Within the Solstice Cages: The Mage, #2

By Sadie Hewitt

In the action-packed sequel to As the Fallen Rise, friendships are tested, enemies are around every corner, and one woman has the weight of three realms resting on her shoulders.

The only person who can help is the one she hates the most.
Driven by a gut-wrenching tragedy, Delia agrees to embark on a mission to Vatican City in hopes of finding answers about a secret society. And, even though the only person who can help her is her enemy, being constantly reminded that she made a deal with the devil herself is painful. There's more to the investigation than meets the eye, though, and Delia risks losing everything she loves if only to find out the truth.

The true heir to the fae throne must face the courts after two hundred years of hiding.
Odette Milne would have stayed hidden forever, if not for the sinister disappearance of her only friend's father. But the home she returns to is nothing like the one she left behind. Ruin, slavery, and devastation are the rule of the land. Odette must make a choice; escape into hiding once again or sacrifice her life for a place she'd run away from for centuries.

The mage has it all- until her life crumbles from underneath her.
A bright career, powerful magic, a found family...but Greer Myers is watching everything fall apart. And worse, she has no one to blame but herself. An involuntary visit to the underworld leaves her resolute and vengeful, but her only focus now is getting back home. She'll do whatever it takes to make things right, even if it means crossing Samsara to get there.

Three worlds on a collision course. Battles looming on the horizon. War is coming...or it's already here.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sadie Hewitt
• Release date: Jan 10, 2024
• ISBN: 9798987643242

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Copyright © 2024 Sadie Hewitt

All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without the prior written permission of the copyright owner, except for the use of brief quotations in articles or reviews.

Editing by Mozelle Jordan

Cover art by Rebecca Frank

Paperback ISBN: 979-8-9876432-5-9

E-book ISBN: 979-8-9876432-4-2

To all of those grieving the loss of friendships and lovers through time, separation, or death…

Let's rip of the band-aid together, shall we?

Within the Solstice Cages is a paranormal/urban fantasy set in three realms where all things wicked, dark, and dangerous collide.

This story includes elements of battle, hand-to-hand combat, anxiety-inducing situations, blood, slavery, kidnapping, graphic violence, death of all kinds, including a drug overdose, graphic language, exploration of grief after the death of a loved one, on-page consensual sex, and mention of off-page non-consensual sex.

Readers who may be sensitive to these, please continue with caution.

Welcome to Samsara.

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Contents

PROLOGUE

PAIGE

1.ONE

2.TWO

3.THREE

4.FOUR

5.FIVE

6.SIX

7.SEVEN

8.EIGHT

9.NINE

10.TEN

11.ELEVEN

12.TWELVE

13.THIRTEEN

14.FOURTEEN

15.FIFTEEN

16.SIXTEEN

17.SEVENTEEN

18.EIGHTEEN

19.NINETEEN

20.TWENTY

21.TWENTY-ONE

22.TWENTY-TWO

23.TWENTY-THREE

24.TWENTY-FOUR

25.TWENTY-FIVE

26.TWENTY-SIX

27.TWENTY-SEVEN

28.TWENTY-EIGHT

29.TWENTY-NINE

30.THIRTY

31.THIRTY-ONE

32.THIRTY-TWO

33.THIRTY-THREE

34.THIRTY-FOUR

35.THIRTY-FIVE

36.THIRTY-SIX

37.THIRTY-SEVEN

38.THIRTY-EIGHT

39.THIRTY-NINE

40.FORTY

41.FORTY-ONE

42.FORTY-TWO

43.FORTY-THREE

44.FORTY-FOUR

45.FORTY-FIVE

46.FORTY-SIX

47.FORTY-SEVEN

48.FORTY-EIGHT

49.FORTY-NINE

EPILOGUE

Chapter

Acknowledgements

About the Author

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PROLOGUE

Agnes

Year 1656

Gripping a heavy bucket of water, Agnes had forgotten how goddamn cold the Kingdom of Bohemia was during the winter. How frigid the air was when it passed through her lungs. How the icy rain stuck to her hair and froze, leaving her in a constant state of damp. How, no matter the number of layers she put on, the wind still bit through the wool.

So. Goddammed. Cold.

Agnes had treated more than her fair share of human villagers for frostbite the last month, many of whom would have lost fingers and toes without her intervention. Most of them were willing to look past the tinctures, rubs, and potions she handed out just to get a taste of the healing warmth only she could provide.

Of course, not one of them was screaming witch…yet. Not in this weather. The chances of that possibility would rise when the storm cleared and the temperature rose, though.

Agnes approached the familiar house she had built before the freezing rains set in. It was so different from the timber-framed farmhouses in the village, mostly because the style of the single-room cottage was one she still preferred after all of these years. The hearth with an open flame, her dried herbs hanging from the rafters, her bed shoved into the corner. It reminded her of her youth; when her and her mother would sit by the fire in the dead of winter looking over the grimoire that only Agnes could read.

