Chapter 23

CHAPTER 23

Thalia

The morning dawns quickly, and the minute I awaken, a smile plays across my lips as I remember Bastien making love to me last night.

I roll over to face him, wanting to know just how much has changed between us. It touched me so deeply, and I’m positive he felt something too.

Instead, the cold emptiness of the bed registers, and I frown as I sit up, scanning the room. Bastien is at the table, elbow propped and longs legs stretched out, crossed at the ankle. He’s fully dressed, watching me with an unreadable expression.

“I don’t suppose I could encourage you to come back to bed for a bit?” I ask, keeping the covers over my chest in an unusual display of modesty. While my words are light, I have no expectation he’ll climb back into bed. He’s in battle mode, so to speak.

“Too much to do and too little time,” he replies, indicating with a nod toward a breakfast tray on the bedside table. “Eat and get dressed. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

Bastien rises from the chair and grabs his saddle pack.

Glancing at the tray, I pick up a piece of toast. Poised to take a bite, I ask, “You’re actually going to let me out of your sight?”

One corner of his mouth curls, and his eyes actually twinkle with what I think might be amusement. “I expect you to put a ward on this door when I step out, and your magic is strong. Besides, I’m going to wait at the bottom of the stairs, so if someone wants to get to you, they’ll have to go through me first.”

“I don’t need the privacy,” I say with a shrug. “You’ve seen all there is of me to see.”

“Which is why I’m leaving,” he mutters as he turns for the door. “I don’t need the temptation.”

Bastien walks out, and I can’t help but laugh. He might still try to be aloof, but he just admitted that he wants me, even if he doesn’t want to want me.

I can work with that.

I ward the door as he asks and take a quick bath, knotting my hair on top of my head. I dress in a pair of denim jeans and a lightweight cotton shirt belted at the waist. My cowboy boots clunk on the wooden floor as I grab my saddle pack and head downstairs.

We’re mounted and riding north out of Avery as the coral-tinged sun breaks the horizon. We have no choice but to remain on the main road as there is nothing but flat pasture land all around us and no way to travel under the cloak of forest. At least it’s early, and we don’t come upon a single soul, although we pass a few farms with some bustle of activity in the fields. No one pays us any attention, though.

Between plowed fields are meadows abundant with brilliant wildflowers. The mountain slopes are much different from the craggy, snow-covered peaks of the Tetons back in Wyoming. In addition to the flowering scrub roses covering the western side of the mountains, the other slopes are covered with pressians and other flowering and fruiting trees that create a kaleidoscope from afar.

“Have you given any thought to how you want to approach your uncle?” Bastien asks as King and Greta plod beside each other.

“I was thinking something along the lines of, ‘We come in peace. Please do not smite us with your blood mojo.’”

Bastien snorts, and I relish the sound of humor from him, even though nothing about what we’re getting ready to do is funny. It’s actually dangerous—this man, my relative, practiced the same prohibited magic that Ferelith used to kill my parents.

To kill his sister.

“Maybe I should approach by myself,” I ponder. If Hephastus is dangerous, he’s more likely to lash out at Bastien than me.

“Never going to happen, so don’t suggest it again,” Bastien grumbles.

I consider arguing, but as we round a bend, I spot Hephastus’s home. Lawrence described it well, and just as he told us, it sits at the edge of a meadow surrounded by large oak trees with a pond off to the side.

With the Rosethorn Mountains providing a backdrop against the flowered meadow, it produces a feeling of serenity. I wonder if Hephastus is the type to spend time fishing on the pond, or is he cooking up blood magics in the wooden shed offset from the back of the house?

No time like the present to find out.

As we ride up to the house, the front door opens and a man steps out. I haven’t seen him in twenty years, and my memories of him are fuzzy at best, but there’s no doubt it’s my uncle. Hephastus looks very much like my mother, which means he looks very much like me. He’s in his late fifties, if memory serves, but I don’t see a single strand of gray in his dark brown hair. The man is tall and lean, although his age is given away some in the lines of his face.

A smile graces his face, causing his eyes to crinkle in the corners.

The same green eyes that I bear, passed straight from my mother.

The sun is on him, and he holds up his hand to shade slightly against the soft rays as he squints. “Can I help you folks with something?”

Hephastus glances between Bastien and me before his gaze snaps back my way. Recognition dawns and his jaw drops. “Thalia?”

I feel so awkward, so I merely raise a hand in greeting. “Hello, Uncle.”

A smile beams bright, and he lets out a cry of happiness. He runs off the porch, straight at me. “Well, get down and give your uncle a hug,” Hephastus booms.

To my surprise, Bastien dismounts and puts himself between me and my uncle, hand resting on his sword. Hephastus pulls up short, attention now focused solely on Bastien. “Is there a problem?” he asks.

