the present. We used to turn it into a game, sometimes, trying to see who could point and call out the next tool or ingredient first. I could still hear her laughing when I stumbled over the words in my haste to get them out.

"Have everything you need?" came a voice from the doorway.

I wiped a tear from my eye before turning to find Rieta standing there with a box resting on her hip. "Yes, thank you."

She studied me, her fingers tapping rhythmically against the box. "You look disappointed. I s'pose you were hoping I was the God of Fire?"

"No, it's not that."

She clucked her tongue in a disbelieving sort of way, but ultimately didn't argue as she stepped inside and placed the box on one of the marbled countertops, mumbling to herself as she pawed through its contents. It looked to be more ingredients Mairu had sent.

"He'll be back soon, I suspect," Rieta said, more to herself than me.

I had barely spoken to Dravyn since our return, except to numbly recite the things I'd heard and witnessed. Not because I didn't want to talk to him more, but because I didn't know what else to say.

The space between us felt like a deep, dark ocean, the lands we'd come from too far apart from one another. And I was too tired to try and swim.

He'd spent much of these past days away from the palace and out of reach in all ways, anyhow. He was off setting fire to things on the edges of his territory, creating volcanic upheavals, and who knows what else , Rieta had explained. He seemed determined to reshape the very slopes and edges of his domain with violent, relentless energy.

I would have known this was what he was doing even if she hadn't told me; I felt him and his restless magic clearly enough.

"He's furious about what happened, isn't he?" I asked, studying my knuckles. After two days, my divine blood had done its job, leaving behind little evidence of the cuts I'd sustained. "Furious with me for talking him into my plan…I should have known there would be things in that city I wasn't ready to face."

"He's not furious with you , love," she replied, gathering up an armful of the dishes I'd dirtied and carrying them over to the wash basin. "He simply needs to be alone."

I didn't believe her, but I didn't have the energy to argue, so I simply went back to my cooking. I had finally committed to the order I'd placed the ingredients in, and even though my hands itched to keep rearranging them, I resisted the urge.

I was determined to finish at least one recipe before the day was over.

Rieta busied herself with the dishes, polishing and drying nearly every cup and spoon before she spoke again.

"He's always done this, ever since he was younger. Sometimes he'd disappear into the woods for days on end. He knows his temper, and he knows when he needs to walk away from things. Usually. The few times he hasn't succeeded in doing that, well…" Her hands shook slightly as she tried to place a glass cup on the drying rack; it slipped, falling back into the wash basin, and the sound of glass striking metal reverberated throughout the room. "It's better to let the fires have a chance to settle."

My gaze caught on the bright red coals beneath the oven. "Or else innocents die in those fires," I mumbled. "Like the elves of Ederis did."

"Yes. And he's never forgiven himself for that. I'd hoped he might make some kind of peace, with you now at his side, but with everything that's happened lately…" She trailed off, sighing and shaking her head.

The past, it seems, is not finished with either of us.

Those haunting words Dravyn had spoken had already proven more true than I think either of us were prepared for.

"He's not as far away as he may seem, for what it's worth," Rieta added after a moment of thought. "He's been back periodically to check in on things here. To check on you."

Warmth crept into my cheeks. "I still have a hard time seeing him as someone who could level an entire city without flinching," I told her.

Even after personally witnessing how easily he could kill, it still felt at odds with the rational, protective god I knew. The one who was distancing himself now until he felt more fully in control of his anger and magic. The one who had protected me time and time again.

"No one is fully good or bad," Rieta pointed out with a shrug.

I considered this as I measured and sifted flour into a bowl. "I expected to struggle more with the monstrous side of myself when I ascended," I admitted. "Sometimes it doesn't feel like I truly ascended at all. Or like I only made it halfway."

"It's been different for you, I believe, because of how close you are to Dravyn, and how tightly your magic is woven together."

I hadn't forgotten the bloodthirsty drive I'd experienced when I first walked out of the Tower of Ascension, but she was right—the God of Fire had been there from the moment I'd woken up, talking me back from the ledge.

The same god who had recently returned to this realm covered in the blood of my enemies.

And they were my enemies, weren't they?

To say that no one was fully good or bad felt like a gross oversimplification.

I massaged my temples, trying to soothe away a building headache. "But even Dravyn was fully monstrous in the beginning, based on what he's told me."

She frowned. "I suppose it can be argued that he was—at least for a time. Like most new gods. And yet, even then…" She hesitated, as if on the edge of revealing a secret she wasn't sure she trusted me with.

I gave her an imploring look, and her gaze slowly softened until she finally relented and continued to speak.