Growing up, their cottage was in the middle of a glen, muddy and typically awash with rainwater. Agnes would practice spellwork and her mother would sew thick spools of wool into skirts, shawls, and full-length shirts for them to prepare for the upcoming seasons. Periodically, they would look up at one another and smile over the crackling flames, Agnes wondering how life could get much better than this.

Over five hundred years later, the cottage she lived in now was backed to the river, a wide-mouthed one that was fed by the mountain streams in the distance, and it still left her with plenty of room to plant her garden when the summer months allowed.

Not now though. Now it was too goddamn cold.

As she reached the front to her cabin, Agnes’s fingers clasped the iron knob and she shoved her shoulder into the wooden door, a flurry of snow and wind following her over the threshold.

I thought I was going to find your frozen body on the bank of the river.

Agnes' eyes darted up at the voice to see a man standing near the small table Agnes had set for lunch before leaving earlier in the day. She took in his handsome face, high cheekbones, raven black hair. And rolled her eyes.

Next time I'm sending you out there, she retorted, lowering the hood of her green cloak before tugging the strings at her collarbones.

The man put down the knife he was holding. He had taken over chopping the dried herbs Agnes had started before venturing out into the storm for a fresh bucket of river water. Standing up from the table, he sauntered over to her and grasped the wet cloak to pull it from her shoulders before hanging it on a peg near the hearth. The icy droplets were already beginning to thaw, steadily dripping from the hem.

I distinctly remember telling you that I would go.

Agnes threw him a withering look, setting down the water-filled bucket near the front door. Afterward, she paused near the hearth to hold her hands to the fire. The flames licked at the frozen tips of her fingers, sending waves of relief thrumming through her body. She sucked in a deep breath through her nose, taking in the scent of burnt, smoky wood and dried rosemary. The logs under her cauldron crackled merrily, sending sparks tumbling onto the stone floor.

The man returned to the table, picking up the knife once again. The father of that werewolf pup returned this afternoon while you were gone.

Oh? Agnes asked, glancing over her shoulder, admiring his black curtain of hair as it cascaded over his chest while he remained focused on the herbs. A quarter inch cut— just as she liked it. And did he pick up the potion as I told him to?

He chuckled. Not without grumbling how in his day he didn't have fancy potions to lessen the pain of the first transition.

Agnes scoffed. One would think you wouldn't want your children in pain, especially needlessly terrible pain you've experienced yourself. Her heart stuttered as she thought back to her own daughter, Beatrice, now long gone centuries ago.

Agnes barely had enough time with her, certainly not long enough for her daughter to have remembered her. It seemed silly to ponder on, really, considering Agnes had purposefully gotten pregnant by the local farmer's son as a means to an end.

The line needs continuing, her mother told her proudly when Agnes had been eighteen years of age. I did it for you, my mother did it for me. We have a duty, my love, to provide for this world.

By the end of the month, it only took her and the farmer’s son four half-hearted romps in a hay field. Well, half-hearted on Agnes’s part. He certainly held up his end of the bargain by providing her with Beatrice.

And Beatrice was perfect. Large, hazel eyes. Wavy locks of brown hair. Freckles adorning her nose and upper cheeks. Agnes could have been content for eternity just loving her, but near Beatrice's eighth birthday, Agnes became the Mage and never saw her again. She had been careful to steer clear in case the Paladin Society came sniffing.

The man set down the knife again and looked over to her, assessing the sudden shift in her tone. Agnes swallowed as she shook her head, adding, at least he picked it up. She promptly turned back to the fire, suddenly missing the humid rains and warm sun of Thailand and Cambodia.

She hadn't been back to this side of the world in nearly twenty-five years, opting to move around for the daemons to have equal opportunity in accessing her magic. Agnes had to remind herself that she missed these wild winters while she was stuck traveling through India during monsoon season. Turns out, the grass was, indeed, not greener on the other side.

As the man watched Agnes continue to attempt to thaw herself in front of the fire, the same thought seemed to cross his mind. He bent at the waist and leaned his elbows against the table before absent-mindedly saying, I seem to remember a summer. Mmm…ten years ago, perhaps? Where you complained every single day about the sweltering heat of Dai Viet.

Agnes looked over her shoulder at him once again and clicked her tongue. She rose to standing, taking a moment to adjust her skirts and woolen hair covering. I don't seem to remember asking, she said pointedly and watched as his eyes darkened, glinting just like the heated flames behind her.

Their eyes connected and Agnes felt her core clench.

You know, he began, not removing his eyes from hers as he straightened and stood, weaving around the side of the table. We've been together centuries now and I think I love you more today than I did then. He approached her slowly as he placed his hands on her chilled cheeks and leaned down to kiss her softly.

I hope so, Agnes replied with a smile. It would be a shame if you felt the need to trade me in for a younger Mage.

He nipped at her nose playfully as she ran her hands up the front of his linen shirt. Maybe not for a younger Mage, but certainly a goat or two.

Agnes laughed as she stood on her tip-toes to plant her lips on his once more. His hands glided to the back of her head, falling down to her waist, then drawing her in closer as he deepened the kiss.

