Sephi rolled her eyes. “Right, you’re so powerful, forcing me to sit down. Big fucking deal.”
He scowled. “We’ll see how flippant you are about power when you watch me kill your friends and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”
Sephi bit back her response, fearing that he would make good on that threat sooner rather than later. She took a deep calming breath. “Okay, fine. Finish telling me what happened on my birthday.”
“Right,” he said. “In my quest to learn all I could about dark magic, I gained access to the Council’s archives, and I read about the Zekarian Whispers, the ultimate guide to magical arts that the Council deemed forbidden. But my mother caught me and confronted me. I told her my research was just idle curiosity, but I could tell she suspected the truth about me. That I walked the left-hand path and immersed myself in the dark arts.”
“So Pasiphae knew you were a warlock?” Sephi asked.
Asterion shook his head. “I don’t know how much my mother knew, but I wasn’t about to stick around and wait for her to drop the hammer on me. It was time to leave the Citadel and pursue the Whispers in earnest.”
“I still don’t see what this has to do with me,” Sephi said. “I understand that you had a hard-on for dark magic, but why’d you have to fuck up my life, too?”
“I couldn’t just leave,” her father said. “Pasiphae would have hunted me down like a dog for the rest of my life. I decided to fake my own death. It was the only way. But your grandmother wasn’t the only problem. Finding the Whispers was one thing, but reading them was another. Zekariah magically encrypted them. In the archives, I found part of a spell that would allow me to read them, but like so many of the safeguards surrounding these secrets, the spell required me to make the ultimate sacrifice of something I loved dearly.”
The puzzle pieces clicked into place in Sephi’s head, and a violent rage burned inside her. She strained every muscle to break free of her bonds, wanting to wrap her hands around her father’s throat and choke the life from him.
“You killed her, you piece of shit! You killed my mother.”
Her father laughed, the bastard. “No, it was never my intention to harm your mother. I wanted to take her with me and convince her to join me in my quest.”
Sephi froze, confused. “Well, then who—”
“You,” he said. “I was trying to kill you.”
Ice water crashed through her veins, extinguishing the rage inside her and leaving her feeling weak. “But I’m your daughter,” she whispered.
“Yes,” he said. “And I loved you very much. I still do if it’s any consolation.”
She shook her head, feeling some of her strength return. “Am I supposed to believe that? After you tried to murder me? On my fucking birthday?!”
He shrugged. “Obviously, I’m telling you the truth. I did love you. That was the only way the sacrifice would fuel the spell. Why can’t you see that for the compliment it is?”
“Because you tried to use me as a fucking spell component.”
He smiled sadly. “Well, ‘tried’ is the operative word. I crafted the perfect spell that would weave itself into your simple illusion, and together, they would blend seamlessly into the spell I wanted to cast, killing you, while shielding your mother and me, and then causing a firestorm to make it look like we all died. But you fucked that up by casting a different spell. The results were unexpected.”
“Why not just kill me and cast the spell like normal?” she asked. “Why go through all this complicated shit?”
“Because dark magic leaves an imprint behind, and I didn’t want those Council pricks to know what I had done. Combining my spell with yours concealed what I did.” He sighed. “Looking back, I could have done things better, but I was under a bit of a time constraint, and your first casting seemed like the perfect cover. Of course, my biggest mistake was trusting you to follow simple directions.”
“Don’t you talk to me about trust,” Sephi snarled.
Her father had the gall to look offended. “Listen, young lady, I pulled you out of that fire. So, you know, you’re welcome.”
Her eyes widened in shock. “You expect me to thank you after you tried to murder me? And after you killed my mother?”
“Well, technically, you killed your mother,” he said. “That one is on you.”
“What? No it’s not!”
He shrugged. “Agree to disagree.”
She could barely process everything her father had just told her, but one question hung in the forefront of her mind, giving her a tiny shred of hope. “Why even save my life after you tried to kill me? I mean, that means there’s still some good left in that black heart of yours. Obviously you regretted trying to kill me.”
“Well about that,” he said. “I was just saving you for later. You know, if I needed to make another sacrifice.”
Sephi felt like she’d just been kicked in the face. “What the fuck, Dad?!”
He shook his head. “I would have taken you with me, but I couldn’t escape while carrying your unconscious body. You were a chunky little girl. Too many cinnamon rolls.”
“Un-fucking-believable,” she said. “You utter piece of shit.”
“Anyway,” he said nonchalantly. “It’s a good thing I saved your life. I heard about some of your exploits in Tartarus, and I realized something. My spell did work. It just ended up working on you instead of me. And I think your meddling with the spell had some extra side effects, but we can worry about those later. I’m just glad the rest of my plan worked.”
“What plan?”
Asterion grinned, looking utterly pleased with his own brilliance. “I’m so glad you asked. I had no luck finding the tower, but I knew the Council’s archives had information that could lead them to the Whispers. I was looking for that information when your grandmother caught me.”
Sephi nodded. “So you sent your spy into the archives, but he got caught.”
