Chapter 20

Karys

Three more days passed in relative peace and quiet. I continued to concern myself mostly with practicing magic, letting Dravyn focus on gathering and sorting through reports about the mortal realm and the things threatening it.

He'd left earlier that morning, his sights set on making his way into the training grounds he'd told me about—Mindoth's Keep. I'd considered going with him, still unable to forget the state he'd been in after his last visit to his old kingdom. He'd insisted I stay and keep working on my magic, however. And I needed all the practice I could get; I couldn't argue against that.

So Valas had gone with him instead, and I'd done my best to stay calm and focused on what I needed to do, while trusting that they could take care of things elsewhere. Dravyn wasn't alone in that kingdom of blood and bad memories… That was the most important thing. He would be back soon. He would be fine.

He would be fine.

That still didn't stop me from focusing my inner fire every few minutes, thinking of him and hoping I would feel his warmth reaching back.

In the meantime, Mairu and I had made our way to the outermost edge of the Fire Palace's grounds. There was an observatory here, a tall tower made largely of glass. It had several balconies, as well as wide, decorative ledges that were easy enough to access by climbing through the countless windows.

A variety of prime launching spots, in other words.

So far, I'd only worked up the courage to jump from the second-lowest balcony and the ledges around it. It was proving helpful, though—necessity was an excellent teacher, as Dravyn had pointed out, so I simply kept jumping and forcing myself to further develop my wings on the way down.

I still hadn't accomplished much in the way of sustained flight. I'd managed to not crash or break any part of my body, though. And after several hours of practice, my landings were becoming almost graceful. My confidence was soaring a bit as well, so I decided to chance a higher jump.

I pushed my worries about Dravyn and the mortal kingdom down and marched to the next highest balcony. To reach it required walking through a room that smelled of leather, old books, and ink. Diagrams lined the walls. Most featured what looked like the sky filled with different sized spheres—forgelights, I realized.

There were copious notes about different luminosities, angles, and more, all written in Dravyn's blocky, heavy handwriting; this tower must have been where he worked on perfecting those creations of his.

It was oddly comforting, seeing these displays. So much of this realm and its magic seemed effortless…it was nice to know he occasionally had to take notes and experiment with things.

I pulled the doors open and stepped onto the balcony, squinting in the bright haziness. The sky was the color of watery milk and glowing softly, courtesy of one of those burning forgelights in the distance.

Heart pounding, I walked to the edge of the balcony and hoisted myself up onto the railing, one hand pressed against a column for balance. I made sure to step onto the rail left foot first—an old habit I fell into when I was trying to avoid catastrophes. Pointless, maybe, but I couldn't keep myself from completing the ritual.

One foot, then the other. The ground seemed a million miles away. Warmth pooled against my back. I closed my eyes, imagining that warmth turning solid and shaping into feathers.

As my wings took shape, they caught more of the heat rolling off my body and started to lift, carrying me up to my tiptoes before I came to my senses and grabbed the column once more.

Mai waved from below, signaling that she was ready to intervene in case of disaster.

Stepping off the edge was always the hardest part. To have solidness beneath me one moment, only to lose it the next…I hated that sensation. So I didn't hesitate more than a few seconds. I would lose my nerve if I did.

Two deep breaths.

One big step.

Then whoosh— I was falling, ground rising fast below me, wings flaring out beside me, body twisting in a wild, ultimately useless effort to right itself.

As my wings extended further, more fiery feathers building upon them even as I fell, my descent slowed. I jerked nearly to a stop in mid-air. My stomach heaved. The sky spun around me.

I was no longer thinking about merely surviving the fall—which should have been freeing. But instead, I became all too aware of every single feather and flame holding me up. Of how little control I had over these things. How little I understood the magic that had created them.

I started to sink.

The harder I tried to understand it all, the faster I fell.

The wings resisted my every attempt at control. I was careening faster than ever toward the ground and failure—too fast.

Much too fast.