You're still freezing, he murmured against her lips. I may have a secret to warm you up.

Is that so? She asked, sliding her thumbs into the waistband of his trousers. I may be open to you showing me.

The man smiled again as his hand cupped her breast. Agnes was just getting into the rhythm of her tongue exploring his when a knock sounded on the front door. It was less of a knock, though, and more of a pounding. The man let go of her and quickly made his way to her bed, pulling the dagger he had gifted to her from under the mattress where she kept it hidden.

The three gemstones embedded in the hilt shone against the firelight.

Agnes! Agnes. Let me in, will ya? It's cold enough to freeze the teats off a frog!

The man groaned, his fist relaxing around the hilt of the dagger before walking back toward Agnes and resting his forehead on hers as he took her hand into his. How did he find you so quickly? He asked, letting go of her hand to lean against the wooden table.

Cian makes quick work of anything he sets his mind to.

Agnes walked toward the front door and tugged it open, seeing the familiar vampyre on the other side of the threshold.

Fuckin' hell, Cian said in his thick Irish brogue, pushing past her while rubbing his arms. He didn't hesitate in peeling his coat off and steering toward the fire where she was just a moment ago. Three months of walkin' to get here. Thank our Lord the fire is hot. Do you know how many villages I had to pass through? Jonas is in the forest still. Probably left a trail of bodies from-- He turned to warm his backside, spotting the man at the table for the first time. Who are you?

The man arched a brow at the vampyre, whose eyes had dropped to the dagger still in his hand. The man snorted, tossing the blade onto the quilt. I'm leaving, he announced, taking his own cloak off the second peg by the hearth and wrapping it around his shoulders.

So soon? Agnes asked, her heart dipping in disappointment.

I'll be back in a while, he replied with a wink, fastening the cloak's button and pulling open the door, sending in a third flurry of white. The flames in the hearth flickered with the cold breeze, the snow and sparks dancing together in a swirl of ice and fire.

He stepped over the threshold before spinning back to face Agnes, seeing Cian turn around to plant his hands near the fire once again. The man released his feathered wings, large and brilliantly black against the white, winter landscape behind him, before pushing off the ground and shooting into the air. Once he cleared the door frame, he flapped his wings, making snow billow from the slanted roof, joining the flakes blown around by the storm.

Then, he was gone.

Agnes shut the door once he was out of eyesight, latching the lock with a stiff pull.

Who was that? Cian asked, reaching up toward the ceiling to pull down a bundle of tomatoes.

He popped one off the vine and tossed it into his mouth.

Agnes sighed. A…friend, she said, hesitating. She had been sworn to secrecy about his identity and, to be honest, their connection wasn't something she was willing to share. A very, very old friend.

PAIGE

She was nothing and she was everything. Cradled in a bed of darkness, not a single shimmer of light to orient her to where she was.

But there was time and she was suspended in it. At peace and warm, no longer in pain and no longer afraid. She was whole, but she wasn’t. It was both familiar and not. Like returning home after a long day, except she had a suspicion in the back of her mind that she had forgotten something. It started as a gentle prod, followed by a tickle, before culminating in a mind-numbing shake that woke her from her slumber.

There was a rushing wind clawing at her. It felt different than the gust coming off of a briny sea or a gentle breeze in a meadow, rustling the long grass. This was alive. It pierced her very existence, inspecting every piece of her, questioning her presence.

She opened her eyes, surprised to see another set of cerulean ones staring back at her.

Then, she fell.

ONE

Odette

The log cabin seated in the clearing was a familiar sight, one that Odette hadn't seen in nearly ten years. The trees at the edge of the forest had grown taller in that time, the leaves that brushed the bright blue sky had already begun to tint yellow in anticipation of the season change. Even with the breeze that blew through the brush, her sensitive hearing could still pick up the rustling of mice against the pine needles and undergrowth.

Sweet cedar and wild mint danced in the air, wafting through the herb and vegetable garden that Nerea had planted at the front of the house. That certainly hadn't changed. The meticulously kept vegetable patch was still growing in their wooden boxes, despite the lingering summer sun. The last of the sun-ripened vines of tomatoes crawled up the metal cages and the skin of the eggplants had begun to thin, indicating they were close to ripeness. Given the fresh dirt and empty spaces, it was clear that Nerea had already begun to pull the old plants from the soil, tossing them into a pile at the base of the wooden boxes. Her garden tools had been discarded atop the weeds.

I certainly wasn't expecting to see you here.

Odette glanced over her shoulder, spotting Nerea coming from around the corner where Odette knew the entrance to the root cellar was. Gloves tucked in the front pocket of her dirt-stained apron, Nerea was busy wiping her sweaty palms on the end of the cloth.

I certainly wasn't expecting you to look so dirty. Your nails are disgusting, Odette shot back.

A shit-eating grin split Nerea's bronzed face. As she approached, Odette saw her comment stood true for more than just her nails as she could spot the smears of mud on her cheek and the fly-aways of her salt and pepper hair escaping the two braids she always wore.

Odette studied the woman for a long minute.

