"Well?" Vale prodded, green eyes aglow with echoes of fire as he stared at the two dead Fallen.
"They worked alone. They were… fiercely loyal to Queen Samil. They think she is too naive to lead. They didn’t want a repeat of"—Bastian glanced to Graves—"what happenedbefore."
Screams. Sorill’s cries as she held Sora. Soro raging in his face and leaping before their mother. The slick wet sound as Graves drove his blade through his father?—
Graves’s teeth threatened to crack from the force with which he clenched his jaw.
"Are there any other threats?" Vale’s voice brought Graves back from the knife’s edge on which he teetered.
"I saw nothing," Bastian said.
They already knew the Fallen were not Umbra. His mother took too many measures to keep the Umbra away after… what had happened. This was plain evil, a twisted act of protection by the Queen’s loyal subjects.
He needed to go to Luella—to see for himself she was safe.
His wings rippled behind him, and they stared at him.
"Vale isn’t the only one poised to break," Tharen drawled. "Go. We’ll clean up here." He kicked at the Fallen’s limp leg.
Graves looked to his King, whom he answered to above all others:
"Go, Graves. You’ve done well."
He left without another word.
It was only when Graves’s wings carried him from the small dungeon island tucked in the far corners, closer to the shadowed recesses of the Isles, that he realized he was covered with gore.
"Fuck," he grumbled, and the wind ate his curse.
He could not see Luella like this.
Is she asleep?he thought into their shared link, hoping the demon would hear.
His home island came into view as he circled the Queen’s Island. To the right, Sora’s island; then Soro’s. Sorill’s home was smaller, with fewer trees and more sand—fitting for the youngest of the Damaris siblings, who always loved building castles crafted of sand in their youth.
Graves’s wings carried him to the trees surrounding his island; they snapped out and caught him as he landed on one of the tall swinging bridges linking the treetops. The bridge groaned, and leaves rustled. He stayed perched there, watching the low flicker of lights within his home. Somewhere in there, Luella slept.
Graves itched to go to her, but he would never fucking bring his violence and misery onto her.
Finally, Azgorath answered, and Graves could not help but have the sense that the demon had kept him waiting on purpose:
She is asleep. Peacefully. Has been for some time now, while you had your fun… Is it finished?
Vale answered.It is done.
The thought of Luella sleeping peacefully in the demon’s arms struck a match of jealousy within Graves.
He was weak, had always been so.
Weak for not returning to his home to face his family. Weak for giving in and being the first to steal a taste of their Vincire’s lips—and weak as he jumped from his perch and swooped low between the trees, until he landed with a soft thud on one of theoutlooks jutting from his home. The stone was alight with a soft glow that filtered through the shut curtains.
His keen ears picked up on the soft sound of a beating heart. Hers.
The blood on his dark leather gloves mocked him as he raised a hand to the curtain and tugged it aside—just enough to reveal what lay within.
In the cozy bed of white sheets, Luella rested. The exhaustion and worry on her pretty face had been chased away by sleep, soothing the downturned corners of her plush lips as Azgorath held her in his arms. The shadow of his horns flickered on the walls. He met Graves’s eyes and nodded.
And Graves slowly closed the curtain, blocking the sight of her as he turned away from the only one he would ever want—but would never want him.