Just before I hit, I managed to twist so I could break the fall with my wings rather than my body. I rolled across the ground, wrapped in flames and feathers, eventually coming to rest flat on my back.

I stayed there for a long moment, every part of me aching. Heat still blazed against my back, hotter than ever, even as my wings were disintegrating, pieces of them floating away into the sky.

Mai grabbed my hand and pulled me to my feet. "I thought you were going to properly take off on me that time," she said encouragingly. "You're getting closer."

I sighed, absently twisting my hand through the smoke and embers over my shoulder—what little remained of my wings. "It's the same problem I had when trying to master the transporting spell."

"Thinking too much?"

I nodded. "As soon as the wings slow my descent, there's too much space in my mind for calculating. And by my calculations, none of this magic makes any logical sense."

"Who needs logic?" she teased.

" I do."

"Right." She waved a dismissive hand. "Well, we just need to find a way to make you stop thinking."

"Valas suggested I try it in an altered state of mind . It sounded ridiculous at the time, but I don't know. Maybe I'd be more successful if I was drunk—and relaxed—right now."

She gave me a crooked grin, shaking her head. "If he offers you something to alter your mind, I'd strongly suggest not taking it. It might help you fly, but there's no telling where to, or what kind of state you'll be in when you land."

"You speak like you have experience."

"An embarrassing collection of experiences I'd rather not talk about."

I mirrored her grin. "Noted."

"Let's take a break," she suggested. "They should be back soon."

I wasn't ready to give up without more progress, but I was eager to see Dravyn and Valas as soon as possible, so I agreed, picking up the coat I'd draped on a nearby tree and slinging it over my shoulder.

We started to set a course back toward the main palace but only made it a few steps before I sensed foreign energies coming toward us.

"A guest?" I wondered, looking back.

"Two of them."

I concentrated on trying to feel out their identities. They carried Sun Court energy, I thought.

"Keep your head up," Mai said under her breath. "Don't let them get under your skin. I'm sure they'll try to."

They emerged from the backdrop of bright sky a minute later—two of the Sun Court Marr, both shifted into beastly forms.

Cepheid, Goddess of Stars, came first. She was in the form of a great stag. I'd never seen her in this shape before, but the patterns on her body gave her identity away—inky black as a night sky with swirls of shifting lights upon it. Each point of her massive antlers shimmered, too, as though she'd speared stars onto the ends.

The Sky Goddess, Edea, resembled a lankier version of the panther-like shape Valas often took. The coloring of her form made me think of clouds that were edged in gold from hiding the sun. A telltale trail of her cerulean-colored magic followed in her wake.

The two goddesses touched gently onto the ground, their shapes shifting into more humanoid figures as they approached us—though Cepheid retained a smaller version of the stag's star-tipped antlers, and Edea's cerulean magic still trailed after her, the shape shimmering as it swished and curled like a cat's tail.

My mouth had fallen open, I realized. I quickly closed it and tried to avert my eyes. I wanted to appear indifferent, but it was hard not to be overwhelmed by their display of power. Hard not to wonder if I would ever manage to shift and move through the realms as easily they did…

This last part seemed unlikely after a day spent tumbling from the tower behind me, giving everything I had just to keep myself from crashing.

"We've come to speak with the ruler of this territory," said the Star Goddess in her soft but unsettlingly powerful voice. "Where is he?"

"Dravyn isn't here." I lifted my chin. "You can speak to me."

The two Sun Court Marr exchanged a slow, meaningful glance. They spoke to one another in the language of their own court, the words rapid and tense, their gazes occasionally drifting in my direction. They didn't bother trying to hide their disdain.

Clearly trying to rattle me, as Mai had predicted they would.

I cleared my throat. Loudly. "You can sense the magic of your fellow Marr, can you not?"

They stopped their private conference. The Goddess of Sky gave a single, slight tip of her head.

"But you couldn't tell Dravyn wasn't here? You must have felt little difference in my magic and his before you arrived, then. So why treat me differently, now?"