“There is if you mean your niece harm,” Bastien replies darkly.

Hephastus’s eyebrows shoot upward, and he looks to me, then back to Bastien. “Why in the world would I harm my niece?”

“You practice blood magic,” Bastien replies as I dismount King, but I hold back until I know it’s safe. “Because you were banished. Because there’s now a crazy woman ruling Kestevayne and other parts of Vyronas, and she practices blood magic, so you could be in league with her.”

Hephastus’s expression crumbles, and his eyes shine with tears. But his voice is hard and vengeful. “Don’t ever suggest I’m in league with Ferelith. That monster killed my sister and my brother-in-law, who I loved beyond this realm and back. Yes, I may have been banished here, but the love in our family never died. Selena and Jaron always checked in on me and kept me updated on everything going on in the family. They even visited on occasion.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re not dangerous,” Bastien points out, although his tone has softened.

“True,” Hephastus replies, but then turns his attention away from Bastien to me. “Looking at you, Thalia, is like looking straight at Selena. I’ve missed her every day since she died, and I still mourn her.”

It’s not so much the words he says—although they’re nice—but the truth in his voice. I also know my mother loved her brother always, even after they were forced to banish him. There was no ill will between them.

Taking a chance, I move past Bastien, and he doesn’t try to stop me. I walk right up to Hephastus and when we’re toe to toe, I say, “I need your help.”

He moves so swiftly I have no time to react when he pulls me into a big bear hug. He squeezes me tightly and puts his cheek on top of my head. “Niece… I will help you with whatever you need. I’m your family and I love you, and you only need to ask. If you want to avenge Selena and Jaron’s deaths, I will help you do that as well, no matter the means.”

His implication is not at all subtle. He’d use blood magic to fight her if I asked.

I pull from my uncle’s embrace and glance behind me at Bastien. His nod is almost imperceptible, but it says he believes, as I do, that Hephastus is friend and not foe.

Looking back to my uncle, I ask, “You knew about my parents’ deaths?”

“Word travels, and there were those loyal to your parents who knew they still looked out for me. They made sure I was aware. I, however, did not know what happened to you. You just disappeared, but rumor was that you were being hidden somewhere until Ferelith’s defeat.”

I nod somberly. “I was in the First Dimension, only recently returned. The gods have deemed it time for me to retake my throne.”

Hephastus’s eyebrows again rise with surprise. “Messages from the gods, huh? Sounds like we have a lot to talk about. Come inside… we’ll eat and drink and talk.”

“This isn’t a social visit,” Bastien says in a low tone, and I could slap him for his rudeness.

Turning his way, I make introductions. “Uncle Hephastus, this is Bastien Dunne—”

“Graeme Dunne’s son,” Hephastus says with a respectful nod. “Your father was a great man. I was sorry to hear of his death.” His gaze comes my way, then back to Bastien. “And please… both of you call me Heph. It’s easier.”

Bastien nods, and Heph swings his arm back toward the house. “Shall we go inside?”

I don’t look to Bastien for permission. I’m satisfied my uncle will help us as best he can. “We’d love to.”

Honestly, part of me expected his house to be filled with weird stuff that might be used in blood magics, but I’m pleasantly surprised at how cheerful the interior is. Garlic and dried peppers hang in his kitchen window rather than chicken’s feet, and flowers are arranged in a vase on his table instead of a skull. Bright curtains frame every window, and hand-woven rugs are scattered over the wooden floor.

I move in a slow circle, taking it all in. The kitchen has a round table and four handmade but comfortable-looking chairs around it. The living area has two rocking chairs before a fireplace and a bed tucked away in a corner.

Heph retrieves three mugs from a kitchen cabinet, then makes his way over to a wooden keg he keeps in the corner. “I think a family reunion deserves a drink.” After he pours three mugs of ale and hands them out, we take seats at the kitchen table.

“How much do you know about what has happened to Kestevayne?” Bastien inquires, getting right to the point.

“Some,” Heph replies gravely. “We get travelers through here who pass news along. I imagine it’s the same things you’ve been hearing.”

“Do you know why we’re here?” Bastien asks.

“I assume you want to know about blood magic.” Heph looks from Bastien to me.

“Yes,” I say. “We need to find a way to defeat Ferelith, but her blood magic is too strong.”

“I can teach you what you need to know,” Heph says confidently.

“Before we get to that,” Bastien interrupts, “you need to assure me of your loyalty to Thalia. I don’t quite understand why you were banished from Kestevayne, so—”

“Bastien,” I exclaim.

“No, Thalia,” Heph says, holding up his hand. He looks at Bastien with respect. “He’s right. You need to understand my background for you to trust what I’m telling you. You were too young when I was sent away to know what really happened.”

