A Shadow in the Ember (Flesh and Fire 1)

“Not very trusting, are you?” I remarked, lowering my hand as my thoughts returned to yesterday.

I flicked my gaze back to Aios. She had snagged Jadis by the arm, guiding the stomping draken away from the too-high boulder. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“It’s about the Primal, Veses,” I said, and Aios stiffened a bit as Reaver took flight again. “I got the impression that no one here likes her, and Ash said that she was the worst sort. Did she have anything to do with the gods on the wall?”

A breeze whirled through the courtyard, picking up and tossing the strands of her hair as she let go of Jadis’s arm and straightened. “No, she did not as far as I know, but she is…not well regarded by many in the Shadowlands. She can be rather vindictive when angered or ignored.” Aios laughed, but it was a tight sound. “Have you ever met someone who feels they are entitled to whatever they want? That is Veses. And that entitlement extends to people. Many gods or goddesses would enjoy being the object of her affections. And many do.” She turned to me, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “But she will fixate on what she perceives she cannot have. And if she is unsuccessful in achieving that, she can be very resentful.”

“And she wants Ash?” I surmised.

“Only because he has never shown her that type of attention,” she answered. “To her, it’s personal. Even though he’s never shown interest in anyone until you.”

Until you.

My stomach dipped at the exact moment my heart jumped. I ignored both reactions. “Has she hurt anyone because of his lack of interest in her?”

“I don’t think so, but she can make things…difficult for him. While she may not be liked by many, she is well-connected.” Her brow creased. “You know, I don’t think she has always been like this. At least, that is what I’ve heard. When I was young, Mycella told me stories about Veses—about how giving and kind she was, bestowing good fortune on gods and mortals, even to those who had not prayed to her for such. She’s very old. Far past the time for her to rest, so I don’t know if her nature is partly due to living such a long life or what.”

Two things really caught my attention. “Mycella? You mean Ash’s mother?”

She nodded as a faint, sad smile crossed her features. “We were distantly related. Cousins, as mortals would say. One of her aunts or uncles was from the Court of Kithreia. I was very young when she was killed.”

Was that why she felt safe here? Because of her relation to Ash? I glanced down as Jadis hopped onto one of my feet. “What do you mean by rest? Like go to sleep?”

“For some, yes. For others, it’s more like retiring. You see, Primals can be endless, and that kind of lifespan is even unfathomable to most gods. Though there have been a few who’ve become so powerful that they too are endless. And that amount of time…it can rot the mind.” Aios crossed her arms over her chest as she watched Reaver glide through the air. “To watch the world fall and be rebuilt around you, time after time. To see nothing new. To no longer be surprised and to become so accustomed to loss that even the idea of love is no longer a thrill.”

A wave of tiny bumps erupted along my skin under the black tunic I wore, and I tried to think of what that must be like. To live for so long you’d seen everything.

“The longer a Primal or a god lives, the greater the risk of them becoming more eather than person. Some can handle the endless time better than others, but eventually, it impacts all of us. There are ways to avoid it. One is to enter a deep stasis—to sleep. But very few have ever done that,” she said. “For those who do not wish to sleep, they can enter what we call Arcadia, a place very much like the Vale. A garden, so to speak. It allows for an Ascension of another and peace for the Primal.”

“Is that…another realm?” I asked as Jadis stretched, placing one talon on my other foot. I had no idea what the young draken was doing.

She nodded. “But Veses can’t do that. None of them can.”

I started to ask why when she looked past me, at the palace. A smile returned to her somber features. “Bele.”

Looking over my shoulder, I saw two figures crossing the courtyard, both dressed in black tunics with the fine silver stitching along the collar and across the chest.

The one I assumed was Bele was tall and lithe, her skin a light, golden brown, reminding me of the sparkling sand along the Stroud Sea. Hair the color of midnight lay over her shoulder in a thick braid. Her features were strikingly sharp, her eyes a shade of light, golden brown sparking with the glow of eather. She had a short sword strapped to one hip. I caught the curve of a bow visible over one shoulder.