Edea sneered at my challenge before turning away and scanning the palace in the distance, as if she didn't fully believe Dravyn wasn't here—as if I might have been hiding him somewhere.

The Star Goddess looked me in the eyes, at least. "A fair point."

I glared back at her, refusing to back down, even as the silence between us stretched far beyond the point of comfortable.

"Very well," she finally said. "You can serve as a messenger, I suppose." Her gaze darted around the space, taking in the few embers still burning here and there. Were those yet more errant bits of my broken wings?

I wondered if Cepheid could sense my failed attempts at flight. Her magic gave her an eerie ability to see past, present, and future; what did she see when she looked at me?

"Tell your God of Fire that our court is not interested in the wars building in the mortal realm," she said. "We have decided to let fate run its course without any guidance from our hands. Not that he needs us to help with whatever meddling he and the rest of your court intend to do." She swatted at a floating bit of fire as though it were an annoying fly.

"Clearly, you have all the power you need, anyway," the Sky Goddess added, nodding toward a cluster of my scattered embers with a smirk. "And it's perfectly under your control, isn't it?"

I didn't reply.

I simply reached out a hand and curled my fingers into a fist. The motion—and the furious power simmering beneath it—brought all of the wayward embers flying back toward me, swirling them into a torch around my clenched fist.

I didn't try to shape them into wings this time. Instead, I imagined a sharp point. I stretched out my fingertips until the fire stretched with it, creating a flaming blade twice the length of my arm.

I inhaled and exhaled a deliberate breath that brought more fire flickering into the air around me.

Without taking my eyes of the Sun Court goddesses, I twisted my wrist as if rebalancing my sword. The small movements drew the newly-summoned embers in tighter, solidifying and lengthening the flaming weapon.

The Sky Goddess tossed the thick waves of her shining black hair over her shoulder and averted her gaze, pretending to be interested in something in the distance.

The Star Goddess watched my sword building, her disdain turning to curiosity as I pointed the burning tip at her chest.

"If that's all you needed to tell me," I said, "you can be on your way now."

Cepheid didn't flinch.

Edea started to move on her behalf, but the Star Goddess held up her hand and brought her to a stop.

Cepheid's eyes remained cold and fixed on me.

I willed myself not to shake, to not let the blade drop.

"An impressive weapon," said the Star Goddess. The words bordered on mocking, but her lips curved in an odd way as she looked the fiery blade up and down—as if something like begrudging respect was starting to break through.

I was probably imagining it.

She took a step back, rolling her shoulders. As she did, starry ribbons shot out from her back and twisted into the shape of bat- like wings. They were nearly transparent, save for their edges, until she gave a slow, lazy test flap. Then they came to life, the thin membranes darkening from pale blue to a rich shade of indigo dotted with glowing bits of white. It was like watching a sky turn from midday to midnight in a matter of seconds.

"Make sure you give the God of Fire my message," she said.

"I'll make it my top priority," I replied.

If she could read the sarcasm in my tone, she gave no indication of it.

In a slightly lower voice, she added, "I won't intervene, but I'll be watching the movements of that mortal realm—and you—with great interest."

Before I could think of a response, she gave a slight bow of her head and then leapt into the air, soaring and twisting away with breathtaking grace and ease.

After one last smirk in my direction, the Sky Goddess followed, disappearing in a flash of turquoise light only to reappear at Cepheid's side far in the distance.

Alone with Mairu once more, I flicked my wrist, breaking up the shape of my summoned sword and sending the pieces of it flying in all directions.

"That was impressive," Mai said, watching the scattering sword for a moment before collecting her bag, which was hanging from the same tree I'd used as a coat rack.

I took the first deep, normal breath I'd taken in several minutes. "It was mostly fueled by spite," I admitted.

She shrugged. "So? I'd say at least two-thirds of what I do is motivated by spite." She took an apple-like fruit from the bag, polishing it on the flowing hem of her shirt before she added, "Some days it's the only reason I get out of bed."