While Nerea was older than Odette by nearly seventy-five years, the human side to her had started to show through since the death of her husband. And it seemed as if she had aged nearly thirty years in the short time he had been gone.

Come, get some tea, Nerea said, pivoting toward the cabin. From this angle, the afternoon rays of the sun shone against her hair, reflecting off the raven black strands and exhibiting the layers of dark that ran through them.

Odette's swallow was thick as her eyes looked closer to the ground, watching Nerea's subtle left-sided limp. That was certainly new, too. I…can't stay long, Nerea, she said, hedging forward to follow her friend up the porch stairs. I'm getting ready to leave town. I just wanted to say goodbye.

The hinges of the screen door squeaked as Nerea pulled it open. You only come to visit when you say goodbye, Odette. I knew why you were here the moment I heard your shoes on the driveway. She held the door nonetheless. Come inside, I know your wings are tired.

That was true. It had been quite some time since Odette had traveled a long distance using her wings and the corded muscle holding them to her back had begun to ache. Grumbling, she clomped up the stairs and brushed by Nerea to enter the cabin, who then disappeared into the kitchen.

Odette glanced around and saw the interior looked the same as it had ten years ago. The mismatched rugs scattered on the wooden floor, the paintings Nerea had completed over the years, the beaded, ceramic vases that sat on the coffee table, and the dried herbs hanging above the small kitchen window that shifted in the breeze.

Even if Odette's life was falling apart, she knew she could come back to Nerea and this cabin. Strong, centered, loving Nerea, with a home that never changed.

Nerea bustled back into the living room, clutching two glasses of iced tea. Droplets of condensation dripped down the sides, soaking the tips of her fingers. Her eyes swept over Odette. What happened?

"What do you mean what happened?" Odette asked, feigning ignorance. She reached forward, taking a glass from Nerea, sipping the sweet tea, and tasting notes of honey and lemon. It was cool against her dry throat. She took a second sip as Nerea raised her brows.

Something happened. I can see it in your eyes. Nerea's gaze slid down, surveying Odette from her head to her sneakers. Odette shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny. This isn’t you just moving on. You're running again.

Odette scoffed. It's nothing. Just a few dozen devils, the death of a human, and that damn djinn showing up.

Nerea sank into a cushioned seat, the wooden frame groaning under her weight, as Odette remained standing. Eligos? He found you again?

He did, but I don't have to worry about him anymore, Odette responded, shifting from one foot to the other. The new Mage appeared, finished him off.

Nerea leaned back in her seat, tapping her pinky finger on the glass. Greer? I like her. I think she'll be good for the daemons.

You thought that about Agnes too, Odette admonished, taking another sip of the tea. And look where that landed me.

Nerea's smile was faint on her lips as she turned her dark eyes up toward Odette. Agnes didn't land you anywhere, Odette.

Odette bristled. I didn't come for a history lesson. I asked Agnes for help, she said no, end of story.

And you stopped fighting after that.

What choice did I have? Odette's eyes narrowed against the late afternoon sun streaming through the window. I didn't have anyone.

You had me.

It took a deep breath and a moment of pause to keep Odette from rolling her eyes. You're not an army. She tipped her head back, finishing off the tea. The ice clambered forward, clinking against the glass. "And besides, my position here has been given up. Adair could come and track me down any moment. The only reason I felt comfortable coming to visit was because Eligos is dead."

Nerea pursed her lips, just as a wave of warm air fluttered the curtains bracketing the window. Speaking of, you mentioned a dead human.

Odette glanced down, suddenly interested in the shapes of the ice cubes as they melted in the glass from the heat of her hand. Her name was Paige. Good friend of the Mage from what I gather. Jumped in front of a dagger for her wife. Her pause was longer this time, harkening back to the male who had done the same for her. Except his head had been removed from his body with a single sweep of a sword. Anyways, I burned down the warehouse where the devils attacked and helped cover up the human's death.

Nerea's brows rose. The human?

Yes. Paige. The human.

Since when are you so callous?

Odette dropped to the chair opposite Nerea, running a hand through her auburn hair. What do you expect from me? It's time for me to–

Move on, I know. You said that already, Nerea interjected, fingering the ends of her right braid. Before you disappear into the wind again, I have something to ask of you.

Odette said nothing as she waited for Nerea to continue.

It's been six months since I've heard from my father.

Odette stilled, flicking the tips of her wings in irritation. He must be busy. Being the Lord of the Court of Mist and Tide is a heavy title.

Nerea reached from her seat to set her glass on the end table, a dull thud echoing across the room. He hasn't missed a correspondence in nearly nine hundred years. You know he sends one every solstice and equinox.

Odette tracked a fly buzzing through the doorway leading to the kitchen. It landed on the countertop, wings twitching, before it shot into the air and bounced against a closed window. Let's say something is wrong. Her eyes followed the fly until it found an open window and zoomed away. I'm not sure how you would expect me to find out. I haven't been back to any court in centuries.

Nerea fingers danced along the armrests, tracing the wood grain patterns of the chair. I need you to go.

