Page 136 of Tales of a Deadly Devotion
The house as always, seemed to sense my unease – a sliver of golden light crept across the room, the bedroom door opening ever so slightly. From the rustle of papers I heard beyond, I knew it didn’t lead into the hallway.
Then I realised, Gideon had taken care of Emrys. He’d left to see to William and I knew without a doubt he’d probably assessed Alma too – even at the risk of getting bitten.
Yet, who had checked on him?
Careful not to disturb Emrys, I slid from the bed and pulled on my robe.
I made my way to the door to find the study beyond bathed in nothing but firelight, playing over the small form of Alma curled up on the chaise before it. So tightly I wondered if she still thought she was in cat form, her dark curls poking out in disarray from beneath the blanket concealing her.
Gideon sat at his desk, a glass of amber liquid in his hand.
‘Gideon?’ I asked, watching him turn with one raised brow as if anticipating my interruption. Looking just as tired as I felt. Only I understood his reluctance to rest.
‘Before you lecture me … it’s fucking apple tea,’ he sighed, taking another sip from the glass before he sat forward so his elbows rested on his knees and rubbed his neck with those metal fingers, wincing as though they pinched the skin. ‘How is he?’
‘Sleeping.’
‘Thank you.’ He looked up at me but defeat still sat heavy on his shoulders as he turned his attention to Alma. ‘I told her to go to bed. Unsurprisingly, she told me to sod off.’
A quiet laugh left me. How I missed her when she was right there. How our quiet moments alone seemed so seldom.
‘What of William?’ I asked.
‘Chucking his guts up. He never was good with portal stones – never mind whatever in the dark gods’ name that was,’ Gideon sighed. ‘I gave him a tonic and put him to bed. Had to move about fifty fucking brambles off his bed.’
He held up his hand as evidence, showing the small red scratches across his non-metal palm that made me smile.
I was unsure of what to say after the strange intimacy of the last few hours. My eyes fell to the papers scattered on Emrys’s desk between us, searching for anything to talk about. Seeing uneven letters, wobbly as if made by a child’s hand, the corners covered in small drawings.
‘These are children’s notes. Are they William’s?’ I frowned, turning another page. Seeing the detailed words of Verr history. Line after line, so neat.
‘They’re Emrys’s,’ his answer was reluctant, almost guarded. ‘Father took him to the ruins. Made him write down their secrets. From as young as he could understand. I think that’s why he’s always been committed to understanding it. Even now.’
Of course. He’d understand Verr even if he’d never heard it.
Grief clawed at my heart for the boy he’d been. Made to feel that he was a curse. A danger.
‘He was only a child,’ I whispered. I hated it. Hated how long he’d feared this and it had come to pass. ‘He isn’t like Montagor.’
Emrys wasn’t cruel and he wasn’t mad. He didn’t seek to destroy this world or the fey that occupied it. He didn’t crave power. Not like the stories claimed he should. He’d lost control in that village because he was trying to protect something. Not mindlessly tear it apart.
Gideon rubbed at his temple, wary with his own theories. ‘I don’t think Emrys and Montagor were made the same way.’
The pages slipped from my grasp. ‘What do you mean?’
He sat back in his chair, the metal of his finger whirring as they drummed on his knee. ‘The Old Gods were said to be tricksters and bargain makers. The demon princes weren’t really born, as such – they pass on their entire essence into anything they create. I believe Emrys was born, why the control of his magic is so similar to fey. That Serus indeedwilledhim to be created.’
‘Why would Serus will that?’ Why would the Old God wish to wake? And if the Old God did … why wouldn’t he do something more destructive with his power?
Gideon moved to Emrys’s desk, turning the pages littered there until he pulled out a depiction of a dark figure, the crescent moon and an ancient sword sketched close by.
‘Serus was said to be the guardian of his people. It was why he took a cursed blade to the heart rather than sacrifice them. There also aren’t any records from the old ruins of him harming the fey. Nor his sister, the twin moon, Acara.’
Acara. The seer. Queen of the Damned. I knew only fragments of her. Daughter of the Old Gods. The only daughter. Yet, if Serus’s goal wasn’t to harm the fey, why would his tales be so tangled with that of the darkness beneath?
Gideon turned over another page, showing the other depictions of the Old God in question, the lamb standing beneath the crescent moon. ‘The siblings acted as guardians, the two united could tame the deadly night and keep the other more troublesome gods at bay.’
Yet the sealing of the earth would have torn them apart. Forced them beneath and rendered that protection useless.
