“No, I didn't.” She purses her lips, appearing irritated that she did not succeed. “Did you know that Zenith is a trained midwife? Absurd, isn't it?” She chuckles, shaking her head. “A powerful seer as a midwife.” She turns her back on me and rounds the table. “She’s the one who helped birth you, and while I was in labor, she had a vision.” She reaches the other side of the table and lifts her gaze to mine. “A vision about you.”
Frowning, I search my memories for any mention of prophecies at the time of my birth. Although I’m not sure why I bother. Seers are rare to begin with, and prophecies even more so. If there was a prophecy, I would have known. Everyone would have. Unless it was something terrible. Something so devastating, so horrific, it must be kept hidden.
“What did she see?” I ask, still raw and bleeding from her verbal assault but unable to curb my curiosity.
Adelphia lifts the shard of bloody glass and scrutinizes it as she twirls it above her head, the light of the setting sun spearing through the clear spots not mottled in scarlet. “She said that one day in the near future, war will touch down on Vanyimar. Blood will spill and fire will reign, burning everyone and everything to ash.” She pauses, cupping the sharp crystal within her palm. “But the Stars offered an alternative path. Or I should say, they offered us someone who could alter our fate. Someone who could save us all.” Lowering her arm with the glass still in hand, she locks pitiless eyes with mine. “The Stars chose you as our savior, Darius.”
Disbelief smacks into me and I shake my head in denial.
“Yes.” She nods. “Our entire world, every soul within, is dependent on you.” Squeezing her eyes shut, her face contorts into such heartbreaking grief, it robs me of breath. “But the only way to ensure your creation was for the Stars to orchestrate, to manipulate the events that led up to your conception.”
Sweat dots my brow, my heart thunders, and my stomach churns as my body physically revolts at her insinuation. “Are you saying I am the cause of the Battle of Brecca?”
“You are,” she hisses, all but spitting venom. “The reason why all those people died, why I lost my husband, why I was raped and tortured. The very reason why the Goddess of Death cursed Brecca and gave them the power to create the Soulless.”
I jolt back. My world sways on its axis as I reach outwards for anything to ground me to this reality, but all I manage to do is knock over a chair before grabbing hold of the table. Hanging my head, I stare blankly at the rivers of crushed starlight and sapphire embedded in the stone.
Thousands dead. So many souls forsaken. So much terror and pain… all because of me. Because the Stars chose me. It makes no sense. I’m powerful, yes, but otherwise, as Luthais so bluntly mentioned, I don't hold true power. Not the type of power that makes a lick of difference in this world. Not enough to be this Stars-damned savior.
Shaking my head, I let out a loud guffaw. My mother is mistaken. It's not possible. The Stars would not damn so many to conceive a half-breed human bastard. An abomination to all, even the gods. Yet… as much as I want to deny this claim, as much as I want to tell my mother to fuck off and keep her crazy rants to herself, I can’t deny all the unanswered questions that are clarified with this revelation. All the missing puzzle pieces now clicking into place.
How the humans were able to orchestrate an attack without our knowledge. How they were able to overcome us when they were incapable of such power. Not without divine intervention, at least. Intervention from gods who despise their weak blood even more than immortals do. And what's even more damning, what solidifies my mother’s every word, is how the battle ended the moment she was impregnated with me.
Adelphia cocks her head to the side and mumbles to herself, “How can you be our savior when you are the sole cause of so much death?”
Feet planted to the floor and my eyes locked on hers, I say nothing. I’m unable to speak or move with the chaos warring within my mind.
Shaking her head, she skirts the table. A loud screech grates my ears as she scrapes the glass against the stone. “Of course after she told me this, I was even more determined to end your life. But Zenith had a vision of this too, and warned me if I were to continue on that path, if I chose not to accept you into my family or treat you as one of my own, my other children would pay with their lives.”
Standing before me, she tilts her head back, unflinching from my frozen gaze. “So I allowed you to live. I clothed you, fed you, housed you. Placed you as an integral member of my Council and gave you the position of Captain of the Guard. I kept you safe until you were able to do so yourself. I did everything the Stars required of me to keep my son and daughter safe. But no more than that. For even the Stars do not have the power to control who I do or don't love. And I could never love that monster's spawn.” She raises my hand and flattens my palm. “And neither will that girl.”
