Chapter 34

34

LECTURE NOTES FROM REALM HISTORY:

Shortly after the creation of this realm, the Elemental heir established the Elemental regime. She announced her title as General of the Elemental Army, promising to always protect the land we live on.

T hessa awoke to the sounds of children playing. Rolling over, she saw no one tucked asleep in the other corner of her tent. There were only two pieces of bark and a note atop Soren’s folded blanket.

She pressed up to investigate.

For the pain.

What a lovely breakfast, she thought, while simultaneously cursing him. She chewed the bark, knowing whatever magic it offered, she needed .

Stepping outside to orient herself, she drew in a deep breath. The warm air held a combination of pine and burning wood. After scanning the trees for the sides with the most branches—the southern side—she began her pursuit.

Children swept past her, weaving through tents while shouting about imaginary shipwrecks. Their innocence shook a small smile from her.

Pacing twenty tents south, where Reginald had said Soren’s father would be, she heard hushed voices. Peeking through the tent flaps revealed three males and one female, seated around a table, mid-discussion. Soren and his father were there, as she’d expected.

Thessa needed to ask Soren if there was anything to eat around here besides tree flesh. She scurried to the front of the tent, which was opened just enough to reveal what they were all looking at.

My gift.

She burst through the flaps without a second thought—but didn’t make it far. Instead, she was pushed back and thrown against the floor. Before there was a moment to recover, what felt like the weight of a horse smashed her into the ground.

Thessa thrashed, unable to breathe. A heartbeat later, the pressure from her chest eased and air filled her lungs, but what she beheld next, left her mouth agape.

Soren was holding her attacker by his throat, hoisting him in the air. His teeth were bared, revealing sharper than usual canines, which confirmed she hadn’t imagined things at the festival.

Soren hissed, “Touch her again and I’ll see to your death. Do I make myself clear, Brenneth?”

Dangling from Soren’s grasp, Brenneth began nodding .

Soren clicked his tongue, raising him higher as his serpents began their pursuit. “I can’t hear you.”

Sweat beaded down Brenneth’s brow. “Y-y-es, sir.”

Dropping him, without grace, Soren warned, “Good. Now go tell the others we have a new guest. If there are anything but kind regards to Thessa , please deliver them to me personally.”

There was a firm, “Yes, sir,” before he hustled out of the tent.

“You’ll not really kill him, right?” A soft, feminine voice asked from across the tent.

Soren ignored the question. He was in some trance with his fists clenched.

Thessa stood, attempting to fix her hair and tunic. “Sorry to have interrupted.” Shifting her focus to Soren she asked, “Is that how you’ll introduce me to everyone?” Are you always a raging fool , is what she wanted to say, but reminded herself the ill-tempered male had just lost his mother.

Soren ignored her too, slowly drawing in his magic.

Tension lingered in the tent, as thick as the air before a storm.

Jussal cleared his throat, breaking it. “Welcome Thessa, just in time.” He waved her over. “Have a seat.”

Soren was a replica of his father, the only difference being a few strands of silver hair, the addition of facial hair, and lines around his eyes and mouth. They had the same sun-bronzed skin, obsidian eyes, and angular jawline. Even their mannerisms were similar: tense shoulders, slight furrow to their brows, and jaws that never seemed to stop working. She knew it took immortals five hundred years before showing their first signs of aging, which begged the question in her mind, how old was Soren?

As Thessa sat, Jussal said, “This is Silanthe Stenmeier. ”

“Call me Sila, my mother was Silanthe,” Sila clarified, swiping her long wheat-colored hair behind her back.

Thessa managed a smile and took her seat, eyeing Jussal. “Thank you for having me. I’m truly sorry … about everything?—”

Jussal raised a hand to silence her. “What happened was a tragedy, but we’ll be with Maradine again.”

He was just like Soren. His eyes wore grief, yet there was seemingly no time for mourning.

Jussal continued, “Now’s the time to act. All we’ve worked for, will be lost otherwise. We’ll respect the fallen by defending our honor—our home. Just like the last time.”

Ignoring the cries of her empty stomach, she asked, “The last time? You mean the UnResting?”

He shook his head. “There’s a lot not taught in primary school, and a lot that happened before the UnResting. This realm was built by the Blood Sacrifice of our fallen Supremes, that much is true, but they won’t dare mention who else was required to complete the energy exchange.”

“Who?” Thessa blurted the question.

“The Blood Sacrifice of our Supreme.”

“What? There was a Shadow Supreme?”

