Throne of Fire (Celestra Forever After Book 5)

by Addison Moore

  My heart leaps in my throat as Marshall stomps out of the room. Brody and Ellis hop to their feet and are quick to follow. I grab ahold of Brody’s arm and pull him back a moment.

  “Cliffs Notes, now.” It’s all I can muster. It’s obvious to me there isn’t enough time to speak in complete sentences. It’s becoming a theme with me. As soon as my anxiety level skyrockets, my vocal cords do their best impersonation of Ezrina.

  Brody looks from Logan to me, his features stone cold as if a slaughter were imminent. “Dudley is positive the Fems are inches from declaring war.”

  I shake my head in protest. “I’m sure if that were to happen, Gage would have warned me.”

  Brody steadies his gaze over me, his own sense of rage percolating to the surface. “It’s not if. It’s when.” His brows depress, and he looks beyond distressed. “Skyla, you have to realize at some point that Gage isn’t going to lay out his battle plan for you. Dudley made it clear that the entire point of bringing Gage back from the dead, put the Sectors in the red zone. Our feet are already set to the edge of a cliff, and that resurrected husband of yours is the one who is going to give the final push.”

  “No,” I whisper, mostly to myself.

  “Yes.” He shakes his head, and I can see Chloe playing peek-a-boo in his features. How can one sibling be so wicked and another be so good? The boys pop to mind, and in a moment of paranoia, I quickly pop them right back out. My boys are fine. They’re good. They’re perfect. I’m just rattled, that’s all.

  Logan steps in close. “What’s Dudley going to do with Noster?”

  Brody glares over at him a moment. “Nothing. It’s what Skyla is going to convince them to do. We need a willing Faction to commit to battling the enemy before the war ever starts.”

  “Entailing what?” I try to maintain my breathing. I’m sure we have only seconds before Marshall roars for us to join him. “And why one Faction? We could amass more people with all available Factions pulling together.”

  He shakes his head quickly. “According to regulation, Dudley made it clear the only way not to openly declare war was to have a single Faction appointed as watchmen. Ellis and I scanned the history of each Faction and deduced that Noster has proven strong in both number and skill over the ages. At present, they have the most to offer. Celestra’s numbers are too small. Nevertheless, Dudley nixed Celestra. It wasn’t even considered. The Counts that didn’t join the Barricade were out for obvious reasons, historical lack of loyalty being at the top. Levatio, too minor, Deorsum, too weak. Noster is your best bet.” He leans in, nostrils flaring. “Your only bet. You need to sell this shit to them no matter how badly you may not want to.”

  “Why wouldn’t I want to?” A million thoughts accost me at once. We fought a damn war. I sure as hell don’t want to get dragged back into another one. Please, for the love of all things good, do not get sucked into another war.

  Logan broadens his chest as if he were up for a fight right this minute. “Stop holding back. Tell us what the hell you’re thinking, so Skyla can get out there armed with the knowledge she needs. She can take shit news, Brody. Spill it.”

  Brody’s Adam’s apple rises and falls. “Noster is going to take a hit for this. I don’t think the enemy will show any mercy. They’ll want to make examples out of them. Show the rest of our people what happens when we so openly defy them.”

  Logan sighs. “They’re going to die.”

  “A righteous sacrifice,” I whisper as I try to recall the words from the sacred tome, something about it being prudent for a Faction to make a righteous sacrifice—going before their brothers to circumvent the carnage. Only it sounds to me that it will bring carnage of its own. “This is getting bad.”

  Brody shakes his head as he leads us out. “This is getting good. Stay positive. We win.”

  Marshall’s backyard is already peppered with bodies, most of which I recognize from the Faction meetings. Ivan and Vanessa Watts are huddled with the Noster youth. Makes sense, they train the youth of every Faction. And at the moment it looks as if they’re calming worried hearts. Nicholas Haver stands near the corral speaking with Lionel Jenson, the head of Noster this side of the planet, and I give them both a curt nod. I’m sure they’re anxious to hear what this spontaneous meet and greet is about, but I’m pretty much flying off the seat of my pants. Scratch that. I very much know what I must say, and I only want to say it once. I’m so sick of the little girl in me trying to claw her way out. I didn’t get this far to regress. I’m the leader of the Factions, and to be a leader is sometimes difficult. It comes with great responsibility, and sometimes it comes with decisions that might morph into a death warrant for those involved.