Laughter bubbled up Odette's throat, an instinctual response to an absolutely ludicrous request. And it was when Odette cleared the mirthful tears from the corners of her eyes that she looked up to find Nerea staring at her with a blank expression.

Odette's brow furrowed. No. No, I'm not going back. I'm never going back.

I'm worried about him. I received the last letter six months ago and it was concerning. He mentioned dissent amongst his people, within the court.

Trying to buy herself some time, Odette went to take another sip of the tea in her hand before remembering it was already gone. She desperately glanced around the room, as though some of the paintings or woven baskets would come to her aid. Why don't you go back? Check for yourself?

I'm old, Nerea responded with a tsk. She leaned back in her seat, crossing one knee over the other.

Odette rolled her eyes. You're barely older than me.

No, I mean, I'm old," Nerea punctuated, eyes boring into her counterpart's with impatience.

Odette felt her chest constrict with the realization. No— no, that's not possible. You're still young in comparison. You're—

I spent centuries alone, Nerea cut in. Centuries looking no older than twenty-five. Centuries being a secret from my father's court, watching my friends die, watching my mother die. Then I met Tommy and– She trailed off and Odette knew what she meant. Nerea watched Tommy die too. I gave up my immortality when Tommy began to age. I don't know how much time I have left and I would like to know my father is safe before I go.

Odette was silent, struggling to form a coherent sentence from the bomb that exploded in her mind. Her and Nerea had been a team ever since Nerea's father assisted in smuggling Odette from the Fae realms following Adair's betrayal. He trusted Odette with the biggest secret he had: the half-fae daughter who sat opposite Odette now.

Fae were not forbidden to mate with humans, but it was a taboo of the highest order. Best case scenario, half-blood children were looked down on and ostracized from the courts. Worst case, they were killed before reaching adulthood to keep the bloodlines pure and clean.

Nerea was certainly the oldest half-fae Odette had ever met. And for the Lord of Mist and Tide to have fathered a child by a human woman he fell in love with…a child who would have become an heir to his throne. That was a secret he was willing to take to the grave, Odette was sure of it.

What made her even more sure of this is the fact that he entered into a political marriage with a woman who bore him a son. Odette had met him a fair few times while she was still heir to her own throne.

And, Princes of Samsara, Odette hated the boy. Sniveling, arrogant, and whining when he was a child and downright dangerous once he learned to wield a sword.

Nerea, I'm sorry, I just can't— Odette began.

If you won't go of your own volition, I'm afraid I'll have to insist. Nerea took a deep breath and, when she went on, her voice was devoid of any emotion. I will invoke the Fae Accord of Equal Exchange.

Any expression of pity or sympathy slid from Odette's face and her eyes steeled over as she held Nerea's gaze. Are you willing to lose nearly three hundred years of friendship to do that, Nerea? You weren't born into the realms. You don't know what invoking that accord would mean.

I'm willing to do what I need in order to make sure my father is safe. She tilted her head, braid sliding off her shoulder. I would much rather you agree to help me from your own free will instead, though.

Odette's fingers tapped against the arm rest as she studied Nerea. Her eyes, while stern, were still kind and her lips were pulled into the signature small smile Odette was accustomed to seeing. If I get caught—

You won't, Nerea responded simply.

Or killed.

You won't.

Nerea stood from her chair, the wood groaning again at the sudden shift in weight, and padded over to the front closet nearest the screen door. She tugged it open and stood on her tip-toes to reach toward the top shelf. After her hand rummaged for a beat or two, Nerea grasped onto something before pulling it from the hiding place she had stuck it. Her palm swept over the lid of a wooden box, cleaning off a layer of dust that had settled on top of it, before she unlatched the copper lock and lifted the lid.

Odette watched Nerea with diminished interest as the half-fae poked through the box with her thumb and pointer finger. Nerea withdrew her fingers and walked toward Odette before extending her hand, who took what was clasped tightly within it.

Breath hitching in her chest, Odette found herself staring down at a worn metal emblem. Two wings spread on either side of a shield, complete in the front with two crossed swords. The four courts were represented with four symbols in the shape of a diamond: Wind and Storm at the top with a cloud and lightning bolt, Cedar and Sand to the right with a tree, Flame and Ember at the bottom with a flame, and Mist and Tide to the left with a wave.

Odette's mouth went dry as she looked down at it, her thumb running over the cool metal. It was her father's emblem, the old king's insignia.

How did you find this? She finally asked in a cracked voice. She looked up to Nerea, eyes wide and searching. He's been gone for centuries. Adair had everything destroyed.

Not everything, Nerea responded softly, the wooden box still tucked tightly to her stomach. And not everyone. She paused and resumed her position in her seat. My father knew the risks of sneaking you from the realm and he did it anyway. I took you in, a broken down and beaten heir to the throne, knowing that one day it might expose me to those who want me dead and I did it anyway. I've never asked you anything, Odette. But I need this from you now.