Her father shook his head. “No, getting caught was part of the plan. He made the Inquisitors think the Occultum was about to find the Whispers, forcing them to send someone to find them first. Then I arranged for the Council to send you on the mission, and you led me right to the tower.”
Sephi couldn’t believe it. All of this had been a setup from the very beginning. She had just been a pawn in her father’s game, not even realizing he was moving her across the chess board for his own ends.
“How did you arrange for the Council to send me?” she asked. “Is someone on the Council working with you?”
He laughed. “As if I would tell you that.”
His answer confirmed her suspicions, even though it didn’t shed light on which one of the Council members was compromised. If she ever made it back to the Citadel, she would ferret out the Occultum sympathizer and make them pay for their treachery.
“So how does kidnapping mages fit into your plan?” she asked, thinking of Magnus’s betrothed.
“It doesn’t,” he said. “The Occultum hasn’t been kidnapping anyone as far as I know. In fact, some of our people have been going missing as well. We thought the Council was behind it. Is that not the case?”
Sephi frowned. “I don’t think so.”
“Interesting. Well, we can figure that out later. One problem at a time.”
“So why send me to find the Whispers?” she asked. “Is this just some sick joke for you, where you want to keep fucking up my life?”
“No, of course not,” he said. “It had to be you. I need you to read the Whispers for me.”
“Like I would ever help you,” she spat.
“Well, you say that now, but I can be persuasive.”
“There’s nothing you can offer me to get me to help you. Not after everything you’ve done.”
He shook his head. “I’m not offering you anything. There’s no carrot here. Only the stick. I know that little Green up there is your friend.”
“If you hurt her—”
“Not if, but when. Whe
n I hurt her, her screams should serve as the proper motivation. Of that, I am certain.”
“Asterion!” a voice called down from upstairs. “We found something.”
A grin split her father’s face. “Perfect timing.”
He gestured with his hands, and the invisible force holding Sephi down vanished. Blood rushed back into her numb limbs, and she got to her feet, but even without the magical bindings, she still felt trapped.
She had to stop her father from getting his hands on the Whispers, but she had no idea how.
He grabbed her arm. “Come on, kiddo. It’s time to go to work.”
Chapter 22
Returning upstairs, the sanctum looked like a tornado had gone through it. The huge desk had been overturned, the chair behind it was on its back, and Hextius’s bones had been cast aside in an undignified pile. A hidden compartment lay tucked beneath the desk’s surface. Someone had bashed the wooden box to pieces, and inside, three intricately faceted crystals glittered in the light.
Her father gazed down at the crystals greedily. “Finally, after all these years. The Whispers.”
Sephi tilted her head in confusion. “I thought the Whispers were a spell book.”
“In a manner of speaking, yes,” her father said. “Only this book isn’t written on paper or bound in leather. All of their secrets are inside those gems.”
“But how?” she asked.
Asterion waved her question away dismissively. “You’ll see soon enough.”
He crouched beside the upturned desk and picked up one of the crystals, which was about the size of his fist. His fingers traced over the facets of the gem almost lovingly.
“So much power in so small a thing,” he said softly.
“What kind of power are we talking about?” Sephi asked. “Everyone keeps telling me how important these damn Whispers are, but no one seems to know what secrets they contain.”
Asterion stared at the crystal as he spoke. “I’m sure there are many things hidden in their depths, but I know exactly what I’m looking for inside.” He picked up the other two Whispers. “In the archives, I found a report about Zekariah figuring out the most powerful source of magic.”
“What, like the First Magic?” Sephi asked.
Her father shook his head. “No, his connection to the First Magic was damaged, which is why he sought out alternative power sources. He could draw from the living energy of the land, but that wasn’t strong enough for him. Then he siphoned energy from the Elves, but they disappeared. That was when he discovered the power of blood magic, finding intense energy in suffering and death. Then he discovered something even more powerful than that. The power of the soul.”
She frowned, not liking the sound of that. “The soul?”
He got to his feet and turned to look at her. “Yes, the soul. The eternal essence of every sentient being. The part that lives on when our bodies die and travels to the Realm of Etherean. Just before Zekariah fell at the final battle of the rebellion, he figured out how to harness souls as fuel for magic, and he believed soul magic rivaled the power of even the First Magic.”
Sickness ran through her in suffocating waves. She shook her head. “But if you use the souls as fuel, does that mean they still exist, or are they burned away like wood on a fire?”
Her father shrugged. “Like any fuel, the souls are destroyed in the process.”
“Destroying someone’s eternal soul is like the evilest shit you can do,” she said.
“Yes, Zekariah seemed to agree with you, which is why he never shared the secret of soul magic with anyone before he died. But he recorded that secret in here.” He lifted up the crystals. “And unlike the First Mage, I have no qualms about harnessing that power for myself.”
“You’re fucking insane,” she breathed.
He laughed. “All genius is treated as madness at first. I wouldn’t expect you to understand. You lack the proper vision. Maybe someday you will see the world through my eyes.”
“I seriously hope not,” she said. “What’s the point of all this? You want more power just so you can conquer the world?”