“We call her the Forgone One ,” Sila added. “There’s a reason night falls in this realm, and it’s thanks to her sacrifice.”

Jussal went on, “After this world was forged, we really thought it was a sanctuary. Just as we were promised. Thousands of us had crossed over from the Mortal Realm, with all the other witches, desperate for escape. But our freedom didn’t last long. When the Supremes’ heirs stepped into power, everything changed.”

Thessa listened intently.

“The Elemental heir, General Valstrom, was threatened by our bloodline,” Jussal explained. “The power to smother—a blanket of death as they say—was never one carried or judged lightly. You’ve heard the folklore, I’m sure. She laid claim that shadow-magic had no place in the new world, preaching it would only cause harm. Her motives were effective enough to dethrone our Supreme and banish our bloodline from the world we helped create. Formally, after forging their Troika, the Supremes agreed to demote the line of shadow-wielders to demon status.”

Thessa didn’t understand. “Why would they do that?”

Soren chimed in. “To incite fear; to justify their claim.”

Sila tapped her pointed nail on the table between them. “The same type of fear the mortals instilled,” she added. “Fear which led to witches burning on stakes, I’ll remind you.”

Thessa remembered what the voice had said upon their visit.

What you see is not the darkness to fear.

Jussal cleared his throat. “But there’s more. Banishing our Supreme and redesignating our line caused an uproar. As you can imagine, we demanded a throne and respect. However, it turned out there was no room for negotiations, so General Valstrom gave the order for a mass execution instead.” He shook his head. “The few of us that survived the flames, fled.”

“So the UnResting was a retaliation.” Which was not at all how she’d learned it. She’d been taught that demons wanted to dominate the Immortal Realm, but it was the other way around.

“Yes. Except the UnResting took place a century after the realm was forged. That’s how long it took for us to rebuild and restrengthen our bloodline after so much loss.” He eyed Soren.

“But it wasn’t enough,” Thessa said, shifting her eyes between the younger and older versions of the same male .

“No, it was utter defeat,” Soren said grimly, “and history is set to repeat itself.”

“But the Hidden Grimoire of Eiliana could hold the answer that saves us all. The way it found you both. This was fated.” Jussal tapped the grimoire between them.

Sila twirled a black-tipped finger along the cover. “That is, if we can get it to cooperate, it seems to like Soren though.” She winked. Her turquoise eyes reminded Thessa of two gemstones.

Thessa asked, “Cooperate?”

“It’s not responding to anyone’s shadow-magic, only Soren’s,” she said, flipping it open.

Empty pages.

Thessa swiped a finger along the parchment, letting her magic spark. Text appeared instantly.

Jussal eyed Thessa, then Soren, and said, “Looks like you two have work to do.”

“I don’t take orders from you, father.”

“You’re still my son,” Jussal pressed, before seeing his way out.

Sila grazed Thessa’s shoulder and said, “It was a pleasure meeting you,” before sauntering out of the tent.

Thessa smiled, waiting for the flaps to close before finding her familiar frown. “You need to work on your temper.”

He leaned across the table. “Who says it’s anger simmering in my veins?” The dark glimmer in his eyes was undeniably attractive. As was the twist of his lips, like he knew her heart was pounding.

Despite her disloyal organ, her voice remained calm as she said, “If you want my help, then we have work to do.”

“So, you’ve considered my offer?”

She raised a brow. “Which one?” He’d not only asked her to lead his army, but to also kiss him last night .

“ Both , if you’re talking.”

“I said I’m no leader, and I meant that, but I do want to help—I have to.”

Dropping his hand on the book between them, he said, “Deal.” His fingers crept along the page until they met her fingertips. “And the other offer?”

His touch was as magnetic as finding her gift. She forced her hand back and sat a little taller. “Still no.”

Lips pursed, Soren sat up and slapped his palms on his lap. “Then let’s get to work.”

Work. You are thinking about the grimoire. You’re not thinking about his lips ? —

Desperate for a distraction, Thessa asked, “What are we looking for, and why does it like you? I assumed it would respond to all shadow-magic.”

He exhaled. “Another long story.”

“Another experiment?” She resisted the urge to use air quotes.

He cleared his throat. “Goddess, no.”

“Then speak up because you’ve left out some rather important details so far.”

Soren’s jaw ticked. “It must’ve been part of her charm.”

“But why would it work for you, and not the others?” He paused long enough for her to tilt her head. “Go on.”

“Eiliana was my wife.”