I giggled a bit at this, releasing more of the tension that had gathered in my chest. She tossed me the fruit, took out another for herself, and we strolled side-by-side back into the palace while enjoying them.

"Dravyn once told me you and the Goddess of Stars don't get along very well," I said, in-between bites.

She snorted. "It's complicated."

"Why am I not surprised? The Marr are complicated in general, aren't they?"

"Yes. But in this case…I am the goddess most often associated with change and control," she reminded me, balancing her half-eaten fruit on the tip of her outstretched palm.

I watched as she narrowed her eyes in concentration and the fruit began to spin, its shiny skin unraveling in a tidy spiral to reveal the juicy pink flesh underneath.

"Cepheid is more concerned with fate and the glimpses of destiny she sees in her stars," Mai continued. "She's inclined to believe that mortals are bound to these things. And many of them are, of course—but there are always a few who rebel against the stars' control and make a mess. I champion those mortals who aren't afraid of these messy, daring changes; she can't stand them. So we're at odds to begin with.

"And over the years we've gotten into many arguments regarding such things." She shrugged. "I'm not surprised they won't be joining us. Cepheid doesn't meddle in the affairs of the mortal realm whenever she can help it, and she's the oldest and arguably most powerful of her court. When she refuses something, the others tend to follow her lead. Even Halar."

I tried to picture the demure Star Goddess commanding the brutish Storm God.

I couldn't.

"It's probably just as well if Halar doesn't join us if we do descend upon Avalinth," Mai said. "He'd likely only make a bigger mess of whatever we ultimately try to do, or whatever battles we end up fighting."

I agreed, though it would have been nice to have some of the Sun Court alongside us. The Sky Goddess, for example…so many mortals prayed to her and built temples to praise her for her protective magic, and for what?

Just so she could turn away from them when their world and its wars got too messy?

"Hopefully, it won't come to a battle," I thought aloud.

Our current plan was not to choose a side or fuel the animosity between them, but rather to try and find a way to de-escalate the situation.

It had been my idea. If Dravyn and Valas could track down Cillian, then I could do the rest. He helped me escape my old home, after all—he was one of the few willing to disagree with and stand up to Andrel. So whatever operation he was helping to lead in Mindoth…I could convince him to put a stop to it.

I hoped.

We reached the main doors to the palace. Moth swept down from his perch on one of the nearby turrets, greeting us with a series of flying loops before crashing into my arms with enough force to send me stumbling backward. As I caught my balance, he peeked up at me through the waves of hair he'd tangled himself in. His owl-like eyes blinked in an almost sheepish manner.

"Still a better landing than any I've managed today," I reassured him, carefully untangling his head from my tresses.

He snatched a lock of hair in his mouth and clamped down on it in reply, his tail swishing affectionately.

Mairu walked ahead of us, letting herself through the massive iron doors. Her footsteps echoed loudly across the marble floors, making the palace sound even more empty than it felt. She paused as she reached the center of the atrium, the corners of her mouth twitching as if fighting off a frown.

"Still no sign of them," I said.

Uncertainty flashed in the Serpent Goddess's usually confident gaze. "I have a few other things I need to take care of," she said, "but I could stay and wait on them with you, if you'd like me to."

"I'll be okay on my own, thank you."

Moth gave the hair in his mouth a sharp tug.

"I'm not entirely on my own, after all," I amended.

Mairu smiled wryly at the griffin's antics before lifting her gaze back to mine. "I'll return soon," she promised.

I waved goodbye and made my way farther inside, searching for things to occupy myself with other than worrying.

I found Rieta asleep by one of the fireplaces in the main study, a basket of cloth and other supplies at her feet, her body hunched over a garment she'd been sewing. Another shirt for me, it looked like. The deep scarlet fabric pooled in a beautifully soft manner. She'd woven slightly darker, shinier red threads in subtle patterns along the flowing sleeves, and movement—her body rising and falling along with her snores—made those threads gleam faintly in the firelight. A simple yet elegant piece, flirting between mortal and divine in appearance; she was a master at creating such garments, I'd found out.

