Blake
I wake to full darkness, a nearly full moon painting the bedroom in strips of silver. Moonlight illuminates Marianna and Skye, the latter stretched out like a starfish between us, one fist resting against Marianna’s cheek while the other clutches my wrinkled shirt in a death grip. My body feels heavy, and my brain takes several seconds to register the room around us. I’ve been asleep most of the day, and well into the night, which hasn’t happened in many years.
I’m still not fully awake as I untangle Skye’s fingers from my shirt. She opens her eyes to slits but quickly succumbs to a deep slumber again before I’ve loosened her fingers enough to slip free.
Everything that happened in the last day or so barrels back to me the second my feet touch the floor. I slump on the edge of the mattress, hanging my head in my hands as the visions I saw ripple through my head.
The stars are now quiet, like they’ve done their job and can now rest, just like I have. Bastards.
I change my clothes and splash cold water on my face. I move through the suite on autopilot like my body knows what to do and where to go even though I’m still stuck in my head, still fanning through the damning visions Marianna begged me to give in to, and I did.
Visions of a… crimson future. A bloody, violent future. A future I have to let play out if the visions can be trusted.
Before I know it, I’m in that little study again on the fourth floor. Emerald walls and ceiling height bookshelves lock me in a familiar embrace. This room was generally off limits when I was younger, just a boy let loose in this palace whenever the family gathered. This is where kings met for drinks, for quiet conversation about their families, about succession, war, and trade. I shake the image of Ryatt and my grandfather Isaac sitting in the twin armchairs near the windows before walking to the long, built-in shelving unit on the far side of the room, turning on a rather complicated espresso machine, letting the hum of the appliance yank me back to full awareness.
I’m not the only person in the room, and I knew that the second I breached the threshold, but Soren hasn’t said a word yet. He hasn’t even looked in my direction.
I make a cup of coffee. It’s methodical–movements I make on a daily basis. A mug. Coffee. A perfect pour. No cream, no sugar, no frills. Everything happens exactly like it should–
“You really hurt Maeve’s feelings,” Soren says into the silence.
“I was unaware she had those.”
“Don’t be a dick. This is serious.”
I turn, downing the coffee without so much as feeling the temperature, and set the empty mug on the counter. Soren is splayed out in an armchair, casually, almost lazily, like he’s been here for a while. Waiting for me, I suppose. “What do you want me to say, Soren?”
“You might think I know very little about Maeve. I haven’t had almost a decade of experience with her like you’ve had with Marianna, but she’s at least honest with me. She’s always been wary of you, and for a while, I didn’t really get it. Sure, you lied to her. Sure, you lied and continue to lie to everyone, but I kind of understood why. You’re a simple man, Blake. That’s the meat of it. You know exactly what to do and how to do without getting anyone else involved, but that’s not how this family works.” He taps his fingers on the armrests, arching a brow in invitation to debate his observations.
“Say what you want to say, by all means–”
“You hurt my mate, and now I’m dealing with the consequences of that. I should, in all honesty, kick your ass into oblivion for what you said and did to her, but I… won’t. I get it, okay? You and Maeve have been at odds for years and have had some kind of truce the last year or so, but she truly didn’t know what you were actually capable of.”
“She knew–”
“She did not. Maeve told me she always wondered if you’d end up the enemy, if there would come a point in time when you turned on your family and went dark. She told me she often worried in the years leading up to her coronation that you’d rise to the throne in Crescent Falls and undo everything your great-grandparents accomplished. But you abdicated for her. You came here, for her. You’ve been running this kingdom like a well-oiled machine while she rests with Fallon, all as you’re actively losing your mind while the family has been leaning on you, begging you to do the one thing you knew would send you over the edge into that darkness.” He takes a breath, pausing, before asking, “Am I right?”
I find it impossible to swallow. I manage a short nod. It’s all I can muster.
“And then Marianna came back into your life.”
I close my eyes. “I don’t need you to narrate the last few weeks for me–”
“I have to, Blake, because you can’t put these pieces together, can you? You are hanging on by a thread.”
“You and I are not–”
“What? Friends?” He rises, exasperated. “We’re past that. I know that side of you–the dark side, the side you hide from everyone you’ve ever allowed to get close to you. I’ve seen it with my own eyes, Blake, how calculated and manipulative you can be, how dangerous you are. And I remained by your side, regardless. Call it what you want, but I’m the only person who has truly been in your corner for five years without questioning you–”
“Don’t—”
“Marianna,” he says steadily, pointing his finger at my chest, “came back to you. You did your best to keep her at arm’s length, thinking you’d somehow save her life, but what you were really doing was trying to keep her away from a life of misery with you.”
