The scholars never quite wrote anything like that down in their books, probably because no one had ever done so. The only being who could command the blackfire was, until her, Zyssept.
Thoughts surged through her head, thoughts too strong to stop. She could let the blackfire roam and kill everything in its path. She could annihilate every demon she came across. Doing so would save so many young mages from possession, but she’d be trapped here, because if she didn’t reconnect with her body when she felt its pull, they’d assume she wasn’t coming back.
They’d kill her.
“Impressive,” a smooth, calming voice spoke behind her. “Doubly so, for someone who had until recently denied me at every single turn.”
Without thinking, she spun on her heel, shooting a bout of blackfire at the owner of the voice. The blackfire was waved off; instead of hurting the man, it curled around him like a snake, a pet, before it faded away, little wisps of energy. Her back straightened, and she took an involuntary step back.
He might’ve looked like a man, might’ve dressed as a man, but he was more. He was a god. Zyssept. He had long, white hair, drawn back into a low ponytail, his eyes a beautiful but haunting silver. He was taller than she was, but he did not seem to look down at her. His body wore a suit, tailored to fit his body snugly. He was not overly muscled, but he was handsome all the same. Handsome in an unearthly way, the features on his face cut sharply and cruelly.
But the way he looked at her…it was not a cruel expression. It was almost loving as he waved a hand, causing the spreading blackfire behind her to cease and desist, to evaporate completely. With another wave of his hand, a stone table appeared, two chairs resting on opposite sides of it.
“Sit,” he said, moving to seat himself as he waited for her.
What choice did she have? She was at his will, his mercy, and she would be until she was called back to her world. With Zyssept here, she had no more power, no control. She was just as useless as the demon had thought she was.
Lena was measured in sitting across from him, placing her hands on her lap. She did her best not to look at him, but it was so very hard to.
“I trust you know who I am,” he said.
“I do,” she whispered. Even though she did not look at him, she could see the squareness of his chin, the hollowness of his cheeks. His skin was so pale, as if he’d never seen sunlight. His nose was straight, his entirety without a single blemish. It was hard to ignore his cold looks, harder to stare directly at him.
“You are able to imagine any clothing for yourself, yet you decide on the clothes you have been forced to wear for the last ten years?”
Her eyes flicked to him. “How do you…” Her tongue got tangled. In the form of a man, Zyssept was more frightening than his shadowy self, worse than the faceless tendrils of darkness that caressed her in her dreams.
“I’ve learned much about you lately. I find you are even more interesting than I thought you were,” Zyssept spoke, choosing his words with a careful elegance. He carried himself as though he were used to being worshipped. A royal without a crown.
“Just because I’m sitting here with you doesn’t mean I…”
Zyssept knew what she was trying to say. “It does not mean you accept me, accept the bargain you made with me when you were a child.” A smirk of a smile crossed his face, and she hated herself for noting how attractive he was, in spite of his cold exterior. “Tell me, what can I do to convince you otherwise?”
He…he wanted to convince her? Good luck with that. She’d never willingly become his. She wasn’t a foolish child any longer.
Lena ignored his question. “How are you here?”
“How are you here?” he shot back.
“I—I’m here because my mind was sent here.”
“And I am here to protect that lovely mind. The Desire Demon almost had you.”
“Almost, but not quite.”
Zyssept’s silver stare seemed to eat her up. She was uncomfortable…and, oddly, another part of her felt at ease beneath his gaze. “Sometimes, almost is enough to push someone over the edge.”
She crossed her legs beneath the table. “What would you know about it?”
“I’ve seen much in these last few years. I may not have been with you, but I’ve always been there.”
Lena thought back. “If you were always there, why was the first time I heard you when Ingrid did the cleansing spell on me?” His voice had been rough then, scratchy. The opposite from the chocolatey smoothness his voice was now. It was difficult to reconcile the two.
