Page 131 of What Blooms from Death

Instead, I rose slowly back to my full height, looking over my shoulder at the gateway in the distance, and I tried to keep the conversation focused on learning more about the realms and the tasks before me. “He traveled freely between the different worlds, then?”

“Relatively speaking. It takes a lot of magic to manage it—it’s not something anyone can do on a regular basis anymore, aside from a Vaelora with fully realized powers.”

“Could he have come with me this last time, though?”

“Maybe. But we need a presence in the Above, and it was agreed upon that he would stay there. They’ve been discussing it for some time, via messengers like the vaekin.”

My cheeks burned from a combination of anger and embarrassment over my lack of knowledge. “So my coming here, and you finding me and bringing me to the palace…it was all orchestrated?”

“Only some parts. We didn’t know how your magic would react once you returned to Noctaris, so we could only plan so much. Orin purposely guided you to a point far from the Rivenholt Palace—where the energy of this world was weaker—so your powers would have more time to acclimate before you made your way to us. We thought you would be quicker, though; your magic should have led you directly here. But you veered from the shortest path, for whatever reason, and toward Aleksander instead—we certainly didn’t expect you to find the Light King and drag him along with you into our royal city.”

“That wasn’t in my plans, either,” I muttered.

We were quiet for several minutes. I continued studying our surroundings while trying to balance under the weight of everything Thalia had said. She stood by the gate, her hands occasionally smoothing over the stone arch. She paused several times with her palm against that arch and her head bowed, as if praying. Maybe to the ones who had made the gate, whoever—or whatever—they might have been.

I didn’t want to keep poking her wounds, but I couldn’t help the curiosity still burning inside me. “I didn’t think the Aetherkin ever had children,” I said. “I assumed they remained celibate, like the Vaelora were expected to.”

“It’s true that it wasn’t typical for them to have children. But almost all of the ones who served Calista eventually did. Desperation became a factor when no Vaelora reappeared in Noctaris, even centuries after Calista’s death…and once they realized their children were almost always able to learn how to draw out and manipulate the magic of our world, even if it was to a lesser extent than their parents.”

“…The feyth,” I realized, piecing this together with my lessons from Eamon.

She nodded but averted her eyes. “Sometimes, I think he wanted to have me merely out of a misguided sense of duty—because this world needed more beings who could control its fading magic and keep it going until a more permanent solution was found. And I don’t think I’m the only one who came about because of this. There are a few of us within the palace.”

“Like Eamon, you mean?”

“Yes. Though he doesn’t like to talk about it; both of his parents were Aetherkin, actually. They died sacrificing themselves to fuel the vivaris flames of Erebos.”

“Sacrificing themselves?”

“Yes—in order to carry out a ritualistic pouring of their magic into those flames. That city burns to this day because of them. Kaelen is Eamon and Brynn’s uncle, though Brynn had never met him before our encounter. He is Aetherkin as well, and the last remaining Keeper of the vivaris. He continues to tend to the fires partly in memory of his sister and her sacrifice.”

I shook off the uncomfortable feeling creeping through me. I didn’t want to think of Kaelen, or wonder what had become of him after our dramatic encounter.

Instead, I wondered at yet another unexpected revelation surrounding his niece; I hadn’t witnessed Brynn controlling any Shadow magic—but she’d managed to find and follow mine. She’d trulyseenme, even as a shade. Was it because of some latent power that had reached automatically for mine?

I thought about puzzling this over with Thalia, but her gaze had become distant. Walled off.

“We should probably head back toward the palace,” she said without looking at me.

I didn’t argue and, as we walked, I decided it was time to change the subject. “The glow of the vaekin reminds me of a festival I once attended back in my old kingdom,” I commented. “The Moonweaver Festival. The city was full of lanterns that night, all of them glowing with a similar bluish-purple light.”

She angled her gaze my way to show she was listening. We fell into a friendly enough conversation, despite the questions still lingering in the air.

The night of that festival was one of my clearest memories…perhaps because it was the only time I recalled Orin ever truly gettingmadat me.

Two years ago, the King of Elarith—or the one posing as him, I supposed—had descended upon my kingdom with the goal of gaining even more favor among the subjects of Eldris. He’d taken one of our oldest traditions and put his own hands on it, sparing no expense to create a celebration that the people of Eldris still talked about, even to this day. The glitz and glamor had won over even some of his staunchest opposers.

Only a few had seen it as the propaganda it truly was.

I remembered every detail. The sky thick with stars overhead; the floating lanterns tethered to colorful strings; the dancers spinning in their dazzling, gem-studded costumes; the firework cannons igniting, exploding high in the air and showering the laughing, applauding crowds with smoke and sparks.

I’d worn a dress the color of blood and shadows—fully prepared to end up with both on my hands before the night was over with—and I’d stolen one of those cannons and aimed it at the king as he paraded down the street.

I was one of several rebels who caused chaos that night.

But I was the only one who had aimed directly for the king.

The only one who had still been standing in front of him when the smoke cleared, a clear message easy to read on my lips:Leave.

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