"Do you know how I came to live in this realm…a mortal being blessed with enough magic to be able to survive here?"

I shook my head, fully intrigued, the spices I'd just started to measure momentarily forgotten. "No. But I've always wondered."

"His brother—the one who is now the king of Galizur—wanted me put to death for failing to do anything to stop the assassins who killed their younger siblings. I was in the room when their sister was stabbed. I hid, Prince Fallon thought. Truth is I simply froze, and was lucky enough to go unnoticed.

"Still, I could have done more, I know, and Fallon wanted someone to blame for what had happened. But Dravyn stopped the execution order. And once he became a god, shortly thereafter, he returned to the royal city and took me away. Brought me here. A single life saved among all the chaos and bloodshed of that night probably doesn't seem like much, but…well, it wasn't meaningless to me , obviously."

I went back to the spices, double and triple checking their measurements before dumping them into the bowl one by one. Quietly, I said, "I don't think it was meaningless, either."

I wasn't entirely sure what I thought. But chasing all the possibilities around in my head eventually led me to a single horrible one: If he could be good despite the monstrous things he'd done, then my sister could be a monster despite the good she'd done.

I wanted to shrivel up with the pain of this realization one moment. In the next, I wanted to rage against the very idea of it, to set fire to something, anything to get it out of my head and stop the burning ache it caused in my heart.

But I refused to do any of these things in front of Rieta; I understood Dravyn's need to be alone more than ever, suddenly.

She seemed to pick up on this. "I'll come back in a bit to check in on you." She eyed the stack of dishes she'd finished washing. "Do me a favor and try not to be so damn messy going forward, hm?"

I swallowed hard. My throat felt like it was full of broken glass. "I'll try."

She watched me for a bit longer, concern clouding her eyes, before she finally left.

I spent the next several hours alone, thinking of nothing except the steps to whatever I was cooking. I finished the first recipe—dozens of cinnamon-dusted cookies that had once been my father's favorite treat—and then I jumped straight into another before my mind had any time to wander.

I wrote down each of these recipes in painstaking detail before I attempted them. Even though I likely could have made them from memory alone, the act of writing out each step brought me a greater sense of peace.

As long as I had lists and directions I could check off, I could keep moving. As long as I methodically followed them, I would make it through the day.

I passed the hours with one successful baked creation after another, falling into a daze that was, if not entirely peaceful, at least bearable. With each finished product, I slipped away a little more, until I was no longer present and hurting—I was the past me, back in my childhood home, and things were as they had always been.

I finally broke from my trance at what must have been close to the middle of the night, and only then because my magic stirred in a way I couldn't ignore. It brought me to a stop in the middle of the kitchen, nearly causing me to drop the bowl of dough I'd been mixing.

Dravyn walked into the room a short time later.

A searingly hot wind preceded him. He still carried the wild scent of where he'd been, of sweat and scorched earth and smoke. His skin was unsettled, the divine symbols on it glowing faintly. His eyes were brighter than usual, too, a fiery gleam weaving through the steely blue—though their color settled somewhat when they fell upon the counters, which were full of my neatly organized rows of sweet and savory pastries, breads, muffins, and more.

His expression flashed between impressed and dubious as he said, "You made all of this?"

"I just…I needed a distraction, that's all."

"And you're still going," he commented, eyeing the bowl I clung to. "Moth will be thrilled."

I nodded.

We stood silently for a moment, staring at one another as if it had been much longer than two days since we'd had a proper conversation.

Finally, he pointed to the latest piles of neatly-stacked ingredients I'd laid out and asked, "Can I help?"

I exhaled slowly, the deliberate breath finally breaking me from my stupor. "Yes. You can. But you have to wash up first."

He smiled slightly at this, but obeyed, disappearing for a few minutes before returning with his hands and face scrubbed clean.

He presented himself to me as if for inspection, that slightly crooked smile still on his face. I played along, taking his large hands in mine and turning them over, one by one, tracing my fingers along the lines of his palm.

"That will do, I suppose," I informed him.

He still smelled of broken and burning things, but I tried not to think about those things and focused only on the task before us once more. I grabbed a paring knife and handed it over, instructing him to gather and chop the chocolate I'd planned to fold into the bowl I held.

And I was fine.

Everything was fine.

For a few, blissful minutes I managed to believe that once again.

The night moved on and we transformed into the settled, easy version of us that I quietly, desperately longed for. Talking. Laughing. Tasting the things we'd made. Plotting ways to make them better. Making a mess that I was sure Rieta wouldn't be pleased about.