It would have been nice to talk with her—I'd thought of approximately a thousand more questions about her and Dravyn's life in the royal city of Altis since we'd last spoken of it—but she was sleeping so deeply I didn't want to bother her.

Instead, I eased her into a more comfortable position, grabbed a throw blanket from a chest in the corner, draped it over her shoulders, and quietly continued on.

I soon regretted not asking Mai to stay.

The palace was too large, too dark, too quiet to wander in alone. It might have been my home now, but it was harder to think of it as such whenever Dravyn wasn't here.

Even my room, which had been filled to the brim with gifts and decor curated specifically by me and for me, didn't feel right. I rested on my bed for only a few moments before I felt the urge to get up and head back into the main parts of the palace—just in case I'd somehow not sensed Dravyn and Valas returning.

But no…still no sign of them.

I soon sensed another presence, however; a surge of power that rushed in and then immediately flickered to a barely noticeable hum—like something had transported close by and then tried to cloak its arrival.

I went to the nearest window, searching.

A spidery, shadowy form scurried just out of sight—the same shadowy form I'd seen outside of Dravyn's bedroom days ago, and a few times before that.

I was becoming more and more certain of it: Something was following me.

Watching me.

I was afraid to get a closer look, but I did it anyway, pressing into the large, curving window and angling myself so I could study the thick rows of hedges that stood around the yard. One of those hedges rustled with movement. Glowing eyes peered through a tangle of leaves and branches.

I stumbled back with a gasp.

The instant I caught myself and moved forward once more for a closer look, the spying creature was gone.

"Did you see that?" I asked Moth, who was busy chasing his own tail, trying to put the flaming tip out by smashing it under his paws. The griffin stumbled to a stop at the sound of my voice, settling back on his haunches and cocking his head in confusion.

Clearly, he hadn't seen or sensed anything.

Dravyn hadn't seemed overly concerned when I mentioned it the other morning, either. So maybe it was nothing? Just a trick of the light and magic in this place—part of its strangeness that I was still trying to get used to…

I went back to wandering. I eventually ended up in the same place I often did: Within the gallery of glass art Dravyn had created.

It spanned several rooms, the largest of which served as his workshop. It smelled as if the oven in that workshop had been used recently—he must have been working in here after I'd fallen asleep last night.

On what? I wondered.

I lit the torches by the doorway while Moth bounded ahead of me into the first room, his eyes wide and his body trembling with excitement as he took in the beauty gleaming all around us.

"No touching anything," I warned him. He had a tendency to try and steal the shiny glass figures; I'd already stumbled on several tiny hoards he'd stashed throughout the palace.

His wings and ears drooped at my command, but I didn't give in.

"You'll be all right without more shiny objects," I said, bending and scooping him into my arms. "You have plenty of other things to entertain yourself with." He had more than enough, really.

Despite Dravyn's insistence that Moth was a monster he could do without, he absolutely spoiled the creature with toys and trinkets.

I held Moth to my chest as I circled the room, studying each of Dravyn's creations. Most of the collection was familiar to me by now, yet the light never seemed to hit the figures in exactly the same way; I always felt like there was more to see and discover within the colorful prisms.

As I came to the table that held rows upon rows of red, rectangular sculptures, I froze in place, thinking again of the monument I'd encountered in Ederis.

Two-hundred and thirty-two, he'd told me—one red rectangle for each of the elves he'd killed when he'd leveled that city years ago.

I'd never actually counted them, but I had memorized the pattern they stood in—so I noticed it had changed since my last visit. He'd added more to the right of the collection. Markers for the ones killed in recent weeks, I assumed.

The graveyard was getting very crowded.