Odette's hand trembled and, for a short moment, she considered throwing the badge through the nearest window out of anger. Instead, she took in a deep, calming breath, filling her lungs with air that still smelled softly of mint and deeply of newly churned earth. She listened to the crickets chirping and owls swooping through the tree branches.

Fingers closing around the crest, the metal digging into the skin of her palm, Odette lifted her gaze to Nerea.

Okay, she said with a small nod, but you must do one thing for me in return.

TWO

Greer

Greer Myers was sure of three things.

One: there was a grief so deep within her, so filled with rage that she knew she would never recover.

When she closed her eyes, she saw Paige lying on the concrete, blood still seeping from a wound that cut to her spine. She saw Delia, her gaze blank and unseeing, as she stared down at the unmoving body of her fiancée. She saw Odette, covered in thick, black goo and her chest heaving with forced breaths. Finally, Greer saw Cian, his features filled with pain and regret. She wanted to rip that look off his face. She wanted to stomp on it, and scream at the top of her lungs, making him feel even a sliver of how she now felt.

Two: Greer knew Paige's death was no one's fault except for her own.

She had performed that summoning, she had forgotten to seal the salt, she had invited Eligos into her life. She had ignored every warning of how powerful a djinn was, how she was no match for the likes of Eligos.

Greer had been swept away by two primordials and she didn't even have the chance to tell Delia that very thing. She didn't even get the chance to say goodbye.

That brought Greer to the third thing she knew with certainty.

She desperately needed to get away from this winged, overly-leathered pigeon.

Greer had tried to conjure any brush of magic she could scrape out of her tattered soul, but the man, Samael, had easily snuffed out any spark she was able to wrangle forward. She had, then, attempted to throw herself out of his arms, but he tightened his grip and held her close to his chest.

His bronze buckles pressed against her shoulder. Greer's eyes stung with tears of both pain and frustration as he continued through the golden-rimmed portal.

She wasn't proud of it and would never admit to taking the cheap shot if anyone asked, but Greer finally resorted to leaning her head back and clamping her teeth around the muscled posterior of his arm. She tasted the salt on his skin as he tried to yank his arm away, but she only bit down harder.

Samael let out a hiss of shock before swearing under his breath. In mid-flight, Greer felt his strong fingers pinch at the corner of her jaw until she was forced to release her bite. Her body was, next, reworked until she faced away from Samael, his arms gripping her around the waist.

Do not bite me again, he seethed into her ear as they sped through the opening.

Wind blew past Greer's ears, making her eyes water. The rush of air was loud and buzzing, as if someone had increased the volume of a static television. She struggled to catch her breath, the air so quick and pressured that she couldn't gulp it down fast enough.

Then, she was falling. Her stomach swooped in her belly with the sudden shift and as she attempted to scream, it was swallowed by the black void they were racing through.

By the time they exited through a second, golden-rimmed portal, Greer's lungs were burning in her chest. Then…let…me…go, she managed to say between heavy pants. His dagger, sheathed against his hip, dug into her lower back.

Don't tempt me, was all he responded.

Greer wiped the water from her eyes, a bone-chilling cold passing over her as they flew on. Azazel, her father, had been soaring ahead of them since leaving the warehouse and his white wings beat against the strong headwinds. She shivered as she glanced down, sweeping her gaze through the misty, frigid clouds and down to the terrain opening below.

Four mountains, each capped in a snowy white, stood jagged and tall below them. Rivulets of water trickled down the mountainside, carving through the rock. The streams merged, growing in size until they formed a raging river. The water dumped into the large lake, sediment mixing at the mouth and lapping at the frozen bank. Waves crested over the blocks of ice pushed onto the pebbled beach. The cliffs were rocky and iced, dotted with green, spined trees.

Each was bent against the weight of the ice, their branches sinking into the depths of the snow.

Samael dipped below the clouds and, for the first time, Greer saw the city.

Lining the switchbacks that climbed the mountains were stone houses, each precariously balanced on the rocks, as though held in place by a breath and a prayer. Greer spotted small figures weaving in and out from the buildings before realizing, as they flapped closer, that some of the figures bore a pair of feathered wings. Even more figures crossed on stone bridges that spanned the mountain rivers roaring through the valleys of the cliffs.

Greer glanced over a group of three younger women, each wearing heavy parkas and giggling at each other as they walked, pointing up to Samael from their places on the stone bridge. One had a book tucked in the crook of her elbow.

The sun, just beginning to rise beyond the mountain passes, splattered the navy sky with splotches of pink and orange. The stars still speckling the blanket above them winked out one by one as each ray peeked over the snow caps.

A sharp breath whistled through her nose and Greer was sure Samael had heard it. The view was beautiful. The city teeming with life despite the cold.

Samael dipped lower still, banking his giant wings to the left as he made his way toward the top of the city. Nestled there, in a deep mountain hollow, stood a looming stone palace.

Stone turrets and steepled towers overlooked the city below, each spiraling upward toward the peaks. She could see that one of the towers had a large, circular window complete with stained glass and encased in black metal on the front. A lone bridge, flanked on each side by an iron and stone banister, spanned the gap between the two sides of the palace. The bridge was decorated with ceramic planted pots and gargoyle-like statues perched on the edge of the balustrade.