  The fog circles around us, swirling with our every movement as if it too were frantic.

  Ellis pops up, red-faced and sweating as if he just jogged a mile, and judging by how deep and wide the crowd is dispersed, he may have.

  He holds up his phone. “You’ll be speaking with all thirty-three members of Noster leadership. I’ll stand next to you to make sure they don’t miss a word.”

  My heart thumps wild. Noster must already be on heightened alert now that they know they’re being singled out.

  Marshall comes over, threads his arm through mine in a caustic manner, and leads me to the edge of the corral, causing about a dozen llamas to disperse as if they too were eager to give us a moment alone.

  His eyes burn, they flicker all on their own, and for once there is not one sexual connotation locked up in his features. Marshall is on fire, alive with anger, with fury, you can practically see the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

  “Skyla”—he presses my name out as sweetly as possible, girding me for what comes next, I’m sure—“you must enforce your authority should they decline the offer. This is not up for negotiation. They can and they will fight for Celestra.”

  “You mean for the Sectors.” I can’t help but go there. I need Marshall to understand that I am acutely aware of their role in this battle. I am not being played for a fool, and nobody in any celestial realm can manipulate me. Gage bounces through my mind, those heavenly eyes, that dimpled grin, and I bounce him right back out. My heart gives another threatening wallop. “But for Celestra, too.” I nod for him to proceed with his diatribe. It’s clear Marshall is campaigning hard for my assistance, and I’m going to assure him he has it. I would move the heavenlies for Marshall, and I’ll prove that to him.

  “This is what you’ll say. As per the regulatory principles of wartime among celestial bodies, it is an initiation of war to elicit the use of more than one Faction to watch over their brothers during a time of safety. It’s clear the enemy is amping up for battle. Tell them the time has come to sacrifice for the greater good of all. Noster is highly respected, with skills coveted above all the Factions. They are a cornerstone, and they have the power to uphold our victory—uphold the upper hand of Celestra. Not only for the good of the Factions, but for the good of mankind. There is no other way, no other Faction that can assure our victory. They can and they must do whatever they can to deflect the Barricade and to stifle the Fems. If these brute beasts and their wicked schemes are not thwarted, darkness will fall over the earth that has not been seen in ages. Noster itself will fall hardest to their barbarianism for attempting to dampen their defenses. They will pay in blood and tears should they not succeed in their mission.”

  “I’m not telling them that.” I pull my arm free. “Are you insane? You want me to tell them I’m leading them all into a slaughter, that I command it? Have you met a single person on this planet? There’s not enough suicidal people in the world to fill the shoes of death you’re prescribing. That is not how you sell a war.”

  His features harden. “That was the truth. Are you suggesting a lie?”

  “I’m suggesting a dose of sugar with the venom.”

  “To ease their pain?”

  “And to ease mine.” I glance at the bourgeoning crowd. “You know I never expecte
d my position to be an easy one. I’ve known from the beginning that death was tied to my life like a milestone, starting with my father.” My breathing grows rapid as plumes of luminescent fog pour from me. “But the war—people died.” I glance to Logan as he speaks with Brody and Ellis near the house. “Good people, who didn’t have my mother eating out of the palms of their hands and they stayed dead. Separated from the ones they love, filling those left behind with pain. Then the Videns—” A tear runs down my face, leaving the icy air to lick it. “I lost the entire Viden youth, Emily’s brother—to Wesley’s demonic schemes. I’ve seen bloodshed, lives lost.” I shake my head as I look to the people milling about, innocent as lambs. “We didn’t ask to be born into this, Marshall. Not one of us gave the green light to play a part in some ongoing angelic chess match.”

