Page 92 of Of Realms and Chaos

She was quick to slip a pair of black slippers on my feet, the satin glowing in the firelight. For a moment, I forgot that I was not actually a goddess, that I did not rule over the skies and bless the realms. Looking at myself now, I felt brighter than I had before. Not because I was prettier, though I wagered I was, but because something about the fierce determination and the commanding energy of my appearance made me feel so very right.

In that moment, I wondered if we were all once grander beings. Perhaps the gods were simply stars, existing in the ethers and united as one. Maybe life had always felt dull and tiresome because it was once so vivid. Could it be that the reason I had never felt at home in this place—in this body—was because I was once brighter than the sky itself? And if so, how does one exist in a world of darkness when they were once the light?

Breaking me from my profound musing, the woman clapped three times, finally stirring Trint from his dozing. He jolted once more, narrowly avoiding spilling his wine again. I laughed, but there was an odd feeling in my chest, one I could not shake as I looked at myself again.

“What is your name, might I ask?” She looked at me as if it was an absurd thing to say, her eyes wide and her brows raised.

“Well, Auntie Claire, do answer her so we can prepare.” The woman—Trint’s aunt apparently—snatched the flask as he lifted it to his mouth, the leather leaking wine. When she smacked him—her king—on the hand as he tried to take it back, I simply could not stop the surprised laugh that left me.

Somehow, the scene before me was a reminder of Xavier. There were times when I was convinced that the fae king was the funniest person alive. He always knew what to say, the right jokes to tell, the best face to give.

When my first day of Academy resulted in ten-year-old me sobbing on the floor of the castle library, Xavier was the one who cheered me up. We both sat on the floor in a dusty corner, surrounded by tomes that dated back millennia, eating cheesecake and drinking tea. It was a relief to have someone be so comfortable with me after a day full of being feared and excluded.

Academy was mostly separate, with very few interactions between the factions. I, though, was permitted to merge into them all. Mia had made that decision, telling me it was important for fae of all ages to see me for what I was, their future queen. Back then, I believed she wanted me to be seen as more than some oddity, and even now, after it all, I wondered if that were true. Yet all it had done was further outcast me. I was not allowed to befriend them, to do anything more than speak with them in classes, and they did not want me there regardless. To them, I was a horror story.

But Xavier reminded me that I was more than that. He made sure I knew that I would one day rule over all of them, not because of my strength or my power, but because of who I was to my core. We laughed as he told me stories of his mishaps with his own unfathomable Fire power. Together, we realized that the darkness did not have to win. He had ruffled my hair, and I had smacked his arm when he told me he could light the male on fire who had told me to go back to the Demon Realm where I came from.

We had been happy, had we not?

“Yes, well, it has been so wonderful to make your acquaintance, Lady Claire. Your Majesty, I think it is time for us to go, as you said.” With a small curtsy, I rushed towards the door, not caring if Trint was following or where I was going.

Taking every memory I possessed of Xavier’s glowing Fire power, I lit my veins ablaze. I let it burn through me, let it consume every feeling of sadness and joy.

When I threw open the door, I was no longer suffocating on the pain. I was breathing in the fury.

Chapter Thirty

Asher

“You cannot stutter. You cannot hesitate. You cannot so much as flinch. Do you understand? If you want our allegiance, if you want us to fight for you, then convince them. Not me.” Despite the condescending tone, I was aware of how true Trint’s words were. He was not saying this to hurt me but to prepare me. He wanted this to work as much as we did. And it had to, because this would be our biggest success to date.

“I understand.” It was the most complacent and agreeable I had been with him, so it was no surprise that he stared at me with squinted eyes of suspicion. Trint was putting himself on the execution block, prepared to sacrifice everything for the slim chance that he would walk away with infinitely more. So I would give it to him.

There was no longer any other option. No world in which I would fail. I could not.

“Most of those in attendance will understand the language of the gods, as it is vital to our religious teachings. So you do not have to worry. Even those who are not fluent will be able to have someone next to them translate. Just speak as you always would.” I nodded as he spoke, his hands moving in time with his words in what seemed to be a nervous tick. “Well, as you normally would but far less antagonistic.”

I scoffed but could not stop the smile that tilted the corners of my lips. We continued walking, Farai and Henry on either side of me, my arms intertwined with theirs. Both had complimented my look, promising that I appeared every bit the goddess I was about to pretend I was.

Wrath, though, was far more honest. “Did we want her to look like a goddess or an offering?”

Trint had disguised his laugh with a cough, but Farai had not attempted to mask his in the slightest. Henry, of course, did his best not to laugh at anything the dalistori said out of spite, naturally.

Still, I walked on, exuding confidence and commanding the attention of every person who passed by us. “Faithfuls,” Trint had called them. The people who wore the same robes I had over my dress now, the same ones I had been wearing when we arrived. Each had devoted their lives to the temple—to the gods. Each looked at me wide-eyed, one going so far as to bow as we passed. The black circlet of diamonds that rested above my brow was likely what truly convinced them, the final touch. It began at my hairline, swirling down in a twisting pattern similar to my gown until the pointed tip ended just between my eyebrows.

A crowd could be heard as we neared the colosseum, which held worship weekly for anyone in their realm to attend. It lay behind the temple, connected through a stone tunnel that took us underground, where it had been built. Trint had explained that the walls of rock helped amplify sound, but I wondered if it was more about being closer to their preferred god, whom I feared favored death far more than creation. Perhaps he resided in the Underworld rather than the Above, and this was their way of digging themselves down to him.

Either way, it was horrific to slowly descend into the earth, the tunnel lit only by torches placed incrementally on the walls. The air was stale, tasting of history and loss and obsession. I wanted out, and I could hear the projected thoughts of unrest from the two males on either side of me, both their arms tightening around mine.

It felt like every time I had been thrown into my low level room in the palace. It felt like being slowly led to an undoing. It felt like a trap.

Then the roaring grew impossibly louder, and I nearly let go of my self-proclaimed protectors to cover my ears. It hurt, in the way only fae ears could. Farai flinched beside me, and I looked to see the pained expression on his face that likely mirrored my own. Henry stopped, eyeing both of us. At Farai’s side, Wrath hissed in discomfort, shrinking down until he was small enough to crawl up my body and rest on my shoulder.

“Does it not hurt your ears?” I asked Henry, finally covering my own, the jagged tops making it easier for my hands to cup around them in protection.

Henry shrugged. “It is not comfortable, but our kind were once human. We do not have the same hearing that you do.”

It hit me then, the truth of his words. Suddenly, Bellamy’s theory that I was injected with some sort of magic sounded like the only right answer. How had I ever questioned my parentage when I constantly peered at the portrait of my mother—one of the few items that graced the walls of the palace—growing up? Or even the smaller portrait of both my parents that hung over their shared resting place in the royal tomb. I had their dark locks, their light brown skin, and my mother’s heart-shaped face. I was them in so many ways. I was the daughter of Florencia Daniox, Royal Tomorrow, strongest Reader of her time.

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