She places the shard of glass on my palm and curls my fingers around it. Enclosing both her hands around mine, she squeezes until the glass punctures my skin and rivulets of my blood seep between our clasped hands.
“For monsters are not destined for love. Only blood and death.”
Chapter 26Lena
The two moons hang high in the starlit sky. Heavy and bloated, their bright light beams across the jewel-encrusted street, sparkling beneath dozens of nighttime revelers' feet.
A Gods Light flares, illuminating the stack of parchment clenched within Aurora’s hands. Green eyes bounce from one end of the vellum to the next, her expression morphing from assessing to thoughtful, then finally excitement before she repeats the process all over again when she flips to the next page.
“This is amazing, Lena,” Aurora says, raising a single parchment above her head and tilting it to the side to examine it more closely. “I never would've thought to put jewels in the blade. In the hilt, of course, but never the blade.” Stacking the drawing atop the others, she looks at me with an enthusiastic smile stretching her cheeks. “I love it.”
Relief fills me and I share a smile with Amara, who peers at me from where she walks on the other side of Aurora. I wasn’t sure Aurora would be able to make the weapons. This may be common practice within my realm, but I haven't seen any with that style in this one. Although, that’s not surprising. The steel here isn’t as strong as ours; it seems too pliant to contain a single jewel, let alone several. Not to mention there are no beings in this realm who possess the power needed to bless jewels like Zander can. But after seeing Aurora’s work firsthand, I thought if anyone could do it, it would be her.
Reaching across Aurora, Amara taps the parchment. “I especially like Griffin’s. His sword is in need of replacing, anyway.”
“Oh, gods!” Aurora slaps the stack of sketches to her side. “I've pleaded with him time and time again to let me make him a new one, but he refuses every time.” Huffing, she shakes her head. “He says there's no need, it does exactly what he needs it to do.”
“Unless it snaps in half in the middle of a fight,” Amara adds with a scowl. “The stubborn ass is just cheap.”
“Or he’s pragmatic,” I argue, turning sideways to allow a group of drunk humans to stumble by. “I've had my sword my entire life and I've never replaced it.”
“Yours,” Amara drawls, “is in impeccable condition.” Scrunching her nose, she extends her arm, flopping it from side to side. “His wobbles. It looks like the blade is about to fall off.”
“It really does,” Aurora agrees, appearing pained at the very thought.
“Then it's a good thing he’ll be getting a new one,” I say, feeling confident Griffin will accept the gift despite his protests. In the small chance he doesn’t, I can always persuade him to do so. In normal circumstances, I would never do such a thing. But in this instance, when someone's preference puts their safety at risk, I’ll decide for them.
Aurora flips to the parchment with the design I drew for her. It’s similar to Darius’ with round, orange topaz jewels studding the center of the blade from hilt to point, but a bit shorter in length and narrower.
“Is it weird for me to ask you to make your own present?” I ask, questioning myself once again whether it's rude to even ask. “Maybe I should find another blacksmith to create yours.” I reach for the drawing, but Aurora jerks it above her head, outside of my reach.
“Don’t you dare! I’m a blacksmith. I can’t use someone else’s creation.” Lowering her arms, she peers down at the parchment, stroking the sketch in a loving manner. “This is perfect. You’ve given me two presents. Not only do I get to create it, but I get to keep it.” Pulling me into a tight hug, wisps of her blond hair tickle my cheek. “Thank you, Lena.”
“You’re welcome,” I reply, wondering if she would react the same way if she knew the true purpose of the sword.
Amara eyes Aurora with a dubious look, her short brown hair partially shielding her face. “Do you even know how to wield a sword?”
“I am a blacksmith,” she states dryly, releasing me.
“It's a valid question,” I say, shrugging when Aurora whips her narrowed gaze to me. “Cascadonians seem to have an aversion to females doing anything besides wiping snotty noses and rubbing their husband’s feet.”
Aurora rolls her eyes. “Point taken. Yes, I know how to wield a sword.” Peeking over her shoulder, she searches for anyone nearby, then lowers her voice. “My mother’s guard Aerin has been training me since I was a child.”
“I would think your mother wouldn't approve,” Amara says.
“She wouldn't.” Aurora smirks. “If she knew.”
