Page 137 of Tales of a Deadly Devotion
‘There are stories of dark madness. Where the Old Gods or the princes possess a being for a short period of time. However, their sanity and their life soon run out. The darkness of the summoning burns though their lifeforce. My father believed Emrys would be consumed sooner rather than later. It was why he was adamant for him to never summon that side of his nature.’
He believed it would kill him or drive him mad. Neither had happened, which meant Serus wasn’t possessing Emrys. They were one and the same.
‘You think Montagor was made wrong?’ I asked.
‘I think Varin is trapped in Montagor’s head and will do anything to get out. However, if Varin consumes another vessel of the Old Gods’ power he’ll become more powerful than Emrys. So either he’s opening that seal to summon … or he’s hoping someone will turn up to stop him.’
Varin – one of the princes beneath, a creature of wrath. One that spilled fey blood across the lands and demanded worship. Varin wished to do battle with Serus. Just like in the tales. Only this time, no other princes or Old Gods were awake to pick sides.
‘Emrys should be as far from this shit as he can get and so should you.’ His warning was gentle – concerned, even. Reminding me that Callen was right about those elders.
Of what the Kysillian’s would do if they knew Verr existed. If they knew what lay between me and Emrys.
I didn’t wish to think on that. To think of the elders who slumbered far in the north, ignoring all this pain. Just like those ancient beasts in their tales. I turned my attention back to the table, something dark glinting in a flare of firelight. Sitting amongst those papers was the hilt of a blade. Tarnished silver with black gems decorating the hilt.
The blade of the Old Gods.The echo of Lady Ramsey’s voice penetrated my thoughts.
That darkness crafts blades with demon fire. They gleam and shatter seals. How cold they burn and decimate the fragility of fey magic. Too powerful to exist, even to their own kind.
A chill stung my skin, my magic surging to make the veins in my hands glow faintly with my power. ‘What is that?’
‘The Old Gods’ blade,’ Gideon answered without hesitation. Despite how unsteady I suddenly felt in such an ancient relic’s presence.
Lady Ramsey had known. Of course she had.
‘It’s been here all along?’
Gideon nodded as he tugged at his golden hair. ‘My father found it. It’s how he met my mother. Both of their masters were seeking it. How strange they’d find it long before Emrys was even born, as if something has been guiding us along this path all along.’
Lady Blackthorn was in service to the rebellion. Lord Blackthorn in service to the mad king.
‘The Countess wanted it?’ I demanded. Lady Ramsey had given us that warning and Gideon had dismissed it so easily. Yet now his jaw was tense as he nodded. The Countess was seeking an Old God’s blade.
‘The relic she possesses calls to it. Or the madness does.’ He took something from his desk – the shard from the gobrite’s cage – and placed it on Emrys’s. It slid across the papers to be closer to the blade. Seeming to have a mind of its own, practically vibrating with its need to be connected. Just like my father’s sword when it wished to demonstrate its will.
Only as I faced such strange truths, a different sadness pierced my chest at what that blade meant. ‘Emrys has been like that before. What would Blackthorn do if he didn’t come back?’
Gideon’s brow furrowed with a deeper emotion. ‘It’s said the only way to kill an old god is with their own blade. It’s why they battle between themselves for power and rank. There is no threat greater than their own blood. Kysillians might have buried them and removed their mortal form, but they didn’t destroy that power.’
He swallowed painfully, almost resistant to tell me the rest. ‘I fear my father kept the blade as a last resort.’
My heart sank. For the little boy who never had a chance, never had a moment to falter before they’d labelled him a monster. Emrys would have known by looking at it exactlywhy his father had it. He’d have known it was because no matter what he did … he’d never escape how they feared him.
‘Why is it out now?’ I demanded softly, feeling my skin heat. My fingers curling in anticipation of summoning.
Gideon considered me, watching that fury flicker in my eyes. A small smile coming to his lips. ‘You think I’d hurt him?’
No. I didn’t think he would but the presence of that blade and the threat it posed to Emrys made my magic feral. Especially with the vow I’d just given him so new between us. Seared into my very bones to protect him.
That smile didn’t falter on Gideon’s lips, but hurt sank into his eyes. ‘We were born the same night. Under the crescent moon. A bad omen for a witch, but my mother made certain I was born first. That makes Emrys my little brother.’
He picked up that shard again, such deep pain cutting across his expression. ‘He was mine to take care of and I didn’t protect him. I let my father hurt him. Let him torment him and I let him call it love.’
He tossed that forsaken shard back onto the desk, its clatter so loud in the silence between us.
‘I’d rather commit myself to the fucking saints before I laid a finger on him. Even if he was the darkness promised to ruin this world.’ Gideon sank back into his chair, resting his head in his hands. ‘I should have told him that from the start.’
Weighted with such pain.