“At the time, I thought you were trying to rid yourself of me. I did not realize you meant to rid yourself of the spirit of Hunger—which, might I add, could not root itself inside of you because of our link.”
“But the demons across the Veil can?”
“A demon is a parasite. Anyone can get sick with one.” He leaned back, resting his chin on a hand. “I would not let you become infested with them, Blackblood.”
Her jaw clamped closed, her emotions boiling. “Don’t call me that.”
Zyssept appeared curious. “Why not? It is what you are, Lena. Your blood is mine, just as my blood is yours. You are a blackblood, my Blackblood.”
Lena was so very tired of the god’s claims on her. “Still you don’t understand—I am not yours! I am my own! I am not a belonging, not a pet. You can’t put me on your lap and pet me—”
“I could try.”
She froze. Was that…was that a joke? Was Zyssept, the god of death, bringer of disease and the void trying to joke with her? Lena’s mouth fell open and no words came out.
“If it would put you at ease,” Zyssept added, “I could do much more than that.”
Okay, first a joke and then a possible sexual innuendo? Who had Zyssept taken lessons in acting civil from?
“Everything aside,” he spoke quietly, “what can I do to assure to you I…” The old god of death, who didn’t look too old at all—younger than Tamlen and Vale and Bastian but older than Prince Cailan—found himself at a loss for words. “I care about you.”
“I don’t know if I want you to care about me,” she said, honest in her reply. “You’re a god of death. You bring darkness wherever you go. You gave me blackfire, which I promptly used to kill my parents. Now my blood is…black and acidic.”
Zyssept clearly did not understand why any of it was a big deal. He simply blinked his silver stare. “Blood is the most powerful tool in your world. Without it, there is no life for beings like you. Do not dismiss its importance.”
“Blood magic is forbidden.”
“Blood magic is only forbidden because when fools play with fire, entire worlds burn. When used correctly and responsibly, blood magic is no more harmful than any other spell.”
Lena shook her head. She’d never agree to a statement like that.
“And as for giving you blackfire,” Zyssept’s collected tone grew agitated, causing her to toy with her sleeves on her lap. With a twitch of his eyebrows, a slight narrowing of his eyes, he was able to convey such strong emotions. “I gave you blackfire, yes, but do not hate me because you used it. Do not blame me for your actions.” A fire burned behind his pupils. “You did what you had to.”
She shook her head, not grasping his meaning. “I was a child. I had no control—”
“You had blackfire for days before you used it, days when you were nothing but a normal child.”
“Oh, I had a few days? What a record. Let me go tell all the scholars. Maybe they’ll hang a banner in the College for me.”
Zyssept sighed. “Perhaps with the truth, you will no longer loathe me. Perhaps, knowing what truly happened will let you blame those who deserve it.”
Lena felt her stomach tighten—and not in a good way. “You’re saying my parents deserved it?” She was horrified to even ask the question, and yet…as she spoke it, deep down, past it all, through memories that were fuzzy much like the world around her, she knew.
Hi
s lips tugged into a small frown, and for a minute, the god of death looked so terribly sad. “I am,” he whispered, standing. He strode to her side, setting a single finger on her chin, forcing her to gaze up into his eyes.
Eyes whose whites went black. Eyes holding no life, only death. Wholly one with the darkness, save for the silvery-white irises remaining.
As she remembered it all, as the memories of her childhood returned, a sweeping tide she could not keep above, Lena crumpled and wept. She moved a hand over her mouth when he released her chin, turned away from him the moment his blackened eyes returned to a semi-normal state.
“Oh, Gods,” she cried.
“Unfortunately,” Zyssept whispered, “your Gods had nothing to do with it.”
Chapter Ten
He’d taken her memories, hidden them away. The moment Lena had stared into his strange, knowing gaze, they came flooding back. She felt…dirty. Her skin felt filthy and wrong. She needed to scrub herself, rid herself of the feeling of her father’s hands on her. How he’d come to her, sometimes drunk, sometimes not, what he’d do to her while her mother ignored it.
