Page 42 of Of Realms and Chaos

“Well, demon, are you going to answer her?” he asked, his tail swishing back and forth in what appeared to be delight—those golden eyes alight with his namesake. Of course, he would be considering this an opportunity to harm Henry.

“Mind your business, cat!” Henry yelled, pointing at the dalistori with barely tempered panic and rage. Wrath’s body began to grow, a low growl climbing up his throat and rattling the flimsy walls.

“For Eternity’s sake, just tell me! We do not have time for this. Nor can I afford to be in a panic about Bell when we meet Shah.” My words seemed to slice through the tension in the air, both creatures backing down.

As usual, Wrath was relatively quick to calm, his body shrinking back down before he curled up in a ball and closed his eyes. If only everyone were that easy to order around.

Henry, on the other hand, began pacing again—his mental shields back up though flimsy. I forced myself not to peek, to allow him the opportunity to collect his thoughts before explaining the memory. He had been right about one thing: I had a horrible tendency to cross those boundaries.

After another minute or so, Henry took a deep breath, a hand flying up to his orange hair and ruffling it. Nervousness was such a rare emotion for him, but twice in two days I had seen him shaken this way. It was disconcerting. Before I could remind him that we were on a schedule, he stopped moving and faced me.

“Bellamy has not explained anything to me in detail, but on more than one occasion, he has suggested that—” He paused, taking in another deep breath and shutting his eyes tightly before continuing, “that without you, our world will end.”

I gasped, unable to speak. My gaze flew to Wrath, who now had his eyes open with those eerie yellow irises trained on me. The look on his feline face was knowing, as if he had been aware before of this ridiculous theory.

“No matter the choice you make, your reign will be the end.”

That was what Pino had said. Never had he insinuated that I was any sort of savior though I had fought these last few months to be. But how could they say that it was me or nothing? That if I did not save the world, no one would?

It was all too much, too confusing, too heavy.

For two hundred years, I have suffered from others leading my life and forcing me to follow, never giving me answers beyond the bare minimum that I needed to complete their dirty work. To accomplish their goals. Even then, it was not always the truth offered.

Now, here I stood, still not knowing anything but being told I was somehow supposed to save the world or else it would fall.

That was not troubling and terrifying at all.

“We do not have time for this. You want me to save this damn world? Then fix your fucking lapels and portal us to Jore.” Henry flinched at my words, but Wrath merely chuckled as he stretched, his tiny back arching and front claws digging into the old cushion to create small holes.

Such a cute and horrifying thing you are.

Such a strange creature you are, oh great savior of the world.

I rolled my eyes at the dalistori’s sarcasm, secretly thankful for the small respite after that heavy conversation. I would ask Bellamy tomorrow, after I could also promise allies. Perhaps that would be enough to convince him I deserved answers.

Henry was flattening his lapels, his face flushed in what I assumed was either fear or embarrassment. When he looked up, his emerald gaze meeting my stormy one, I realized with a sigh that it was neither. The stupid demon was angry.

“Apologies for raising my voice, pumpkin. It will probably happen again before the world inevitably ends,” I joked, watching the corner of his mouth briefly twitch upwards.

There he was.

I thought of Bellamy then, of the broken way he had spoken in Henry’s mind. I wondered if I could be enough to save our world—to save him. Without any reason to do so other than visions of a future not guaranteed, Bellamy had placed an immeasurable amount of faith in me. He had convinced himself that I was everything.

Sometimes, I thought he could be right, that maybe I could be enough if I only tried harder. Other times, I feared how badly it would hurt him when I undoubtedly failed. He loved me too much, too hard.

Horrifying—that was what being loved was. Because I had never amounted to what those around me thought I would. Every step along the way, I stumbled and fell, always clawing up a pedestal I would never reach the top of. Perhaps he knew that, too, and that was why he never spoke those things aloud to me. Why he still held so many secrets.

“Okay, time to go,” Henry said, his voice back to that steady and sure tone he usually maintained.

I nodded, leaning down to briefly place a kiss on Wrath’s head—which he promptly wiped away with a paw, his annoyed huff making me laugh. The dalistori looked up at me, those yellow eyes sharing all the growing affection and dedication that he would not speak again.

Briefly, I wondered if, when all was said and done, Wrath would be willing to follow me to Betovere.

Then, Henry’s hand was on mine, our fingers threading together as the light of the sun embraced us—the warmth ripping apart our bodies and stitching us back together.

We appeared in what I assumed was Jore, a castle made of worn gray stone kissing the clouds above. I gasped out at the way the trees had overtaken the area, grass and leaves and foliage nearly suffocating the structure.

Looking at the way the moss seemed to consume the stone, how thorns protruded from bushes of long-dead roses, I wanted to cry. This was not the same cohesive beauty that the vines in The Royal City had with the Ayad palace. No, this was tragic. A display of long-forgotten hope and painful loss. Only the large, wooden doors remained clear, as if someone had hacked away at the growth to make an arched hole.

---