“Mother?” She quietly peered into the chamber. She couldn’t remember the last time she set foot in here, as she didn’t pray anymore.
The only response was her own echo. She could have sworn the queen said she was coming here.
Helaina’s eyes scanned the space corner to corner. Light reflected through the stained glass windows. Shadows of emerald, indigo, and ruby danced along the wooden pews. Her gaze met the muraled wall depicting many of their beloved gods. Ures, in the very middle, screamed a battle cry while he wielded his trusted axe. His brethren battled behind him. Ures had thrived during the immortal wars, when gods invaded each other’s realms. It was the whole reason Lynor came to be, to create peace among infinite beings.
The mural did its best to portray their renowned deities, but there was no way of knowing if the pictures were accurate. Gods hadn’t walked among them since the beginning. That was countless generations before Helaina was born.
Behind Ures, other gods battled with one another, as it had been before Lynor was created. Brahm was pictured in the background, palm to the earth’s surface as one of the first mortals’ hands reached up from beneath cracks in the land. Brahm had made them, he was one of the first, a primordial.
Some immortals embodied strong, sculpted men, others were like sultry women. There were gods that brought the tides, gods that celebrated peace and love. Some possessed more animallike features, soaring through the sky with wings at their backs, or clawing at one another with talons for fingers. Behind the chaos of the battle, her eyes connected with one image in particular.
Valhoor, the God of Death.
Helaina shuddered at the grotesque horned face cloaked in black. His eyes were deep wells, staring right back at her. There was a lithe, feminine hand digging its pointed nails into the Death God’s shoulder. Only the claiming grip was clear, the body attached to that hand obscured in charcoal. The artist had been brave to draw it. Helaina knew who he intended to replicate with that image.
The Goddess of Nightmares, another of the six Hell Gods.
Artists had drawn the likenesses of the other five. They had painted them, sculpted them into fine statues. No one ever dared to recreateherface. The old stories were too brutal, and they feared a portrait or a statue would conjure her vengeful spirit. Helaina straightened her spine, regretting even letting the goddess cross her mind. She remembered why she came in the first place. The chapel was empty; she turned for the exit.
It’s a mistake, she repeated in her head as she bolted down the cobblestone hall.A misunderstanding.
She peered into the kitchen. There were only scullery maids clearing breakfast and cooks preparing midday meals.
She moved to the great hall, finding it how it had always been—completely unoccupied. Not a single gathering had occurred here since the fae had visited so long ago. After that, no courts were welcomed in Keles. Her father met with other kings and generals in their lands. With no one to entertain, Oren had cut half their staff, only keeping on essential persons to run the estate.
Helaina looked toward the courtyard, in the direction of the castle gate, where the carriage would wait for her tomorrow.
She couldn’t go out there again, not past the castle grounds. She was stunned she had made it back here safely after Adriel. If she took that chance a second time...
Helaina started toward the hall of bedchambers, a sense of foreboding nestling deep inside her.
Just as she was about to storm her mother’s chambers, she heard a muffled sob to her left. It came from Adriel’s room. She gently pushed the door, barely making a sound.
Everything was pristinely tidy. Helaina knew he had barely used this space in the time he had spiraled. The queen sat on the bed, clutching a pillow, pressing it to her chest as she silently wept.
Helaina carefully approached and kneeled before her.
“Mother?”
The queen looked up, her eyes bloodshot. “It’s like every trace of them is vanishing. I can’t hear their voices anymore. I can’t remember what they sound like. I listened to those voices since they spoke their first words... now I can’t hear them. What kind of mother am I?”
Helaina’s breathing slowed. Her presence could never make up for such a loss.
She would never be enough.
Still, she rested her forehead on the queen’s knees. “I’m here, Mother, you have me. We can get through this together.”
I’m here. I count for something.
Jayda finally peered down at her daughter, her face contorted with irritation. Helaina felt the heating resentment and forced her head to the side to avoid the burn.
The Ironbloods had kept her siblings’ deaths so quiet. And although some details had been hidden from the king and queen, there was one thing they all agreed on: Helaina had been the catalyst that set their deaths into motion. They said it with every awkward silence, every indignant look.
Helaina wished she could take it all back.
“Mother, I beg you.” Her mouth was so dry, she could barely produce the words. “Please... Fessyk means to ship me off to—I don’t even know where.” She knew he had mentioned it, she had just stopped listening. Her distress had been too great. “He says my marriage has already been arranged. Tell me it’s a lie.” Her eyes implored the queen for a spark of affirmation.
She found none, Jayda’s expression was blank and without surprise.