A balcony jutted from the cliffside, creating a grand entrance of sorts to the palace before them. Six monstrous and winged marble statues, four men and two women, were erected on the edge of the terrace. Shadows from the rising sun accentuated the chiseled jaws and cheekbones of each angelic creature. All had an arm extended into the ether, palms turned upward with a sphere nestled into the cupped groove.

When Samael banked a second time, swooping by one of the middle statues where Azazel had landed, Greer noticed the familiar shape of the South American continent etched into the side of the sphere.

She had just opened her mouth to ask about them when Samael dumped her onto the terrace, her knees colliding painfully against the stone. Greer spun to glare at him, but he had already tucked in his wings and swept by her without a second look.

Welcome to Veritas, Azazel said as Greer clambered to her feet, swiping her dirty palms against the fabric of her pants. The capital of Samsara.

She approached the edge of the balcony, no barrier or parapet of any kind shielding the drop, and glanced down. They were hundreds of feet above the valley floor, where Greer could see houses nestled against the craggy cliffs. From the corner of her eye, she saw Samael adjust his stance, as if he were readying for her to leap over the edge.

Don't tempt me, Greer shot at him, her tone mocking his own, and she turned toward the palace.

Samael said nothing as he narrowed his eyes at her, but his shoulders relaxed the slightest bit nonetheless. His hand rested against the hilt of the dagger, the three emerald stones glinting against the rays of sun now shining over the lowest turret. As Greer directed her attention to Azazel, he remained stoic and silent behind her.

"Where did you bring me? What is this place? I want to go home. Take me home. Now," Greer said, her tone quick and demanding. She didn't give either man the chance to reply.

No. Azazel was the epitome of nonchalant as he leaned against the nearest marble column, his arms crossed over the buckled leather armor covering his chest. Behind him were spindled trees with orange leaves planted in large, blue pots, their leaves rustling in the breeze. A breeze that, due to her anger, Greer realized no longer chilled her.

Greer took in a deep breath as she flexed her fingers. It was a sore attempt at calming the flaming itch growing in her palms, one of magic and power begging to be released. That wasn't a request.

Azazel tilted his head, golden hair shifting onto his shoulder. This isn’t a negotiation.

Greer whipped her hand toward him, power webbing from her outstretched palm. To anyone else it would have been a catastrophic hit, but Azazel merely brushed it away with ease as he continued to lean against the column.

Greer found herself panting from the effort, her chest still tight from the portal.

Rage found her again, but this time, Greer sent her power in a formless blast toward one of the blue pots near the base of the grand staircase. It exploded, shards of clay and dirt ricocheting across the marble and spraying against the set of tall double doors at the top of the stairs. The spindled tree cascaded to the floor and the branches groaned, threatening to snap under its weight.

Azazel waved his hand and Greer watched as the broken pot reversed course, coming back together once again. The tree straightened as dirt packed tightly around its roots.

Greer threw her magic at a second pot and it shattered just the same. Azazel said nothing as he simply waved his hand and put it back together.

I could keep going, Greer warned, though she felt her stores of power waning. I could destroy this entire place.

Azazel smirked. You can't. He pushed off the column and took three steps toward her. You work under the assumption that I haven't been preparing for teenage primordial tantrums since the day you were conceived.

Greer bristled. I'm twenty-seven years old, not a teenager—

Azazel's eyes shifted dramatically to the first repaired planter and then the other. Could have fooled me, then. Arista. He made the call over his shoulder, lifting his chin toward the staircase.

A young woman appeared, cream colored wings peeking out from her back and mousy hair pulled tightly into a thin braid. She was shaking, each feather seemingly quivering as she approached the three. She kept her eyes fixed on her feet when she moved and her cotton dress pulled at her shoulders when she bent into a deep curtsy that had her wings grazing the marble tile.

Yes, your grace, Arista answered when she lifted.

Arista, this is Greer, my daughter. Greer, this is Arista. She is your handmaiden.

Greer's brows rose as Arista dipped into a second curtsy, directed at her. No. No— please stand up. Arista stilled, her hands trembling as she slowly rose. Greer turned back to Azazel. I— I can't stay here. I have a job. I have friends. I have a home—

And now you're here. Aren't you lucky? His eyes glimmered with satisfaction as he watched her. Arista, would you be so kind as to show Greer to her bedchambers? I'm sure she would appreciate getting cleaned up.

Arista flicked her brown eyes from Greer to Azazel, her features fracturing into a bundle of nerves. S—sir?

Greer clenched her jaw. I'm not staying here—

Samael? Azazel tossed lazily over Greer's shoulder and the Primordial took a threatening step forward, arm outstretched to grab Greer once again.

Greer lurched away from him, gaze steeled and hard. "Show the way, Arista." She spit the name out as if it were venom in her mouth. She said nothing else as she followed the handmaiden, the sun now warming each step of the staircase.