  Marshall’s eyes light up a brilliant shade of cardinal. “He has made from one blood every nation of man to dwell on the face of the earth, and has determined their pre-appointed times and boundaries of their dwelling. Familiarize yourself with the word, Skyla.”

  “Acts 17:26. I am familiar. The Master has appointed when and where we shall live. Who we shall be.” No sooner do I spit the words out like gravel than a horrific pain rips through my chest, and Marshall catches me as I fall against him. This is real. My hands are tied, and so are theirs. “I have to do this.” It comes out disbelieving as I scan the crowd once again. “It’s as good as done.”

  “That’s my girl.” He sets me upright and plants a kiss over my forehead. “I’ll have details of specific duties distributed through Master Bishop and Harrison.” He frowns slightly and I nod, acknowledging the fact I agree with him. It’s almost frightening we’ve gifted Ellis so much responsibility, but so far it hasn’t exploded in our faces. “There’s a cache of spirit swords under a protective hedge within the confines of my chambers,” he whispers so low it sounds like the hissing of a snake. “Bishop has the ability to travel. He’ll be the one to arm the leadership if need be.”

  “We don’t need spirit swords to kill anyone in the Barricade.”

  His jaw tenses. “They’re to temporarily disable the Fems. If and when they’re needed, they shall be available to your people. As your spirit husband, what’s mine is yours.” He gives a wink at his craftiness. It looks as if our spiritual nuptials hold some weight when it comes to the Justice Alliance, and my brilliant spirit husband figured out how to circumvent their wrath a long time ago.

  “And here I thought we married for love.”

  He gives a solemn bow. “I assure you it is the only form of affection I feel toward you.”

  “Very well.” I take a step away then pause abruptly. “Marshall? Can the spirit sword disable Gage?” The words feel like traitors seeping from my lips.

  Marshall embeds his gaze into mine, a slight curve of a wicked grin playing on his lips. “It requires a unique blade to do this.”

  “Do you have it?” My heart thumps its way up my throat, and I could only hope to choke on it.

  He tips his head back. His eyes slit to nothing. “There are two in existence. I am in possession of one, and the other belongs to the one from whose seed your former husband was conceived.”

  “Demetri.” I cast a glance to the ground.

  The crowd begins to roar around us, and Marshall’s chest expands the width of the island. “It’s time, Skyla.”

  Logan and Brody head this way, and I meet them at the entry to the woods that back up against Marshall’s expansive estate. Ellis stands to my left with his phone already pointed my way—exposing me to the Noster masses around the world, and my heart drums wild as hundreds of eyes settle over me.

  Logan takes up my hand. What if they’re unwilling?

  I clear my throat as the crowd quiets down to a rumbling whisper. They don’t have a choice. Just like you and me, Logan. I believe this battle was ordained for them long before Brody and Ellis did the Faction math.

  Logan sighs, and a plume of pale fog gives away his disdain for what comes next. I think both Logan and I realize that the faces before us, the men, the women, the young, and the old—they are in some capacity already a righteous sacrifice on behalf of our people, as are we. Although—life and life in abundance is something that my mother will most likely see to it that Logan and I receive. I don’t feel that’s the case for the poor Noster souls before me. I have had many a difficulty in dealing with the Factions, one strong victory, several road bumps thereafter, but never has my heart weighed so heavily, never has my spirit ached so desperately as it does now. I look to Cannon Stark and Lionel Jenson, the Paragon chapter leader of the Faction before me, and Noster’s Western Hemisphere leader respectively, and an amicable smile comes to my face, same one my mother offers to me freely before she chops my world in two over and over again. At least now I know where I get it. I know the rich well of deceit that I can draw from to pull off a heresy such as this. But in all regards, this is a war, a civil war, celestial brother against celestial brother—wife pitted against her own husband, angel against angel.

  They say life comes in stages, a time where you depend on others, a time when others depend on you—and the latter has been gifted to me in spades. In the grand scheme of things, Celestra must remain seated in their place—the Sectors must remain standing at their post in the heavenlies. As with any war, there will be casualties. And those who freely gift their life for the cause will one day be honored as martyrs.