“You said you maintained a relationship with my parents.” It just now hits me that he was never fully banished, not from my parents’ hearts, at any rate.

“Did you know the penalty for what I did was death?” Heph asks. Stunned, I rear back in my seat.

He nods with a somber expression. “Your parents had the right to imprison me for life, execute me, or banish me.”

“I… I… had no clue,” I stammer.

“What were your crimes?” Bastien asks.

Heph lifts his mug and first takes a long pull. “To understand my crime, you need to understand blood magic. It’s been around for thousands upon thousands of years, long before Vyronas was ever created from a meteor stone. But when Vyronas was created by the founding druid daemons, a ban on such magics was put into place and very severe penalties were enacted. That ban and those penalties endured over time, but that’s not to say they were always observed. There were always practitioners of dark magic, particularly in the Scrinia line.”

I sort of know this—it’s part of our history lessons when we learn to develop our magic—but because blood magic is forbidden, nothing of substance was ever taught.

Heph sets his cup on the table and leans forward, clasping his hands as he looks between me and Bastien. “The principle is very basic—blood equals fuel. In other words, the use of blood lends more power to any spell, potion, or incantation a sorcerer attempts. It can be something as innocent as lending a drop of your own blood to a protection amulet you might give a family member or as sinister as using the blood of a sacrifice to raise a demon.”

“Ferelith has summoned demons from the Underworld,” Bastien says.

Heph nods. “It’s easy enough to do if you’re willing to spill blood. But that showcases a very fine point. Blood magic is not inherently dark or evil. The distinction lies within the person using the blood. What is their intent? It’s often not all black-and-white.”

“Then why was it unilaterally banned?” I ask.

“Because even those who use it for good are always vulnerable to the pull of more power that can be bought with blood magic. It was safest to outlaw it altogether.”

“How did you learn it?” Bastien inquires.

“There are enough history books out there with the knowledge. There are people who secretly practice blood magic and have handed that knowledge down through their families. Secret societies that hoard spells of power amplified with blood. Old warlocks who would be happy to share several beers with you and tell you their secrets when they’re drunk. The information is there, and I merely found it. My goal at first was pure research. But soon studying it wasn’t enough. I wanted to test it, and I started out slow. With just a drop, my spells were stronger and lasted longer.”

Heph pauses to sip his ale, something like shame in his expression. “It wasn’t long before I became obsessed with blood magic. I started experimenting in earnest. First, I used my own blood, as I learned that sacrificing my own with good intent always produced favorable results. However, I’m ashamed to admit I was fascinated when I realized the more powerful spells always needed the sacrifice of another’s blood to work. And if the sacrifice included taking a life, well… the spell was practically invincible.”

I gasp at the implication. “You didn’t…”

Heph’s eyes fill with tears. “I swear to you, Thalia, that I never had it in me to take an innocent life. But I did kill someone for their blood.”

My stomach rolls, and I swallow hard. “I don’t believe it.”

“Believe it,” he says bitterly. “Back then, it was an easy enough choice for me to make. Oh, I could tell you I had nothing but altruistic ideas of how to protect Kestevayne with the powerful new magics I was learning, but now… I realize I was obsessed more with the idea of making the perfect spell. I concocted a plan to bleed someone who deserved to die. A convicted murderer who had been sentenced to death.”

Heph trails off, seemingly lost in his memories. I glance over at Bastien, who wears a steely expression. “What happened next?”

“I used a captivity spell, brought the prisoner to my apartment, and drained him dry. I kept telling myself he was destined to die anyway. It made me physically sick to watch his life ebb away, but at that point, there was no going back. I completed my spell, and it was everything I’d imagined it would be. I had found a way to make spells that could not be defeated.”

I’m nauseated, partly because I’m not sure how to feel about Heph’s revelations. On the one hand, it was wrong… so very wrong to choose to take someone’s life. But on the flip side, Heph didn’t kill an innocent. He took someone who already had a death sentence imposed upon him.

“I don’t know how to reconcile this in my heart,” I mutter, pushing back from the table. My hand presses to my chest as I feel bile rising.

“You’ll never know how much I regret what I did, Thalia.” Heph’s misery is clear in his tone. “Your parents spared my life when I was found out and banished me here to near isolation. It was far better than I deserved.”

My eyes beseech Bastien’s for guidance. I feel like I’m ready to bolt and leave this nastiness behind.

Bastien’s voice is deep, reassuring as he surprisingly advocates for Heph. “Like he said, it’s not always black-and-white, Thalia. I can tell his actions weigh heavily on his conscience.”

“You’ll never know how much,” Heph says, his face contrite. “There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t struggle with the right and wrong of what I did.”

