Chapter One
“You are the heir to the lands and seas, skies and realms. A Queen instead of a King. You are the Primal of Life,” Nyktos—the Asher, the One who is Blessed, the Guardian of Souls and the Primal God of Common Men and Endings—rasped. Those lips of his that had whispered heated words against my skin and had also spoken cold, brutal truths were now parted. Wide, silver eyes churning with streams of luminous eather—the essence of the gods—fixed on mine. A sort of awe and wonder softened the cold lines of his high, broad cheekbones, his blade-straight nose, and cut jaw.
Wavy, reddish-brown hair fell against golden-bronze cheeks as he lowered himself to one knee, placing his left hand flat on the throne room floor and his right palm over his chest.
Nyktos was bowing to me.
I recoiled from him. “What are you doing?”
“The Primal of Life is the most powerful being in all the realms, usurping all other Primals and gods,” Sir Holland said. Except he was no longer the man I once knew as a knight of the Royal Guard of Lasania, or a mere mortal. He was one of the Arae—an actual, godsforsaken Fate, neither god nor mortal. Able to see the past, present, and future of all, the Arae weren’t beholden to any Primal Court.
Fates were as terrifying as any Primal, and I couldn’t even begin to count how many times I’d kicked him.
“He is showing you the respect you are owed, Sera,” Holland added as I continued staring at Nyktos.
“But I’m not the Primal of Life.” I stated the obvious.
“You carry the only true embers of life inside you,” Nyktos said, and that deep, softly spoken voice sent a myriad of shivers over my skin. “For all intents and purposes, you are the Primal of Life.”
“He speaks the truth.” The goddess Penellaphe drew closer, coming to stand beneath the open ceiling. The star-strewn sky cast a soft glow over her warm, light brown skin. “Denying it isn’t a luxury which can be afforded.”
“But I’m just a mortal—” My lungs felt as if they’d been filled with tiny holes, and Nyktos was still bowing to me. “Can you please stand or sit? Anything other than kneel? It’s really weirding me out.”
Nyktos’s head tilted, sending several strands of hair against his cheek. “You are the true Primal of Life, just as my father was. As Holland said, it’s a show of respect.”
“But I don’t des—” I cut myself off, my heart thumping and chest squeezing. The eather in his eyes stilled. “Can you just not do that? Please.”
The Primal rose quickly, the wisps of essence in his eyes brightening so vividly they were almost painful to look upon. He towered over me, his stare seeming to peel away the layers of my very being, seeing…sensing what I felt.
I stiffened, my skin becoming hot and prickly. “You’d better not be reading my emotions.”
Nyktos arched a dark brow. “Your accusatory tone is unnecessary.”
“And your response wasn’t a declaration of innocence,” I retorted. Penellaphe’s eyes flared wide.
“No.” His voice had dropped, but it still somehow thundered through me. “It was not.” “Then don’t do it,” I snapped. “It’s rude.”
Nyktos’s mouth opened, likely to point out that I was the last person who should speak on rude behavior.
“You have never been just a mortal, Seraphena.” Holland stepped in smoothly, just as he’d done dozens of times in the past whenever I’d descended into a rant spiral. “You are the possibility of a future for all.”
He’d said a version of that before during training, but it took on a whole different meaning now. “But I haven’t completed any Culling, and you just said that I would…” Closing my eyes, I didn’t finish the sentence.
Everyone here knew what had been said.
Breathe in. My mortal body and mind wouldn’t be able to handle the power of the embers once I began the Ascension. The only chance I had of surviving wasn’t even a hope. Hold. Because it required the blood of the Primal that one of the embers of life belonged to—that and sheer will powered by love.
The love of the Primal I’d spent the entirety of my life planning to kill. It didn’t matter that I’d believed it was the only way to save my kingdom.
The irony of it all made me want to laugh, except I was going to die. Likely in less than five months and before I turned twenty-one, taking the last true embers of life with me. The mortal realm would be hit first and the hardest. Eventually, the Rot would spread beyond the Shadowlands to all of Iliseeum.
I exhaled long and slow, just like Holland had taught me many years ago, when everything became too heavy, too much, and the weight of it all choked the air from me. My impending death wasn’t something new. I’d always known. Whether I failed or succeeded when it came to fulfilling my destiny, I knew I would die in the process.
But it felt different now.
I’d finally had a taste of being something other than a means to an end, a weapon to be used and then discarded. I’d had a taste of realness. I’d finally felt like a fully formed person, not a specter soaked in blood. Not a liar and a monster who could kill without all that much remorse.
But that was who I was underneath it all, and Nyktos now knew that, too. There was no more hiding that truth—or any truths.
My lungs started to burn as tiny bursts of light danced across my vision. The breathing exercises weren’t working. A tremor hit my hands, and panic unfurled in my chest. There was no air—
Fingertips touched my cheek. Warm fingertips. My eyes flew open, locking on features so finely pieced together I should’ve known the first time I saw him that he was more than a god. His touch startled me, not only because it was warm instead of shockingly cold as it had been before he took my blood into him, but because I still wasn’t used to touching. I wasn’t sure I ever would be when it had always been so rare that anyone allowed their skin to contact mine.
But he touched me. After everything, Nyktos touched me.
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