Fall of Ruin and Wrath (Awakening, #1)

Prince Thorne chuckled. “That is another thing I doubt,” he said. “Everyone was what, na’laa?”

Nibbling on my lower lip, I gave a little shake of my head. “Everyone is a potential enemy. Other kids, even ones you shared space with and trusted. The person who gave you bread one day can call the magistrates on you the next and accuse you of stealing. The too-friendly gentleman down the street? Well, that friendliness comes with a cost.” I shrugged as his fingers stilled along the last of the hooks. “So, you’re not just looking out for yourself, but you’re not alone. You do have someone else watching out for you too.”

He was quiet for a moment. “You make it sound like it was nothing.”

I did? “It just was what it was.”

There was another short gap of silence. “You are braver than I even realized.”

Face warming, I forced out a laugh. “That’s not true. I spent my entire life scared. I still— ” I dragged in a deep breath. “I don’t think I was or am brave. I was likely just desperate to survive.”

“Being afraid doesn’t lessen one’s bravery,” he said, finishing the last of the buttons. “Nor does desperation. If anything, it strengthens the bravery.”

“Maybe,” I murmured, clearing my throat. “I would ask what it was like for you, but since you were never a child . . .” I trailed off, frowning. “That’s a really weird thing to say out loud.”

The Prince huffed out a laugh, his fingers pressing lightly against my skin, parting the sides of the gown as he drew them up my back. The sleeves of the gown slipped a little farther down my arm, stopping just above my elbows.

“What was it like?” I asked, my curiosity getting the best of me. “To be created?”

“It’s hard to explain and likely impossible to understand.” His hands grazed my upper back, sending another ripple of tight shivers through me. “But it’s like . . . waking up, opening your eyes, and knowing everything.”

I blinked. “Everything? Like in an instant?” I glanced back at him, but his head was turned in such a way that I couldn’t see his expression. “You know everything?”

“Yes, but it takes a while to understand what you know and how it all applies to the world around you— the world you’ve yet to enter.” His fingers traced the line of my shoulder blades. “It can take years to fully understand.”

I tried to fathom what it would be like, to wake up with the knowledge I’d gained over the course of a lifetime in a matter of minutes. He was right. I couldn’t understand. “That sounds . . . intense.”

“Very much so.”

I held still as he continued to explore the length of my back, enjoying his warm touch. “And when you were created, you looked like you do now?”

“Not exactly.” His fingers trailed down my spine. “When I came into consciousness, I was deep underground.”

I gasped. “You were buried alive?”

“No, na’laa.” He drew his hands back up my spine. “I was created from the earth, like all Deminyens are, and when we come into our consciousness, we are not yet fully . . . formed.”

“Not fully formed?” My gaze fell on his sheathed sword. “I’m going to need more details on that.”

“It takes a while for our bodies to develop into what you recognize now, and things can go wrong in the process of creation,” he explained. “We are but a consciousness at first, then over time, our bones are forged from the rock deep in the ground as our flesh is carved from stone.” His fingers skimmed the sides of my ribs. “All the while, the roots of the Wychwoods keep us fed, creating our organs and filling our veins. The process can take years while we listen to the life around and above us.”

My mouth was likely hanging open. I tried to wrap my head around all that and gave up because there was no way. “Years beneath the ground? I would go insane.”

“Of course you would. You are mortal,” he stated simply. “We are not.”

“But I don’t understand— I mean, you bleed blood. Not sap.”

“As do the Wychwoods.”

Recalling the rumors, my lip curled. “I’d heard that the Wychwoods bled, but I . . .”

“You didn’t believe it?”

“I figured it was just red sap people saw, but I guess I now understand why the Wychwoods are so sacred.” I gave a shaky laugh. “You know, the night in the gardens when you said you were a part of everything around us, I didn’t think you meant literally.”

“Most would not.” His fingers glided along the curve of my waist.

I thought about what he’d shared with me about the past world. “Did those who lived before the Great War know about the Wychwoods?”

“If they did, it was forgotten, but there would’ve been signs upon entering the woods that they treaded on sacred ground. Warnings that had to have been ignored. It was the destruction of the Wychwoods that woke the firsts.”

In a way, it was hard not to be angry with our ancestors when it seemed like they’d dug their own graves almost willingly. “There are Hyhborn that are born, right?” I asked. “I’m not talking about the caelestias.”

“The children of Deminyens are born and they age just as a caelestia or mortal, but perhaps slower.”

“That’s what I thought.” I paused. “Do you have children?”

“No.”

I didn’t know why I was relieved to hear that, but I was. “I’d heard that Deminyens can actually choose when to have a child. Like both parties have to want that for a child to be created. Is that true?”

“It is.”

“Must be nice,” I murmured.

“And you?” His hands slipped up my back again. “Have you had children?”

“Gods, no.”

Prince Thorne laughed. “I take it you aren’t fond of children?”

“It’s not that. It’s just what kind of . . .” I stopped myself. Grady’s words resurfaced. Why would I want to bring a child into this world? That was a damn good question for most, but for me? Even more so. How could I even touch my child?

“I understand,” he said quietly.

I opened my mouth, but closed it, thinking that maybe he did understand that I wouldn’t be able to give a child the life they deserved. That I feared that I would end up repeating history. I didn’t want to do that to a child. I couldn’t. But there was no way he could know how truly difficult it would be for me.

I cleared my throat. “Anyway, you said that things can go wrong during the creation?”

“If the process is disturbed, the creation is interrupted.” He slid his hands down my arms, catching the sleeves of my gown. The breath I took snagged as the silky material slipped from my arms and from my hips, pooling at my feet. “What is unearthed is even less mortal than a Deminyen.”

A chill hit my exposed flesh. “You’re talking about the ones who don’t look like us? Like the nix?”

“In a way,” he said, his palms grazing my ribs once more, chasing away the coldness. “The nix are awakened early on purpose.”

My mind went back to the last time I was in this chamber. “Is that what you meant when you talked about not trusting those who created the nix?”

His breath touched the nape of my neck, and then I felt his lips there. “Yes.”

I wanted to ask him why one would attempt to disturb the process, but his hands made their way to my hips. His fingers slipped beneath the thin lace and he began to lower it.

My pulse sped up as I looked over my shoulder, seeing only the top of his bowed head as he drew the cloth down my legs, and then that too joined the gown on the floor. His mouth brushed against the curve of my ass, scattering my thoughts. Then his lips glanced off the dip of my lower back, the center of my spine, and then the nape of my neck as he rose once more.

“Tell me something, na’laa,” he said, turning me in his arms. “Is that how you survive now?”

I looked up, my gaze immediately locking with his. The blue had deepened to a color like the sky at dusk, seeping into the other hues. “What do you mean?”

He gathered my hair, dragging it back over my shoulder. “Do you still survive by doing whatever is necessary?”

“Yes,” I whispered.

Thick lashes lowered, shielding his eyes. “Is that why you decided to stay tonight?”

My stomach skipped. “No.”