“Soren, please.”
“You’re destroying yourself trying to be something you’re not.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I’m mated to the most powerful woman in our world,” he rasps, his eyes bright and honed on mine, silently begging me to understand. “And you’re the most powerful man, and you’re my friend. Do you think I don’t see the similarities between you and Maeve? Your undying loyalty to your family? Your shared fears of your own powers? The difference between you, however, is that Maeve has accepted what she is and her fate. You haven’t.”
“I will lose everything, Soren. That’s the difference—if I accept who I am. Not just that, but my fate? All of this–my family, my life–goes away. I will be gone. What remains isn’t something this family can trust. Do you understand?”
“I understand that you don’t think you’re capable of controlling your gifts, but I’ve seen you do it. I saw you, just hours ago, silence Maeve’s flame in a single second. Do you realize how much power that takes? And how easily you controlled it? You’re not giving yourself enough credit, man.”
“I am a god, Soren.” I step toward him, losing my grip on my restraints. “Do you get that? I am a god reincarnated–the God of Death, all right? What am I supposed to do with that knowledge? I want to be able to walk my fucking daughter to school, okay? I want to make dinner for my girls at night without seeing their lifelines splattered all over the walls, okay? I want–I want to go to bed with my mate and be able to hold her in my arms without seeing every Goddess-damned injustice coming her way, but I can’t.”
“You can control it!”
“I don’t know how!”
“Then learn!”
“It’s not that simple–”
“You say you’re a god,” he shouts, his tone bordering on anger. “Act like one, Blake. Maeve says the stars talk to you, so… tell them to shut the fuck up? Maybe? Make them listen. Make them bend your will just like you made me bend to yours for five fucking years.”
My breath comes in short, frustrated rasps. “You don’t–”
“Understand? Fuck no, of course I don’t. I don’t have voices pinging through my skull every given second, but I know, for a fact, I wouldn’t just sit there and allow it to happen. You have two choices, Blake. It’s clear something is happening, that war is coming. I can tell just by the look on your face that you’ve seen it clear as day, and I won’t ask for the details because, honestly, I don’t want to know. But,” he continues, taking a deep breath, “you can either sit here and lose your mate and child by driving them further away, losing yourself to your gifts, or you can finally accept what you are, and who you are, and make that work to your benefit. Fight the darkness, twist it, turn it into something you can continue to use, or you will lose it all. But you already know that.”
I let the silence settle for several long, tense moments. I let it fester like a virus. My mind is a pool of knotted thoughts and tangled decisions. But I meet Soren’s eyes, accepting a fact I’ve known for months but wasn’t ever going to admit.
He is my friend, whether we like it or not. Whether we want it or not.
“You will be Alpha King of the Roguelands. Ryatt was correct when he said that the Roguelands will always choose its king, and it chose you years ago, long before you were even in the Viper’s embrace. It chose you as a kid–a starving, sick, violent kid. You will be king, and every Alpha in that forest will rise when you call on them for aid in the next weeks. It will happen. You will ascend to Ryatt’s throne.”
Soren pales slightly but doesn’t break eye contact.
“Maeve will make the right decision in the coming weeks. She’ll debate it, but she’ll know in her heart she’s making the right choice. Remind her of that.”
“What choice is that?”
“It’s not mine to say.”
Soren tilts his head in confusion but doesn’t press me, which I’m thankful for. The images of the visions I had lace through my mind in vivid detail, along with the guilt of what’s to come, and who will have to bear the brunt of the violence involved.
“Has Lexa been sent back to the Deadlands?”
Soren narrows his eyes. “Why?”
“I’m just asking.”
“She left this afternoon.” He moves toward me. “What’s going on? What have you seen?”
“I need you to do something for me. To promise me something.”
“Another blood oath?”
“No. Just… take care of Marianna in my absence. Skye loves you. Marianna trusts you. If I return, I might not be…. Maeve will decide my fate, and she’s the only one I trust to be able to see if I’m still Blake or if I return as something–or someone–else. But take care of Marianna.”
“You know I will.”
“I can find Hannibal, Soren. If Skye’s dreams are correct, I can find him. I can… go to him, his people, and I have to, because if I don’t, the war coming our way will not be one we win, and…” I taper off, having a hard time putting the meaning of my vision into words. “It has to be me.”
He takes several sharp breaths. “You’re sure you want to do this? I could go with you.”
“You wouldn’t survive the jump.”
A light flickers on in his head, and it’s a relief. “How far away are they?”
“Very.”