“Who is he?”
The inner garden swallowed them, separating them from the bloodstained chamber, from the tall arches and columns, from… everything. Lorian’s personal garden, which he gave a long time ago to Nymre, so she could keep her ravens here, and rest from the noise of the palace. Filled with rarest flowers, which usually bloomed only in spring – now they bloomed for his winter. Black roses, ashen hellebores, sweetest narials, cruel voarnlons.
Nymre liked the peace of this place. Where she could chew on her worry and feel it even more. Sometimes, she was sure that this place was her personal torment, her beautiful torture chamber.
But now, she felt only the scent of flowers, which Lorian stained with eternity. They were immortal, blooming all the time, the same ones through long years. Lorian liked taking life. And giving it on a whim.
But now, Nymre wasn’t ready to think about those Lorian graced with immortality.
She wanted to know what enemy could stand between their immortality and them.
Possibly many of them. She wondered about which of them Lorian would tell her. She would want all of it. But she knew that he never, ever showed anyone all he knew. To her, in the long gone past, but he changed. She changed. For better and for worse.
Lorian’s lips and hands were still stained with slave’s blood. Her robes, fastly pulled on her body, also were crimson. Somehow this reminded her first visit to Dal’coler, after Lorian claimed the throne. They were so much younger… and she was so drunk with the possibility of the fey king turning his attention on her. Lorian always was different from his father. She never met anyone like him. He was so filled with fire. He took her on the table in his chamber, her skin dripping with wine, which they spilled in reckless passion. So red.
Like blood.
In which they loved to bathe the world.
They reached the bench made of black wood from Harlorn forest, near Shadowlands. The trees there were so filled with magic, that no one used it to build furniture from it. Lorian though, always was different.
He sat on the bench, one foot on the knee, his gaze playful and filled with small glittering stars.
At least not with the void. She hated the void. Especially if it was swallowing him, leaving an empty shell.
“The silence after the sound of death is quite… intoxicating” he mused. She crossed her arms, she didn’t sit. He would again play on her body like on a harp, making her willing. And she wanted information. “I see” he chuckled, and leaned over the back of the bench. “Strong. Determined. I love that, Nymre. Even if it’s turned against me.”
She sighed.
“The Saru spy… a pawn, but well trained by his superiors. Not only a warrior, not only a spy. An assassin” he commented charmingly. Curse you, Lorian Ain’Dal. “He was of course not ordered to kill me. He was ordered to kill the vessel. Quite suicidal target. If he was killed, nothing would stop the first ones from drinking souls half of the Saru in existence. But they preferred to kill half of their people, to only take us with them.”
That was not only suicidal. Mad. Born in the depths of a doomed mind.
Lorian still smiled, like it was nothing. And she read her mind. For trivial thing. But she allowed. Of course he did it.
“You would think that water folk don’t have darkness in them. But they have it, another kind of night. Night that puts one’s head under a blade, to save its companions. A desperate darkness of a martyr. A cruel soul chopping the hand of the executioner, who does the killing blow, even when their head already rolls on the ground.”
“Human terms…”
“Perhaps. But so fitting, my cruel raven. The Saru are used. Used by the ones who want to fill themselves with us. And they will feed on Saru too. But… they prefer death over being our property.”
“Fools.”
Lorian laughed. It was bitter laughter, which she rarely was hearing from him. Filled with ages of unknown pain and struggles. Maybe now it was the time to ask him. To… try her chances. When you started to fear the reply of your own lover?
“I wouldn’t say so, my nymph of blood. Water is a free element. And prefers to drown in its own vastness than allow the dam that would stop it from flowing. And maybe… only maybe… this is what I can use against them.”
“You won’t kill this assassin.”
“I would not go that far,” he chuckled. “What is a spy, what is an assassin, without one, very important trait?”
Nymre lifted her brow. Of course.
“Loyalty” she whispered.
Of course. Yes.
Lorian nodded. His gaze even more playful than before.
“I can put any loyalty into his mind. Since no one knows what I am capable of, no one will suspect him of being beautifully… indoctrinated. His trusted company, his faithful rulers… a hope in eclipse, a parasite inside the womb of everything.”