But there was an ache building steadily in my gut as I went through the motions. A grief that grew heavier with each stir of a spoon, with every check of the recipe's steps—with the increasingly clear realization that I would likely never, ever do these things with my sister again, even though she was alive.

It was as if she'd died all over again.

As I watched Dravyn adding the last ingredients to the cake we were attempting to make, a memory struck me—that of the first time I'd cooked after my sister disappeared. Of how wrong I'd gotten the dish without her there to look over my shoulder while I prepared it. Even though I'd been cooking on my own for years before that, without her there, everything I did had suddenly felt so… unbalanced .

A tremble went through me. I braced my hands against the counter, trying unsuccessfully to hide it.

"Karys? What is it?"

I shook my head, but Dravyn's gaze was insistent.

"You're doing it wrong," I said quietly.

He gave me a confused look.

"It's all wrong," I said, angrier. The same anger I'd felt toward myself all those years ago was suddenly resurfacing, except now I couldn't bear to keep it inside of myself as I'd done back then. There was no room for it along with everything else.

"It has to be all lined up perfectly," I insisted, furiously. "It has to go in the right order. If something is missing or wrong, the foundation is ruined . And if the foundation isn't right, then everything else crumbles."

I didn't take my eyes off the bowl he held, barely resisting the urge to knock it from his hands.

"Everything crumbles," I repeated, trying and failing to keep my voice from doing the same.

He slowly placed the bowl on the counter and started to reach for me, but I shook my head and backed away.

I needed to keep moving.

I tried to keep speaking, too. Tried to explain myself, but I couldn't get my voice to work.

My knees suddenly felt weak. Despite my best efforts to pace the room with precise, purposeful steps, I ended up sinking against the door to the pantry, wrapping my arms around myself as I fought against the urge to slide down into a miserable heap on the floor.

I had to stay on my feet, at least.

If I collapsed now, I worried I'd never find the strength to get up again, so I bowed my head and concentrated on staying upright.

Moments later, I heard Dravyn coming closer. He reclined against the wall beside me but didn't speak. I didn't either. I didn't even lift my head—though after a minute, I did move, leaning against his shoulder as I tried to stifle the sob building in my throat. I only partially succeeded; the cry ended up silent, but the tears came anyway, quickly drenching his shirt.

His hand found mine, holding tightly to it even as more tremors of rage shot through me.

"You don't have to stay," I said quietly.

"I want to stay."

"I might start throwing things next."

"I'll catch them."

I didn't know what to say to this, so I said nothing, only let my head rest more completely against him while the tears continued to fall. I'd given up fighting those tears; I'd run out of them, eventually.

Running out took several minutes, but when it finally happened, the anger inside of me had subsided enough that I finally trusted myself to speak again.

"She used to be the one I turned to when things crumbled. Even after she di—left." I sucked in a breath. "Even after she left, she was still my foundation. I built myself around the absence of her. Isn't that stupid? To build everything around that emptiness. Of course it didn't hold up. I'm a fool for thinking it could."

"You are not a fool for doing what you needed to do to survive."

But I am a fool for not seeing the truth sooner .

He shook his head, as if he'd heard the thought even though I hadn't voiced it out loud. "You were lied to. Manipulated. Abused."

My heart clenched. He was right. I knew he was right. I don't know why I couldn't agree with him. Maybe I wanted to blame myself because it made things feel like they were still in my control, somehow.

Maybe the God of Death had been right the other day…maybe I was clinging too tightly to too many parts of my old life.

I curled closer to Dravyn, burying my face into his chest. He wrapped his arms tightly around me but didn't say anything else. There didn't seem to be anything else to say just then, so we simply stayed that way for a while, until I found myself and my thoughts growing restless again.

"What am I supposed to do now?" I asked, hoarsely, more to myself than him. I didn't really expect an answer.

Because what could you do, when the person who used to help you through all the hurt became the reason you were hurting?

Dravyn was quiet for a moment. Then his hand found mine once again, and he started to pull me away from the door as he said, "Let's finish making this cake, shall we?"

"What?"

"The cake. What's our next step?"

I lifted my gaze, half-expecting to see a teasing smile and laughter dancing in his eyes.

His face was entirely serious.

"Come on," he said, continuing to guide me back toward the abandoned ingredients. "And I'll need you to explain it to me more carefully this time; I've never been good at this sort of thing."

I stared at him. And at the counter covered in flour, the splatters of batter, the broken eggshells and dirty spatulas strewn about…it all suddenly seemed so ridiculous in the midst of all we were facing that I found myself laughing at the very notion of finishing.

But he was insistent.

So I picked up the recipe I'd written out once more, and together, step-by-step, we found a way to keep moving.