The two doors split open upon their approach, revealing a brightly lit stone interior with a domed ceiling so tall that Greer had a hard time making out the figures painted across it. The white marble continued into the palace entrance and toward the very back of the hall, where one main staircase set with a thick, ruby carpet curved upward to the balcony overlooking the entrance.

Behind the staircase stood five floor to ceiling windows with unobstructed views of the mountain passes and subsequent body of water in the valley beyond. A massive crystal chandelier hung above the curving staircase and it caught the morning sun, sending dancing refractions of light across the floor, each one a small burst of shimmering rainbow. They crossed the hall and Greer’s gaze swung around, noticing the golden trim surrounding the windows and the green flora curling up the columns on the second floor.

Greer lifted her head to survey the two white statues erected near the base of the stairs, not noticing that Arista had already peeled to the left. The handmaiden held a wooden door open, patiently waiting for Greer to finish gawking.

Greer walked through the doorway and stepped subtly to the side, letting Arista take the lead once more. The side door led to a long hallway that ended at a narrow, winding staircase and Greer noticed that, even though Arista had her wings tucked tightly into her back, the feathers nearest the edges still tickled the stones as they passed. Reaching the end of the hallway, they began to climb up and up and up until Greer was slick with sweat and her breath sawed from her throat. Arista, on the other hand, didn’t seem to be affected.

They exited the staircase into a hallway dimly lit by sconces bolted to the walls. The passage was cold from the stone, despite the flickering flames, and Greer felt her sweat chill almost instantly. To her right, Greer spotted the stone banister of a balcony and stopped dead in her tracks to see what the view revealed.

The balcony overlooked a hall nearly as large as the entrance. Instead of statues and endless marble, though, this chamber was filled from floor to ceiling with wooden bookcases. The marble flooring had been replaced by textured sandstone tiles and a bronze chandelier, layered and asymmetrical, hung from the domed, glass ceiling.

Books zoomed one way or the other, criss-crossing in their paths as they exited or entered their designated spots in the bookcases. There were some people on tall, wooden ladders, studying the spines with marked concentration. Others seemed to be Primordials like Arista and Azazel, their wings beating to stay afloat. One woman, clad in olive green robes and a bronze chain surrounding her waist, was laden with a stack of books. The stack was steady in her arms, despite the rise and fall of her body, as she put them back on the bookshelf, one by one.

Greer felt Arista approach her, laying gentle hands on the banister beside her own.

This is the library, open to the public for all to use, Arista said. You would also have unfettered access, your highness.

Greer’s gaze continued to move from person to person. She noticed pointed ears of the Fae, some people with curling horns protruding from the tops of their heads and leathery wings on their backs. Some of the patrons had slitted eyes akin to a snake and viper-like teeth sticking out from between closed lips. A group of children formed a line as they entered the chamber, flanked on either side by women dressed in the same olive green robes as the lady putting the books away. The children giggled and hushed one another as they moved through the stacks.

Don’t call me that, Greer retorted with a slight delay as she turned her back to the library and continued down the hallway.

Arista followed in silence, her linen gown sweeping at her feet. After a moment, she said Here, pointing in the direction Greer needed to take as she remained in front of her.

The two women climbed another set of stairs before exiting to a cozy, circular landing. Greer recognized the shape and the view from the circular window as one of the steepled towers set high against the mountain. Arista crept past her, opening a wooden door to the left and she stood to the side as Greer entered. The bedroom was large enough that Greer knew the entirety of her rented house could have fit easily inside of it. Most of the walls were gray stone, but one was accented with a plum colored damask wall covering made from thin silk fibers. Another bronze chandelier was centered in the room, lit with a myriad of pillar candles.

The four-poster bed was rimmed with bronze and featured curtains of a deep plum that matched the accent wall. On the other side of the room stood doors that led to a bathroom, the end of a claw-foot bathtub peeking from the crack in the door giving it away.

Greer knew this bedroom was supposed to give off a luxurious, modern vibe and someone had certainly kept the room immaculately clean for her arrival. But, to Greer, the darkness of the room felt repressive and isolating compared to the wicker furniture and white walls of her small rental home. That thought made her stomach clench and she swallowed back the lump growing in her throat.

I brought some tea and breakfast to the room for you, your high— princess, Arista said from the doorway.

Greer made her way over to the window, where a wooden table held plates filled with piles of biscuits, sausages, and eggs that seemed to have cooled since they had been set out. A silver teapot was placed in the middle of a matching tray and the small amount of steam still curling from the spout fogged the glass pane.

It’s just Greer, was her only response to Arista as she absentmindedly picked up a biscuit. You can go now.

Arista curtseyed one last time before backing from the room and closing the door behind her with a small click.

The thought of eating made Greer feel sick, further validated by the taste of ash in her mouth after biting into a soft biscuit. She set down the pastry with a sniffle, allowing a single tear to drip onto her cheek. She swiped it away with a rough pass of her palm. She turned toward the tea next, a normal weekend occurrence with Delia, but the memory made her chest tighten to the point of pain. Her eyes brimmed with more tears, but Greer blinked them back this time. She had no right to cry, she had no right to