Page 31 of She Who Holds My Wrath

“Shit,” Velentha breathes.

I turn to face her. She’s sitting on the bed with the sheet clutched to her chest, eyes wide with sorrow. “I have to go,” I murmur.

She nods, watching me frantically gather up my clothing. She rises to help me dress, moving closer as I begin fastening the buttons of my suit jacket. Her hands come to rest against my chest, steady and purposeful, though the lingering fear in her eyes betrays the calm she’s trying to maintain.

“You’ve tied this wrong,” she murmurs softly. I glance down, realising my fingers have indeed made a mess of it. Of course they have.

Velentha reaches for the knot of my tie, her fingers deft and familiar as she loosens it and begins again, tying it perfectly. The silk slides through her hands as she moves to straighten the collar of my jacket, smoothing the fabric like she has done a hundred times before. Like we have all the time in the world. Neither of us speaks. The silence stretches between us, heavy with everything we don’t dare say.

Her hands pause when she finishes, lingering against my chest for just a moment too long. Then, she curls her fingers into the tie and gives it a small tug, pulling me down towards her. The movement is gentle, but insistent. Before I can speak, her lips meet mine in a touch that’s gentle to start. The kiss is slow. Deep. Not desperate—no, it’s far worse than that. It’s lingering and deliberate, like she’s trying to memorise the shape of me. Her fingers tighten in the silk of my tie, holding me there as though letting go might send me slipping out of her reach forever.

I taste the faint sweetness of tea on her lips, mixed with the lingering sweat from her skin. My hand rises instinctively to the back of her neck, holding her just as tightly as she does me. For a short, wonderful moment, the world quiets. There’s no war. No sharp knocks. No burning realms. Just us. Just me and my wife, my mate, my aeshira.

When she finally pulls away, I rest my forehead briefly against hers, her breath warm against my mouth.

“Come back to me,” she whispers. The words are soft, but they strike something deep in my chest.

“Always.” I press one last kiss to her lips before stepping back, forcing my feet to move toward the door before I lose the will to leave at all. As I strike toward the war room, dread coils tight in my chest. Sovarith. If even the Spires are not safe… then nowhere is.

I didn’t expect this when entering the war room.

It’s utter chaos. Not just from the leaders of Hell, but the other rulers as well. Somehow, in the thirty minutes it took me to get here, every single one of them has already gathered. The air thrums with anger and fear. Every gaze in the room swings to me—some frantic, some sharp with disappointment.

“Where’s Daisy?” Sariya asks, concern laced thick in her tone.

“She’s…” I pause. I can’t let them see her as fragile again. Not here. Not now when things are going so very wrong. “Busy. She’ll join us when she can.”

I hold her gaze, silently asking for her trust. Much to my relief, she inclines her head once in understanding. “Please. Sit.”

I take my place at the head of the table, facing the sea of rulers. Sariya, Elyistria, Maelkar, Kaelith, Virena, Vor’Khar, Lucifer, and Vailith. Even Kayron and Victor, lower counsellors from Sovarith are here—all waiting, all watching. To no surprise, the leaders of House Nytherian from Nox’Thraxis are nowhere to be seen. Typical. I know they keep to themselves in their own dominion of Hell, and even rule and govern differently to how their queen does, but we need everyone here. Their lack of involvement is starting to irritate me.

“Thank you for assembling so quickly,” I begin, my voice low but carrying. “Today, while Daisy toured the dominions, Cinderspine was attacked.”

The room erupts into mutters, tension coiling thick around us. I lift a hand in a gesture for them to be quiet, and resume on. “Not long after we returned, I was informed that the Council Spires were attacked as well. I haven’t yet had full reports, so I’ll defer to those who were present.” I turn to Kayron and Victor. “Tell us what happened.”

Karyon rises, tall and commanding in his black and gold robes, his white horns gleaming faintly in the dim light, blending into his silver hair. His pale pink-violet eyes sweep the table before he speaks. “We received word of Cinderspine’s destruction almost immediately, and dispatched scribes to record the events. But it soon became clear Cinderspine was a distraction. Whoever orchestrated this, knew precisely where Daisy would be, and when.”

My pulse quickens almost instantly. “What proof do you have?”

“The scribes log every event with precise timing,” Kayron explains in a monotone voice as if he were reading from a script. “One recorded yours and Daisy’s arrival at Cinderspine at twelve twenty-five p.m. At twelve thirty-six, the first guards at Sovarith were slain. Quietly and efficiently. Their throats were cut.”

Suspicion sharpens Sariya’s tone as she stares the council member down. “And they’re certain of the timing?”

Victor rises, the opposite of Kayron in every way—smaller, darker, his robes nearly swallowing him. His grey eyes glint beneath his dark lashes that match his jet-black hair and horns. “We are trained to be certain. It is our duty in the Spires to observe, to know the shape of events down to the breath.”

Kayron continues, “Your departures were logged at one seventeen p.m. At one nineteen, the larger strike hit the Spires. Chambers destroyed and safes breached. Scrolls and documents were stolen. The targets were precise: texts on Dasmyrin’s reign, and archives on Hell’s old resources—weapons, magic, creatures long outlawed or extinct.”

Lucifer exhales a sharp curse. “Shit.”

“Do we know who the attackers were?” Kaelith asks, his usually smooth expression shadowed with unease.

Both counsellors shake their heads, solemn expressions across both of their faces. I swear I see a hint of disappointment on their faces. As if them not knowing every single detail is eating them alive.

I incline my head. “Thank you. If you need to return to Sovarith, go. Soldiers will be dispatched to aid you⁠—”

Victor cuts in. “No. The Spires are sacred. Outsiders have no place within its walls. We’ll update you when we know more.”

I don’t push against him. I don’t have the energy, if I’m truthfully honest. If even now, when their sacred spires have been attacked, they don’t want help… then so be it. They both bow stiffly and take their leave, their robes billowing behind them.