Lena’s hands shook, and she stared down at her palms.
“You were a broken child, broken not by what you did, but by those around you,” Zyssept spoke, kneeling beside her. “You were hurt again and again by those who should’ve protected you with their entire being. I am certain I was not the only one who heard your cries, but I was the first to reach you.”
She was near motionless as she felt his hands grab hers.
“Whether or not you offered me your blood, I would’ve helped you,” he said. “But when I looked into your eyes through the mirror, I saw the future. The future we can shape and mold together—”
He went on, probably talking about what they could accomplish together, but Lena zoned out. It was odd how her memories seemed to click, why she couldn’t recall much of her childhood prior to the night of the fire. Truly, the only thing she remembered was that she had parents and that she killed them. She never knew…they deserved it.
Lena wasn’t an accidental murderer.
She summoned the blackfire one night on purpose, right after her father had left her room.
“I had hoped you’d never know this pain again,” he said, rubbing a thumb over her knuckles. “I did not want you to, and I swore you’d never be hurt again, and should someone try, you’d be able to give it back tenfold.”
“My entire life has been a lie,” she said, tears streaming down her face.
One of his hands left hers, moving to wipe away her tears. “No,” Zyssept murmured. “Don’t say that. You’ve lived a life you never would have if you’d stayed at that farm.”
Lena pulled away from him, spiteful. She stood on the opposite side of the chair, glaring at him. “I bet you want me to thank you, huh? I bet you want me worshipping the ground you walk on. Oh, thank you so very much, Zyssept, for saving me,” she spat. “I’m nothing but a helpless child without you.” Her voice dripped venom. “I owe you everything.”
Zyssept straightened out. The stone table and chairs faded from the area, allowing him to walk right to her as he said, “I never asked for thanks, or your adoration. You owe me nothing. If you want to negate the blood pact between us, very well.” He waved a hand, his palm up.
A small sphere of blood appeared, floating in the air a few inches above his skin. The sphere slowly made its way to Lena, and she outstretched her own hand, watching as it sank into her palm, seeping into her flesh.
“Just like that?” she asked, heartbeat skipping. She looked up, meeting his silver eyes.
“Just like that,” he echoed.
Lena broke eye contact for only a moment, glancing down at her palm. The blood sphere was completely gone now, and she wondered if it meant she was no longer a blackblood, if she wouldn’t have control of blackfire.
Oh, Gods. What about the others?
A sense of urgency filled her, and she was quick to say, “What about…” But she was alone in the Veil, no demons or old gods in sight. Zyssept was gone, leaving her with questions. Would Tamlen, Bastian, and Vale be alright? Or would they be gone, all because she wouldn’t give herself to a god of death?
No.
What had she done?
The tears that came over her now were for a different reason. The little girl she used to be was a stranger to her—and while it hurt to know she’d been abused, shocked to learn she’d summoned the blackfire on purpose, she had to believe that Tamlen, Vale, and Bastian were okay.
If they weren’t…if her mistake had cost them their second life, she’d never forgive herself.
Never.
So Lena sat there, not-so-patiently waiting for her hour to be up. No demons came for her again; they were probably too fearful of the blackfire. But they didn’t know she’d given it up willingly. Her tears dried, her eyes emotionless.
If she made it back to the mortal realm, there was no telling if she’d be able to find her way to her men, assuming they were even still breathing. She supposed she could try calling them to her, but even with their magic and fighting prowess, the King’s guards could dispatch them.
It seemed, as unfortunate as it was, Lena was shit out of luck, as Ingrid would say.
She came to quickly, her eyes opening fast as she jerked to a sitting position. Her head throbbed, and she reached for her head, feeling the familiar tug of the metal cuffs on her wrists. Who knew laying on a tiled floor would be so vastly uncomfortable? Her eyes flicked to the enchanters standing around her. None of them moved. All of them simply stared at her as if she’d grown a third eye.
