Page 177 of Ash and Feather

He appraised me for a long moment. Sipped from the silver cup he held. Dropped it. Snapped his fingers, and it disappeared in mid-air, leaving behind nothing but purplish-grey smoke. Weaving his fingers in and out of this smoke, he said, “Explain yourself.”

I stared into his unsettling eyes, gripping the leather armrests for support.

Slowly, my tongue loosened, and I began to unleash it all—all the steps that had led me to this moment. All the things that could have stopped me, had I allowed them to.

I told him the words his servant, the Death God, had spoken to me weeks ago—words I finally understood.

But death must come first. I wonder; could you wield that, too?

Death. Destruction. Rebirth. Change.

I was all of the gods of the Shade Court. But more than that—I was all the things I had survived, all the things I’d learned to rise above and to let go of. I still carried these things, but I commanded them, now, and not the other way around.

And I still believed I could use them to build a bridge.

I’d failed my first attempt at this in Altis, but it was not the end of me. That failure had only strengthened my resolve.

I could be the golden bond that brought the jagged pieces together, messy and slippery as they might be. I could connect it all, make it into something new. Guide it with whatever divine ability I possessed.

And this—all of this—was what I told the dark, terrifying being who sat across from me.

He listened without interrupting, rarely blinking his unsettling eyes.

When I finally finished, he leaned back in his chair. Swirled the silver cup back into existence with a precise flourish of his hand. Took a few sips, and then finally asked, “And what is it you want fromme?”

I didn’t hesitate. “You’ve been watching me closely since the moment I emerged from the Tower of Ascension. Sending spies and servants to trace and manipulate my steps—the tellesk. The Death God. And who else? You had some scheme in mind when you allowed me to ascend; I know you did.”

His pale lips pulled into a clever smile, revealing a flash of sharp teeth.

“I can only assume you intended for me to fall into this role of the mediator between realms,” I pressed. “I understand now that this is what I’m meant to do—so I only ask for the power to do it. I know you’re capable of granting it, whatever it might look like. You and your fellow Moraki can build and level realms at will. I will protect the things you built, if only I—”

He held up a hand.

I sucked in a breath and held it, forcing myself to stop talking as I braced myself for his answer.

It was a long time before it came.

He continued to study me as he held out his hand, encouraging the black bird at his boot to hop into his palm.

The bird swiveled its head between the two of us, beady black eyes alert. Judging, it felt like.

“Yes—you have always been a link between the realms,” Malaphar finally said, while scratching under the bird’s chin. “I was only waiting for you to realize it.”

The space around us seemed to shrink to a much less intimidating size.

Malaphar, however, remained intimidating, becoming even more so as he stood and rolled his shoulders—an action that drew the swirling feathers of the room toward him, gathering them across his back.

He crossed the room, heading to one of the many shelves, eyes narrowed on an object in the very center of it. When he walked, some of the feathers at his back rearranged themselves, tumbling downward and forming a cape that fluttered out behind him.

“We made a mistake, trying to crush the Velkyn so quickly and completely,” he said.

I had to work hard to keep my jaw from dropping.

I couldn’t believe he’d just admitted to making a mistake.

“My brethren will not admit to it, but myself…I am the god who imparted knowledge upon the world—all shades of it, good and bad—so how could I not speak up about such problems? How could I not—to use your word—schemeup some solution to fix things?”

It seemed like a rhetorical question, so I didn’t reply.

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