It made me uneasy, so as a distraction I returned my attention to the building about ten yards away, taking in the citadel masquerading as a palace whose sole purpose appeared to inspire awe and dread equally.
The polished sandstone structure rose in sweeping arcs. Tall, fluted towers anchored each corner and were topped withsunlit domes of deep, aged bronze. Domed bridges connected the soaring towers with delicate latticework in contrast to the sturdy, fortified nature of the structure.
Guards stood in front of it, dressed similarly to Cirrian. Their uniforms were accompanied by armored vests with variously colored engraved insignias. Maybe they represented different territories of Umbryth, or realms. Surprised that the entrance to the Laytherium was secured by guards and not a gate, I surmised the absence of a gate probably spoke of confidence that bordered on arrogance.
Cirrian’s mood hadn’t lifted; his long strides toward the building were quick as he marched toward the keep, putting me at a jog to keep up. Up close, the structure was even more magnificent. Geometric-patterned glass covered in a smoky patina inset the arched windows. Obsidian double doors were decorated with intricate veined designs of molten smoked copper-bronze. Magic pulsed around us like an erratic heartbeat.
“Cirrian, I believe it would be considered highly inappropriate and a blatant disregard of protocol to have an ephemeral here.”
What the hell did he call me?A flash. A transient being? To immortals, we were, but they could have chosen something that didn’t make me feel like a mosquito.
“It is necessary,” Cirrian said.
The guard didn’t move.
“Let me notify Lord Zyran that you deem itnecessarytobreach protocol. And with an ephemeral, furthermore.”He nodded to another guard, who saluted before turning to leave the landing, glorious black wings with amber gold tips that matched the emblem on his uniform, extending from his back.
Cirrian closed the distance between them. “Myzeil, that is unnecessary. I ask that you reconsider.” It started off as anearnest plea but lost some of its entreating tone as it migrated into a low growl of warning. Myzeil’s pale steel blue-gray eyes held humor rather than offense. With a slight nod, the other guard’s wings snapped out of view and he returned to his position.
“Do not take long.” He looked at me, his lips dipping into a moue. Cirrian’s surprising clasp of my hand made it deepen.
At our approach, the doors swung inward without a sound. I was met with a warm, spicy scent with hints of jasmine and tinged with the smell of evergreen courtesy of the massive woodland surrounding us. The breathtaking grandeur of the space deepened. Before me was a grand atrium bathed in a medley of light. Cirrian released my hand, giving me a chance to explore.
In a world where magic was collected and death resided, I’d expected something somber. The ethereal light came from more than just the crystal chandelier in the domed ceiling; it danced off the design in it that appeared to be more significant than merely decorative. The design was mirrored in the meticulous etching of the pillars. Moving closer, I examined them, tracing the unique swirls, angles, and patterns.
“It’s not just for decoration, is it?” I asked. I hadn’t noticed that Cirrian had eased up behind me. He placed his hands next to mine, his fingers running over the inscription in the pillars. “It is our pledge to protect the magic at all costs and a reminder of what happens if we fail,” he offered, reverence in his tone.
The seriousness of his demeanor made me understand that he wasn’t driven by a self-entitled sense of importance. Along with their immense powers came equal responsibilities, rules, restrictions, and problems. Vina was a reminder of what immense power could do, and she’d been bridled because of her trust in and underestimation of Amelia.
Turning to face him, my forehead rested against his chest. “Thank you for saving me from Diehle,” I whispered, “and for sparing Amelia’s life.” He moved his arm, I thought to embrace me, but instead he took several tentative steps back.
Putting more distance between us, I paused a few inches from a fountain of liquid silver that bubbled silently, twirling and darkening to form the most perfect image of a copper-skinned woman with defined features that lingered between stark beauty and quiet grace. Her sharp eyes held me transfixed for several beats before I was pulled by the Gemini symbol next to her that shimmered away and was replaced by two massive midnight wolves that reminded me of Magnus.
“Who is this?” I asked.
“Goddess Annessa,” Cirrian provided, the same admiration, warmth, and sorrow in his voice as at every mention of her. “It’s a tribute to her. She’d have much preferred a statue where we’d be obligated to show some reverence, perhaps kissing her feet or a deep genuflection.”
A small smile curled his lips; his features softened with a look of happy reminiscence.
“Was she your first love?”
“Only,” he clipped out, walking away and putting an end to further discussion. I wanted to honor it, but curiosity needed to be satisfied. Casually walking around the vast building, my fingers stroked the leather of my bag while I attempted to tamp down my rampant curiosity. When I turned to face Cirrian, his arms were crossed over his chest and his head tilted with his expectant look. I wasn’t winning any Oscars. No, his look indicated my performance wasn’t even worthy of a scathing review on a blog or social media video.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. I was sure not having confirmation of her death, a body to bury, or the ability to visit her burial site was its own personal hell.
He nodded and turned from me slowly, as if he was taking in the Laytherium for the first time. His eyes skated over the fountain with the image of Goddess Annessa.
My eyes were drawn to the colorful orbs that filled the recesses. They pulsed with inner light, the different colors in each making them seem like the magic in them was alive. They hummed with a low, resonant thrum of energy that vibrated through my bones. Magic. Lots of magic.
I assumed it was the collected magic. Despite its placement here being the result of the death of their owners, the magic was storm-charged and seemingly ready to be activated.
“Werewolves and shifters.” Cirrian, now next to me, pointed to one side of the room where the orbs were granite gray. “Alchemy witches.” I trailed his finger to a section with magic of a vibrant pearl-blue color.
Section by section, I was shown the vibrant and muted colors of the collected magic from far more than the denizens that I knew existed. William’s statement about magic wielders predating our existence resonated within me. And there were probably countless ones who lived among us that preferred to keep their existence a secret. Then there were those in other realms that I’d never considered. So much of the building was left unseen that I was sure it was where they held the magic of magic wielders known only by the shadow gods.
“Why don’t you destroy the magic to prevent it ever being stolen?”
“If we could, we would. Life would be simpler for us all if we could.” His voice was devoid of emotion, but his eyes displayed something akin to longing, which he quickly blinked away.