The hand clutching the side of her head moved to her forehead, just in case. Nope. No third eye. “Well?” she struggled to ask. “Don’t you have to test me or something?”
It was Nilsan who spoke, “She’s demon-free. Demons cannot speak through typical human means.” As she said it, the College guards around them groaned. They’d been looking forward to cutting her down, evidently.
Behind the circle of guards, Cailan clapped. “Bravo! Well done, Lena.” He pushed through the armored men, helping her stand up, much to the utter shock of everyone else in the large room. “Congratulations. You’re now an enchanter.”
“That’s not—” Nilsan was waved off by the prince.
“Semantics,” he said.
“I don’t think it’s—”
Cailan silenced her by shooting her a glare. “Don’t you have to return to your College now? Be gone, all of you. Not you, though. You get to stay here with me.” His glare moved to Lena, melting into a smile that reminded her of the demon who’d taken his form. The one she’d started to have sex with. There was something off about his smile though, like he put up a front.
As the guards and enchanters filed out, Lena mumbled, “With you?”
He moved closer to her. “Not with me, with me—though I’m sure that can be arranged—but here, in the castle. I’ll have those enchanters write up reports on your exam, along with eye-witness accounts from the guards. My father will have no choice but to cancel your execution.” Cailan reached out, touching a strand of her hair between his thumb and forefinger. “You are far too pretty to be put to death, Lena.”
She wasn’t sure if she should thank him or not.
“Alas, for now you must go back into the dungeon,” he added, snapping the same fingers after he pulled them back. The jail guard appeared behind her. “Take her back, but be gentle. She’s a little out of it.” He started to walk away, presumably to lord this over his father, but he stopped a few feet away to add, “Oh, and if I hear you’ve been rough with our lovely mage, I’ll have you strung up by your entrails on the highest peak of this castle.” With that, he walked away with a pep in his step and a hum in his throat.
“I fear for this kingdom’s future more and more every day,” the jail guard muttered before taking her.
She glanced down at her wrists. She couldn’t cast any spells, so she couldn’t ru
n away. Her best chance was to work on the Prince, hope he didn’t go too insane before he let her out. The way he looked at her with a twinkle in his eyes…surely she could use it to her advantage, get him to release her so she could check on her men.
Still, as she was led back to her cell, she said a prayer to any god, old or new, that would listen. Let them be okay. She was as good as dead without them. Bastian, Tamlen, and Vale—she never knew how much they completed her until she was away from them, until she couldn’t go back to them.
The guard chained her to the wall, not even giving her a second glance as he slammed the metal door closed and locked it, swinging the iron key around his fingers as he left her.
This, she swore amongst her sorrow and her desperate hope, this would not be her end.
Zyssept returned the farmhouse, frowning to himself. It was a slight frown, for it took much work to get his facial muscles to move—hopefully it would become easier as time went on, the more he became used to being corporeal once again. But it was a frown nonetheless, one that dominated his face as he popped into existence, right in the middle of a conversation.
“What the fuck?” Tamlen shouted, jumping to his feet. “We were just…we were talking, and then you disappear?” His skin flushed with anger, his fists clenched. All in all, it seemed a rather intense display, given the fact he’d only disappeared to save Lena. “That’s not—that’s not normal.”
Zys thought about telling the reanimated dead man he was a god, therefore he was not normal, but kept it to himself. Instead, he said, “I was with Lena. She was across the Veil.” He noted the rise in tension immediately.
It was Bastian who spoke first. “Why was she across the Veil?”
“If I had to guess, it was to see if she would give into Demonic possession.”
Vale shook his head. “She would never.”
Zys nodded once. “I know, but they do not.” He ran a hand through his hair—it was a much shorter length here than it was there. Shorter hair, he’d seen, was more in style today than the long, flowing strands of eras ago.
Blood and Sorcery: A Reverse Harem Fantasy (Unfortunate Magic Book 2) Page 17