My chest burned, my Heir Mark pulsing, as if awoken by her mention of it.
“Roles given by you,” I said, even though I knew it was stupid to argue with her— “Roles given by your forefathers,” she corrected. “Do you know why I created the Hiaj and Rishan lines? Because even before Obitraes was the land of vampires, your peoples fought. A perpetual power struggle that would never end. It is what you are meant to be. If I grant you a Coriatis bond, your hearts would become one, your lines intertwined. It would erase the Hiaj and Rishan legacy forever.”
“It would eliminate two thousand years of unrest.”
And it wasn’t until Nyaxia nodded slowly, giving me a long, hard stare, that I realized: We were saying the same thing.
Nyaxia had no interest in ending two thousand years of unrest.
Nyaxia liked her children squabbling, constantly vying over each other for her affections and favor.
Nyaxia would not grant me a Coriatis bond with Raihn, would not allow me to save his life, out of nothing but petty stubbornness.
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. My anger swallowed all words.
Nyaxia sensed it anyway, though, a flash of disapproval over her features. She leaned close again. “I’m handing you victory for the second time, my child. Perhaps you should simply take it. Don’t all little girls dream of being queens?”
Did you? I wanted to ask her. Did you dream of becoming this?
Instead, I rasped, “Then tell me how to save him.”
Her perfect lips thinned, another drop of blood rolling down her chin with the shift of her muscles. Her lashes lowered as she took in Raihn’s mangled body.
“He is practically already dead,” she said.
“There has to be something.”
Another indecipherable emotion over her face. Perhaps genuine pity.
She flicked a tear from my cheek.
“A Coriatis bond would save him,” she said. “But I cannot be the one to give it to you.”
She rose and turned away. I didn’t look up from Raihn’s battered features, which blurred with my unshed tears.
“Oraya of the Nightborn.”
I lifted my head.
Nyaxia stood at Simon’s broken body, nudging it with her toe.
“Treasure that flower,” she said. “No one will ever be able to hurt you again.”
And then she was gone.
No one will ever be able to hurt you again.
Her words echoed in my head as I let out the sob I’d been choking back. I leaned over Raihn, pressing my forehead to his.
His breath, ever-fading, was so weak against my lips.
I did not care that Simon was dead.
I did not care that the Rishan were retreating.
I did not care if I had won my war.
Raihn was dying in my arms.
Slow rage built in my chest.
Treasure that flower.
Perhaps you should just take it.
Spoken by someone too young to see the ugliness of its decay.
With every memory of Nyaxia’s voice, it grew hotter.
No.
No, I refused to accept it. I had come this fucking far. I had sacrificed so much. I refused to sacrifice this, too.
I refused to sacrifice him.
A Coriatis bond, Nyaxia had said. But I cannot be the one to give it to you.
The answer was right there.
A Coriatis bond could only be forged by a god. And yes, Nyaxia had denied me. But Nyaxia wasn’t the only goddess my blood called to. She was my father’s goddess.
My mother’s was just as powerful.
Crazed hope seized me. I looked up to the sky—the sky still bright and swirling with the thinning barrier between this world and the next. And maybe I imagined it—maybe I was a naive fool for it—but I could have sworn I felt the eyes of the gods on me.
“My Goddess Acaeja,” I cried out, my voice cracking. “I summon you in the name of my mother, your acolyte, Alana of Obitraes, in my greatest time of need. Hear me, Acaeja, I beg you.”
And perhaps I wasn’t insane after all.
Because when I called, a goddess answered.
75
ORAYA
Acaeja’s beauty was not the beauty of Nyaxia. Nyaxia was beautiful the way many women hoped to be, albeit a million times over, a force greater than a mortal mind could even comprehend.
Acaeja’s beauty, though, was terrifying.
When she landed before me, I started shaking.
She was tall, even taller than Nyaxia was, with a regal, strong face. But more imposing than her stature were the wings—six of them layered over each other, three to each side. Each one acted as a window to a different world, a different fate—a field of blossoms beneath a cloudless summer sky, a bustling human city beneath a lightning storm, a forest raging with fire. She wore long white robes that pooled around her bare feet. Strings of light—the threads of fate—dangled from her ten-fingered hands.
Her face tilted toward me, cloudy white eyes meeting mine.
I gasped and tore my gaze away.
A second of that stare, and I saw my past, my present, my future, blurring by too fast to comprehend. Fitting, that was what one would see, looking into the eyes of the Weaver of Fates.
“Do not be afraid, my daughter.”
Her voice was the amalgamation of so many different tones—child, maiden, elder.
Fear is just a collection of physical responses, I told myself, and I forced myself to meet Acaeja’s gaze again.
She knelt before me—observing Raihn, and then me, with detached interest.
“You called,” she said simply.
You answered, I almost replied, because I was still in shock that she actually had.
I groped for words and came up empty-handed. But she grabbed my chin, gently but firmly, and looked into my eyes like she was reading the pages of a book. Her gaze flicked back to Raihn.
“Ah,” she said. “I see.”
“A Coriatis bond,” I managed. “I ask you, Great Goddess, for a Coriatis bond. My mother devoted her life to you, and I—I’ll offer you anything if—”
Acaeja raised a single hand.
“Hush, child. I understand what you seek. Your mother was indeed a devoted follower of mine. I am quite protective of those who walk the unknown beside me.” She scanned the carnage that surrounded us, lips thinning with a brief wave of disapproval. “Even if they walk it, at times, to questionable ends, tampering with forces that should not be disturbed.”
I bit back a wave of shame on my mother’s behalf.
“Please,” I whispered. “If you grant us a Coriatis bond, if you help me save him, I swear to you—”
Again, Acaeja raised her palm.
“Do you understand the gravity of what you ask of me?”
This, I knew, was not a rhetorical question.
“Yes,” I said. “I do.”
“Do you understand that you are asking me for something I have never once granted before?”
My eyes prickled. Another tear rolled down my cheek. “Yes.”
Only Nyaxia had ever granted a Coriatis bond. Never a single god of the White Pantheon.
But I was willing to try anything. Anything.