Page 42 of A Dawn of Gods & Fury

Oredai hasn’t spoken a word out loud today and his focus is singular.

I dismiss the question of the crown’s mysterious reappearance for now. “Yes. I am aware.” I wish Gesine were here to guide me. I don’t know what to expect, and Lucretia didn’t prepare me. Is this meeting a formality or is there a purpose here?

Will these elders bow for me? Will they thank me for opening the nymphaeum for their return? She who wears the crown will reign over all. That’s what the inscription on top of the throne suggests—that I am a queen for everyone.

Jarek is at my side when we move for the first step. Spears suddenly angle upward, aiming at his chest.

The elders wish an audience with the Queen for All, Oredai repeats. We must honor their wishes.

The message is clear, even if the words spoken in my head are not.

“No fucking way,” Jarek growls, stepping forward until the blades dig into his leather vest. The Cindrae don’t back down.

“Does your commander hope for the wisps’ healing again?” Oredai croons, smiling. “Our weapons are dipped in vrog poison.”

Jarek blanches, which is, I imagine, the reaction the Cindrae leader hoped for when he chose to speak out loud.

“Anyone who harms my commander will answer to me,” I say evenly. But we don’t have time for healing more injuries and delivering punishments. “Is Lucretia down there?”

The sylx serves her masters.

I’ll assume that’s a yes. “It’s fine, Jarek. I’m rested. Besides, if they wanted me dead, I’m sure they would have had our best friend Oredai kill me in my sleep.”

“Wait.” Jarek trots up the steps to the throne, sending wisps and goblins scattering from his formidable form. When he returns, my crown is held gingerly in his fingertips. “These creatures seem set on ceremony.” He places it on my head before meeting my gaze with a severe, warning one. “Remember who you are and do not hesitate to remind anyone who forgets.”

“Got it.”

“And do not think of going through one of those stones without me.”

“Who’s the queen here?” I say glibly. With a nod of thanks to him and a flat glare for Oredai, I walk past the guards and descend the spiral staircase.

I’ve taken this path and visited Lucretia at least a dozen times, and yet the moment my feet touch the stone floor, I have no idea where I am.

Once a dark and dank circular underground tomb that housed ancient statues, obscure carvings, and a devious serpentine creature, it is neither dark nor dank nor circular anymore.

I’m outside. Where, I can’t say, but it feels almost ethereal, with a hazy blue sky for a ceiling above and grand white stone pillars lining a stretch of plush grass the size of a football field, each blade the same length as if by design. If there’s anything beyond the pillars on any side, it’s hidden by a dense fog.

Where are the portal doors? The ones to connect me to other places in this realm? Where is the door to Cirilea?

It’s a fleeting thought as my focus gravitates to the forms who occupy four matching stone thrones at the center of the space.

Lucretia stands beside them, her lengthy auburn hair collected in a delicate chignon, her typical choice of lewd attire replaced by a modest, high-collared ivory ensemble. “Come forward.” Her voice carries as if caught on an eerie wind.

There is an elder for each version of nymph I’ve come across in Ulysede, from wisp to Cindrae to whatever the goblins and gargoyles are called, and they’re all layered in silky robes of muted colors. Bony, skeletal hands that peek out hint at their age, but nothing about them seems fragile.

There are no gestures of deference, no hint of emotion of any kind as I approach, feeling the weight of their hard, measuring gazes with each step. It’s unnerving. Even my old crime boss, Viggo Korsakov, would smile before he raised his gun.

But I am their queen, I remind myself again.

“Your Highness, it is so kind of you to finally grace us with your presence, after my masters have saved your people from a fate’s curse. Two fates’ curses, if one considers the toxin.” There’s no mistaking the disapproval in Lucretia’s tone; it’s in direct contradiction to her address.

If Jarek were here, he’d yell at her. If it were just the two of us, I’d toss a snappy response. But the four ancient nymph elders stare at me, saying nothing, unmoving, and all I can focus on is the sound of my pulse in my ears. Maybe that’s their goal—to rattle me. Either way, this feels more like a day of judgment than a greeting between queen and subjects. This crown on my head is pointless, a trinket. Lucretia may as well call me an impostor, nothing more than a naughty child playing dress-up.

Remember who you are.

I take a deep breath and let Jarek’s words sink in. Even if I don’t feel like a queen, I can play one. I’m a chameleon, after all. “I needed rest, but I’m here now.”

“And how is my favorite servant? He must be thankful for the aid he received.”

---