“Yes, but conquest is just a means to an end,” he said. “The Council has held our people back for far too long, letting their petty morality restrict what mages can accomplish. We can create wonders that no one has ever seen. We can reshape Esper and all the Realms beyond into a perfect paradise.”
She shook her head. “A paradise for mages, you mean? I doubt the people whose souls you erase from existence would think your new world order is so perfect.”
He laughed. “Who cares what they think? They’re weak, and we’re strong. Why should we let the frailty of lesser beings hold us back from greatness?”
She glanced around the sanctum at the warlocks listening to their leader. No doubts lingered in their expressions. Their eyes burned with excitement at Asterion’s vision for the future.
“Because every life is sacred,” she said. “And what you’re talking about is worse than murder. So much worse that I don’t even think there’s a name for it yet. A world built on the husks of burnt out souls is a not a world I want to be a part of.”
“As if you’ll have a choice,” her father said. “But enough of this petty whining. I want to look into the Whispers. Will you help me, Persephone, or should I fetch the Green?”
Sephi lowered her head in defeat, not willing to risk her friend’s safety. “I’ll help you.”
“Excellent.” He gestured at his warlocks. “Downstairs, all of you. This is for my eyes only.”
A faint hope flickered in Sephi’s chest. If her friends were left unprotected, she might have a chance to free them and overpower her father before this madness continued.
Asterion gestured at the two guards by the door. “Go inside and watch the prisoners closely. If you hear anything out here, execute them immediately.”
The guards did as he asked, opening the door and entering. Sephi caught a brief glimpse of her friends inside what looked like a storage closet. Moros’s gold eyes met hers out of the dim light, and then the door closed again.
She had been so focused on the safety of her friends, she had forgotten about Moros. The shackles around his wrists couldn’t actually hold him. He had snapped the chains Sephi had bound him with like they were made of glass. He could free himself at any time.
She assumed he hadn’t made a move yet because of the warlocks’ overwhelming numbers—a sword in the heart would kill him just like anyone else— but that wasn’t a problem now. Her father was so confident in his own power that he thought he didn’t need backup. He was probably right when it came to Sephi and her friends, but not with the Nyx.
With the goatman’s immunity to magic, the two warlocks guarding her friends in the storage room didn’t stand a chance if he attacked. Even her father would be hard pressed to fight against Moros without being able to rely on his magic.
If only she could get a message to the Nyx, telling him that now was the time for action, she might just be able to turn the tables on her father. But that was easier said than done. She had a spell she thought would work, but she couldn’t let her father see her cast it. She would have to bide her time and wait for an opportunity to present itself.
For now, she would just have to play along. “So how am I supposed to read these crystals?”
Asterion deposited two of them in a leather pouch and secreted the bag inside his robes. Then he held up the remaining gem. “It’s an ingenious bit of craftsmanship. Watch.”
He raised his index finger on his free hand, and a thin beam of blue light shot from the tip. He pressed the light to one of the facets of the crystal, and a three-dimensional image projected out of the gem, hovering in the air between them.
Her eyes scanned the complex symbols and sigils. The strange geometric patterns were like nothing she had ever seen before. This magic was different than the kind she cast. Lines of text accompanied the symbols, looking like they’d been written by hand. When she
concentrated on the text, the letters seemed to shift until they became legible.
No wonder she didn’t recognize this magic. It was a blood magic spell that would boil a person’s blood in their veins. She felt sick just looking at it.
Her father grinned like a child with a new toy. “Each facet is like a page in a book.” He rotated the crystal minutely, lighting a different facet, and the images hanging in the air changed. “Can you read it?”
“Can you not?” she asked. “Are you not seeing anything?”
“I see the symbols, but I can’t read the words,” he said. “And without the explanation of how to use the symbols, they’re worthless.” He glared at her. “I would have been able to read them if you hadn’t fucked everything up as a kid.”
She ignored his abuse. “So you really do need me to help you,” she said.
He glared at her. “Yes, but don’t think that makes you safe. I can always try to replicate the spell I cast on your birthday, sacrificing you in the process.”
“Then why don’t you?” she asked.
His brow furrowed. “Because after that clusterfuck, I can’t be sure the spell will work. But if you give me any trouble, I’ll take the risk. It’s in your best interest to just tell me what you’re seeing.”
She looked at the new spell in front of her. It was another dark magic spell, although it was simpler in design than the previous one, almost crude in comparison.
“It’s a blood magic spell,” she said, reading the spidery text as it came into focus for her. “Meant to be used in combat.”
Asterion leaned in closer to the sigil. “Good, go on.”
“It’s a healing spell,” she said, somewhat surprised. “A quick and dirty way to patch up a mortal wound in the heat of battle.”
Her father looked disappointed. “I’m not looking for healing.”
“Well, hold on,” she said quickly before he could move on to another spell. She didn’t want to teach him how to use any of the spells in the Whispers, but compared to the first bit of violent magic she’d seen, this seemed like the lesser of two evils. For all she knew, the next spell would be so much worse.
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