My muscles tensed. I squeezed Moth more tightly without realizing I was doing it, causing him to let out a little squeak before giving my arm a vicious poke with his beak.

"Sorry." I loosened my hold on him, though I hardly registered the pain from his attack; I was too busy thinking of the lush grass, the blue flowers, the towering white stone…

I hadn't spoken to Dravyn about the stone or all the names that had been etched into it. I'd tried—several times, in fact. The words always fell short.

What else was there to say about the matter?

We both knew what he'd done. There was no undoing it. We had decided to move forward, and that was that.

I pried my gaze away from the grave markers.

My attention moved instead to a pale blue willow tree on a nearby table—another sculpture that had caught my eye the very first time I'd visited this room. I'd since learned that Dravyn had made it in memory of his sister.

Carefully, I put Moth down, and I picked up the tree and studied it. I'd never found the courage to lift this fragile object before, but this time the compulsion was too much to resist.

His sister's name was carved into the bottom of the trunk, I noticed.

Elora .

As my fingers traced the thin, swirling letters, it was hard to keep my mind from jumping to thoughts of my own sister.

My chest burned as if the scars upon it had ripped open. My hands started to shake. Moth weaved in and out of my legs, occasionally nuzzling his head against them.

"Why did I come in here?" I asked, giving him a sad smile. "I'm such an idiot sometimes."

I placed the tree carefully back in its spot and started to turn away, but something else caught my eye as I did—another new figure.

It stood alone on the other side of the table: An elegant, magnificent bird with flowing wings and a trailing tail, its feathers rendered in a myriad of fiery colors. Reds and oranges, warm hints of purples and blues…how had he managed all these different colors? What had inspired such a masterpiece?

My heart pounded as I stared at it, though I had no idea why.

Before I could reach for it or study it closer, a sudden flood of warmth overtook me.

Moth abandoned me and pranced over to the door, tail swishing expectantly.

Neither of us was surprised when the God of Fire joined us a minute later.

And despite all of my confusing, messy thoughts, the sight of him standing in the doorway still pulled a sigh of relief from my lips.

I still went to his side and wrapped my arms around him, losing myself in his strength, in the smoke and cedar scent that clung to him. I still wanted to stay caught up in these things, indefinitely.

I still loved him, mess and all.

Or maybe it was because of the mess. Because he'd trudged through the wreckage to find his way back to me, time and time again. Because he knew how to live in the shadow of graveyards, and how to navigate around ruined and broken things, same as I did.

He kissed the top of my head before drawing back. Torchlight spilled over his face. I noticed how dull his eyes were, how tightly his jaw was clenched—how tightly every part of him was clenched. It was as if he was afraid he might collapse into total exhaustion if he relaxed even the tiniest bit.

"You seem tired."

"Much less so," he insisted, "now that I'm back at your side."

I warmed at the words. My hand found his, and I focused on that warmth, letting it build between us since it seemed to help ease the stiffness from his tired shoulders. I wanted nothing more than to lose myself more completely in him and our kindling heat, to pull him toward his bedroom—toward rest—and lock the doors behind us.

Instead, I told him of my practice and the goddesses who had stopped by for a visit. I delivered Cepheid's message word for word…though I left out the part where I'd nearly impaled the Star Goddess with a blade of fire. He clearly had enough on his mind; there was no need to add to it.

His gaze was distant as I finished, fixed in the direction of the bird statue I'd been studying.

"What happened in the mortal realm? You and Valas were gone much longer than I expected you would be."

He didn't reply right away, but I could sense the unease rolling off him. The torches reacted to his mood as well, their fires dancing brighter, wilder. The flare of extra light made the glass figures gleam brighter, highlighting all their edges.

It felt like we were surrounded by swords, suddenly, all their sharp tips shining, pointed directly at us.

I locked my eyes with Dravyn's, urging him to continue.

"We've found Cillian," he said after a pause. "And if you're going to speak with him as planned, we need to move quickly. I don't think we have much time left before everything in Avalinth goes to hell."