She released the air that she held in her lungs for too long. She would do the same, if she had his power. She many times relied on double spies. But with Lorian’s ability… it was undetectable, and his loyalty will be completely belonging to Lorian.
Beautiful indeed, in its simplicity.
“Lorian…”
He raised his brow. She approached him, slowly, her wings embraced him, like wanting to hold him forever in her presence. Do not slip away. She looked into his dark eyes, night and shadows incarnate, his power emanating from him, strong, pleasant in taste, beautiful. She shook her head. She had to ask.
“Lorian… I know…” she felt the weight of these words. Heavy like an iron axe pushing through the air between them. When you started to feel that way? His secrets. His mysteries. His all. “I know you suffer.”
His gaze drilled her through. Endless and deep like caverns under the mountains. He loves you. He loves you more than anything. He has the whole world, but it’s you who he wants most. But he suffers. Something is not right. No matter what his lies tell, she knows. They have been together for more than two hundred years. And she feels him more than before, he is already part of her like an iron sliver in her heart, painful but shining with unearthly light. Beautiful like a dying star. Deadly as a wolf’s claw tearing one’s throat.
Hers.
And his own.
He still looked at her, an undeciphered expression, darker than ever. His shadows pulsated around him. Purest dark. Unadulterated. The air around them became thick, so thick she could slice it. Muted, dim. Threatening.
“Lorian… do not…”
She blinked.
His eyes again black void, killing all light around him, leaving black and all-swallowing debris.
“Yes.”
Yes. He said it. He said it for the woods’ sake.
“So tell me. Why. Tell me, or I will move all stones in Dal’coler to find out. I will bury this palace under the snow, if I had to.”
He laughed. Casually, so lightly, like it was a joke, like he always was doing. But it sounded too similar to an incoming storm, ready to wipe the whole world. A preparation for a fall. A last blow given to a dying sky.
“Something that shreds my apart, Nymre” his voice low, well-controlled, but deep down, a hate, deep hate for the force that causes him pain… but also hunger for it. She could feel it, as clear as she was seeing his face. “I am dying so I could live.”
“Your mysteries stopped being tempting” her voice was dull and tense. “And became scary. When it stops? Whatever is tormenting you… does it have such power over you? When, Lorian.”
“When my victory is full. When I drink the last drop from their open throats. Last sunlit drop of the golden blood.”
She exhaled. Golden blood. The gods. Something with these cursed gods, who are trapped under the mountain. She didn’t have to ask more. The doom wasn’t coming, even if it was prophecied in those books Lorian dug in the temple. The doom, which should have come long time ago. Lorian really did something vile. Vile for himself, vile for any sensible fae.
He is dying so he could live.
Curse you!
And this was strangely reminding her of the Saru spy. Lorian was ready to bathe the world in blood. But also himself, to only get what he wanted.
She hoped it is worth it.
The flowers around them started to slowly open, attracted by the lies. By the heavy air of the mysteries. They were feeling Lorian’s darkness and his secrets. And they loved it. Now she knew part of it… but she was not happier than before. Less suspicious, yes, but angrier.
What he was probably doing was sick and mad.
“I won’t stop you, if that was what you thought I will do” her light aura bubbling over his skin. Her anger. Her love. Her. All of her. Her desire and her fear. “Trust me more, for the forest’s sake. I am not one of your slaves, good for bed, but not for sharing anything with them. My eternity is entwined with yours. I hope you didn’t forget, you beautiful bastard.”
Lorian’s gaze drowned in inner shadows, but his smile again present. Maybe some kind of relief in it… or maybe she wanted it be there. Maybe he still hid hundreds of secrets.
But she wanted them all. A burden, but needed one. The angrier she was getting, the more flame she was seeing in Lorian’s eyes. Fierce, warming, pleasing. She felt his black gaze deep in her veins, burning her, filling her… so much.
He always knew how to fill her.
“It won’t kill me. As long as my power can hold the balance. But the moment will come, when the vessel arrives. It will be very delicate process. They will awake fully – and I will need to hold them down.”
“What do you want to do?” she already knew she won’t find the answer neither satisfactory or relieving.
“I will drink the fire” his grin held an ominous gleam. “I will drink the flame from his veins. To kill the god, one needs to be one of them. I need to be their equal, Nymre. And I know we both won’t like how it will be done.”