  I tip my head back and take in a breath of icy Paragon air, the mist laughing as I beg it to warm my lungs.

  My gaze feasts on the throngs before me with new eyes. These are the bones and the sinews which will hold Celestra up—hold our people, the world, in its strong arms as they drench the earth with their blood. Their blood will speak to us long after they are gone. And I will make sure the Factions never forget what they have to say. I take a deep breath and nod to the angelic offering before me.

  “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen of the good Faction, Noster.” My voice booms strong and clear over the vast expanse of bodies. “I have good news for you.” And I do. It is a gift to sacrifice one for many. Our Christ knew that, and we will understand this, too.

  I tell them everything Marshall has directed, watch as their expressions turn from curiosity to pride. I rally the troops, whip them up in a frenzy until they are panting at the opportunity to take their positions. Once we’re through, I look to Marshall—our eyes cut through the pomp and circumstance, the school spirit type elation rocketing through the air, and he offers a curt nod. The look on his face assures me he is not satisfied yet by a long shot. No. Marshall wants results. He needs them. He offers a hard glare my way, vitriolic as a threat. Marshall demands that the results happen fast. I glance to my right in search of Logan, but he’s off with Brody, lost in the crowd, streamlining what will undoubtedly be the largest slaughter of our people. I know this already. There is nowhere to turn but here. Sometimes, as a leader, you make difficult choices. You listen to those you trust, observe the game board, and decide what move comes next to avoid obliteration. This is a hard move but a necessary one.

  I take a step toward the crowd in an effort to make my way to Marshall, but the sound of a woman’s laughter stops me cold. It’s coming from behind, and I turn abruptly. Something about that bubbling giggle sounds alarmingly familiar. I know that laugh. I own it. It sounds just like me.

  And then I see her, the little girl, the white horse by her side, both clear as vellum, two ghosts with a belt of fog wrapped around them. Her haunting eyes glare over at me, all traces of glee wiped from her face. I take a step in their direction with an unsteady gait, an unsettled spirit, and they evaporate like smoke. Whoever the hell that is, she has my attention.

  Lionel Jenson calls my name, and I head that way to tend to my people.

  I press all thoughts of the haunted little girl out of my mind for now.

  There is a war to be fronted, a battle to be staved off. Or started. It’s beginning to feel an awf
ul lot like the latter, and I wonder if I’ve just been goaded into a war I want nothing to do with.

  It wouldn’t be the first time.

  Gage

  As cloistering as the earth now feels—in my new body, with my soul having seen the face of God—it feels that much more like heaven than paradise ever did. It doesn’t matter how strangulating it is to be tethered to the planet once again—without Skyla, without my boys, it would feel like a certain hell anywhere else. But for now, I’m high above that infernal plane that houses those I love, in my own realm gifted to me by none other than my infernal father. Demetri cornered me in the Landon house and informed me that we were about to take a little field trip. No sooner did the words leave his demonic lips than the world around us shifted, and here we are in that arid space far above Paragon—the new realm that Sage insisted be mine.

  My precious daughter runs from out of a thick fog permeating the area, and I crouch down just in time to have her leap joyously into my arms.

  “Father!” she squeals with delight, and I can honestly say this is one of the few times Sage has come across like a child.

  “I’m no child.” She gives an impish grin, kicking her feet lightly as she swims back to the ground. “And yes, I can hear you when we touch. Here we share the gift Celestra celebrates so pridefully on Earth.” She scowls a bit as she says Celestra, and my insides tense at the thought of her so openly ruing her own lineage.

  Her long dark hair is curled in ringlets, offsetting those heavenly blue eyes. Sage is a living doll—only she’s not living, not in the traditional sense, at least. But her spirit, her exuberance for life—true life—is unmatched by anyone I’ve met.

  She looks to the demon to our left. “Demetri—you haven’t shown him a thing yet, have you?” Her tone is curt, downright scary, and every word is drenched with a threat.

  Demetri gurgles a dark laugh. “My love, I would no sooner disobey your wishes than cut off my own arm.”