“And you never practiced it again?” I ask, crossing my arms over my stomach.

Heph shakes his head. “Never.”

I can see the truth of his regret. He lost his entire family because he got sucked in too deep. He killed a man and will always bear the weight of that. My heart breaks for Hephastus—he crossed a line he shouldn’t have and paid for his crime with everything he held dear.

“You said blood magic was unbeatable,” I say, returning to the table. “If that’s true, how do we defeat Ferelith?”

“Blood magic against regular magic is superior in most circumstances. To put yourself on even ground, you would need a blood magic practitioner to help you create spells for both defense and offense.”

“Can you teach me how to do it?” I ask. “My magic is strong. I’m a quick study.”

Heph is shaking his head before I even get my last words out. “I can’t do it.”

“Why not?” I demand. “We’re talking about saving Kestevayne. I’ll do anything it takes.”

“I believe you, dear child,” Heph says as he sits back in his chair. He looks tired and defeated. “But Ferelith is too powerful, and you’d never be able to learn enough in time to thwart her. More importantly, you don’t have it in you to take a life, and that’s the type of blood you’d need to match up against her.”

His words hit like a sledgehammer, and I feel numb as hope drains from me.

“So… Vyronas is doomed?” I whisper, more to myself than anyone.

My eyes move to Bastien, and I can see not only his frustration but also sorrow for me.

I look to Heph. “Is there nothing we can do?”

Pushing up from the table, Heph goes to the kitchen sink and rests his hands on the edge. He looks out the window. I glance at Bastien, and he shrugs.

I rise, walk to my uncle, and place a hand on his shoulder. He stiffens, refuses to look at me.

“What aren’t you telling me?” I ask.

He shakes his head, staring blankly out the window.

“Heph… what is it?” My voice bristles with anger, because now I can tell he’s hiding something big.

“I promised your mother I’d never tell you,” he says shamefully, finally giving me his regard. Tears of regret well. “But… I also know she’d want me to help you in any way I could to save your kingdom.”

My blood turns to ice. Whatever he’s about to tell me is going to change my world, and probably not for the better.

But he said it can save us from Ferelith.

With a quaking voice, I say, “Tell me.”

“You possess shadow magic inside you, Thalia. It’s dark, untapped power, and it could be the difference in waging this war with Ferelith.”

I frown at him. “Shadow magic? What is that? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

Heph turns to face me fully, his expression troubled. “It’s magic born of darkness. It’s the opposite of light magic.” He spreads his arms outward to indicate everything around us. “When Vyronas was established, it was created with basic stone magic, but with good intentions. From the start, the ley lines that powered our realm were considered light magic. Those terms aren’t really used these days, but I suppose it all has to do with the basic way in which our dimension was conceived.”

I look back at Bastien, who rises slowly from his chair and comes to stand at my side.

“Now, that’s not to say the people who use magic in Vyronas are all well-intentioned people. Anyone can warp our realm’s inherent magic for nefarious purposes. It’s what Ferelith has done by adding blood.”

“So blood magic isn’t dark magic?” I ask, confused.

Heph shakes his head. “No. Shadow magic is created from a place where the intent is nefarious from the start. Its origin is wicked.”

“That’s not Vyronas,” Bastien says. “You imply it comes from somewhere else.”

Heph rubs the back of his neck, tension evident in the stiffness of his moves. He looks pained but resolved. “You inherited shadow magic from your father. It’s rare and not of this world.”

My eyebrows knit together. “You mean… my father went to another dimension and got this, um, shadow magic, and then I inherited it?”

Heph’s mouth flattens as he grimaces. “No. The shadow magic comes from the Underworld.”

Ridiculous, and I scoff audibly. “My father never went to the Underworld.”

“That is correct,” Heph murmurs sadly. “But Jaron isn’t your biological father.”

I stumble backward, and Bastien’s hands go to my waist to steady me. “You lie,” I accuse bitterly.

“I don’t,” Heph says, lifting his chin. “But you said you want to defeat Ferelith, and this is the only way. For you to know the truth and seek your legacy from your real father. While I can teach you how to wield blood magic to amplify your light magic, you don’t have the time to master it to the degree needed to take on Ferelith. Shadow magic is the only way, and even then, I don’t know if it’s enough.”

My head hurts with information overload. I’m entirely confused about the various forms of magic.

Light, dark, shadow, blood.

My throat is so dry, I can barely croak out the words. “Who is my father?”

“A Dark Fae by the name of Amell,” Heph says quietly. “He’s an original fallen dark angel, and many call him the prince of the Underworld.”

Everything spins and my vision blurs before blackness presses in on me. I feel my body starting to fall, Bastien there to catch me, and then everything goes dark.