Page 8 of Dark Master's Redemption

“You are ants, because that is how celestials see you,” Ilyov says with less coldness now that I’m trying to play ball, though it comes with a heaping load of condescension as he makes his point. “The immortal celestials, the Ascendants and Descendants, are not concerned with the lives of mortals. Even the strongest Fae, Dark Fae, and Vampires are still considered mortal by those sublime beings, simply because we can die. Ascendants and Descendants do not die, they return their energy to a state of their choosing after they disincorporate. Then they do something else with their unending lives, elsewhere. Therefore, you and I are only ants to them. Mortal, small, and expendable. We are chess pieces to get them what they want, and the three of you are being severely manipulated by a chess grandmaster. To get him what he wants—at your expense.”

“You know about the Gold Eyes,” I say, understanding part of what Master Ilyov is trying to tell us.

“Know about him?” Master Ilyov waves a hand at us as his pale eyes pierce me, frigid. “I feel his energy seething through all three of you, even Quinn, in his Revenant state. For the Gold Eyes was all three of your Maker, draining you and leaving you to survive or die, and awaken as Dark Fae. It made you, it wants something from you, and it’s manipulating all three of you to get whatever it wants. If you ever wish to gain true control of your magic and your destiny, you three will have to learn how to break free of the Gold Eyes’ bloodline curse. The curse of its own blood that it fed you, to awaken you to its darkness and trap you in its power and agenda in the Night.”

“Can you help us break free of the Gold Eyes’ bloodline and influence?” I ask now, as I understand what Master Ilyov is suggesting.

Even as something dark inside me snarls at him—in rage.

“The question is… will he let you go?” Vasily Ilyov raises a silver-white eyebrow at me now, as if he felt that sudden rage inside me. As black rainbows heave from me, flowing around the room in my hope and trepidation, he watches it, evaluating.

Waving a hand at my display of magic, his intense eyes return to me.

“For even now,” he says, “the magic that has been hellspawned inside you cannot help but do his bidding. The curse of your bloodline is that it wants to gain power for the Gold Eyes, because that is who created it. It desires to do his will and never break loose of his tether. Because he made it, and he controls it still. Free will does not exist in this equation—not yet. Not until you can master the Music of the Spheres, break free of your Maker, and create your own bloodline and, therefore, your own destiny. Which I can teach you. If his influence over you is not too strong for you three to be taught.”

“What do we have to do, to receive your teaching?” Lucca is strangely quiet now, as I see the I’ll go to hell and back for those I love part of him surface. He focuses on the task at hand now, rather than continue to be furious at Master Ilyov’s demeaning manner.

Vasily Ilyov regards him then. Cocking his head, his icy gaze drills into Lucca—and I feel Lucca shiver beside me, as if Ilyov sent one of his truth-serum lances right through Lucca’s brain, reading something about him.

“Perhaps you can be taught.” Vasily Ilyov's voice is quiet. “If there is hope for you, then there is hope for Quinn. Very well. We begin tonight at sundown. Let me caution you, however, that love is your weakness, your enemy, and your power. The three of you love rashly and with abandon, which is what the Gold Eyes gave you in its bloodline when you awoke as Dark Fae. But you have yet to find true love—which is divine in all forms. I sense you have had a taste of it… it gives you courage now, when otherwise you would fracture and fall at everything you are up against. But I warn you, this process will not be easy—especially for you, Prince of the Summer Fae. Because what you and Quinn have that Ariana does not is hubris. You believe your history on this earth has made you into something. It has not. It has made you egotistical. You must divorce yourself from that and from everything you think you know if you wish to start again. And create real power… the likes of which you never even imagined in your wildest dreams.”

Master Ilyov’s speech has me and Lucca staring at him in silence now. As Lucca sits up straight on the couch, he says, “I can do this. I swear it.”

“Perhaps.” Master Ilyov’s icy gaze drills into him, making Lucca shiver as his eyelashes flicker.

As Vasily Ilyov pins me with his frigid gaze next, I feel his icicle-spear truth serum spike through my mind. I open to it, letting him find whatever he’s looking for. As I feel his dire lance search through me, I feel him settle in every part of my body. I feel ice cold, yet somehow glowing warm, all at once.

Like being warmed by the brightest sun on the coldest winter day.

“You are the one who will pull this together,” Master Vasily Ilyov says. His truth-reading departs, though it leaves a flavor of peppermint, ice storms, and sunlight breathing all through me now. “You are the one with the soul for this endeavor, Animante Dark Fae. For I feel within you a most stalwart nature; a dedication to the truth, always, even when it is most hidden inside us. Only by uncovering every bit of that truth can we find the true artistry of ourselves. And awaken from the dream into reality.”

As Master Ilyov speaks, I think for the second time today of that alternate Vision of a Knight painting Quinn donated to the Pitti Palace’s auction. It feels like ages ago, but Ilyov’s words remind me of the sleeping female knight in that portrait; surrounded by a darkly angelic Vampire and a demonically bright Fae, I see now how those two beings resemble Quinn and Lucca.

The knight in the painting was wearing armor, but I have the strangest feeling now that if one had removed that bright helm and shining plate, she would have looked like me. As Ilyov pins me with his icy intensity, I know I’m the knight, fighting to wake up from the dream into reality with my two celestials beside me.

Because this reality the Gold Eyes is orchestrating for us is the dream. A nightmare I need to fight to wake up from, if we’re ever going to discover the truth of ourselves and take control of our destiny.

At last.

“I will wake, out of the dream,” I say now, knowing with the deepest part of my power that I’ve spoken true.

“Hold to that, when all seems to crumble around you.” Master Ilyov is almost compassionate now as he watches me. “You must remember: the only thing that is crumbling is the dream. When you wake, a whole new world will surround you. You may shape that world to the celestial song of your spirit, rather than to your mortal will… which will only ever bring dominion and ruin. Are you ready to begin?”

“I am ready,” I say as a sensation of rightness moves all through me. Something else protests deep inside me now, though—gnashing its teeth as it floods me with darkness. It makes midnight rainbows whirl around me again, conflicted about my answer. Though Ilyov watches my power intently, my answer seems to satisfy him. At last, he nods.

His icy gaze drilling into Lucca, seeking an answer.

“Are you ready?” Master Ilyov’s voice is cold iron, as he challenges Lucca next.

“I am ready.” Lucca nods as he grips my hand on the couch, stalwart. “Whatever you’ve got, throw it at us. We will master it and emerge victorious over the Gold Eyes, and get Quinn back in the process.”

“The nature of your words tells me how little you understand,” Ilyov bites then as he shakes his head. “But your heart-oath will do. I will tell you this much: rest for the day and prepare yourselves. For you must make ready to unlearn everything you think you know about the world, yourself, and magic. We will start from the beginning, and you will be like ants. You will learn to see the world in a new way, as ants do. And then you will begin to move mountains… starting from a single grain of sand.”

With that, Master Ilyov rises. He does not say goodbye, merely waves a hand and whirls out into his wintery winds of diamond-fine snow and ice. Nothing is left but a precipitous drop in temperature where he stood. As the blazing fire in the hearth re-warms the room, Lucca and I stand. Draining his alcohol, Lucca sets his glass on a table nearby, then rubs my arms with his hands.

“Are you ready for this?” he asks, as he gazes deep into my eyes.

“No. And yes,” I say honestly, because everything about what we’re going to do sets me on-edge.

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