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In one impalement, Kryach’s spirit penetrates me, filling every recess of my mind, my heart, my soul. Something feels...different. Death is always cold. Numb. Deadened. Never before have I sensed...warmth. An undercurrent?barely a ribbon, but I can’t deny it. Even the tension in my body abates once it latches onto the undercurrent. But it’s not long before his deep chortle resonates in my mind: a reminder of his ultimate power. Of why last night was a necessary evil.
I gaze at my bride. Awed with my heart braying so hard, it might crush my ribcage. Isla, herself, wears thorns. A crown of spiked thorns, a skin-tight gown of thorns to garb her. Protective armor. But her cheeks flush with the same passion, nor have her eyes lost their luster. No, they shine with incandescence as her flesh shimmered with Isle-oil the previous night.
Some refter brides crane their necks, hands grappling with the makeshift thorny shadow gate. Isla continues swaying, then tosses her hair back to reveal the shadow mark upon her neck.
“So, I ate the seeds. And then the fruit!” she imitates sucking invisible juice.
I shake my head, stunned. She’s telling them...stories?
“The King bit me then and there. I thought he was going to touch me, but he didn’t. Probably a good thing.” She waves a hand, but her eyes flick to mine, violet and violent jewels pinning mine.
I make no moves, speak no words. Allow her to finish. “I joined him on his Death business. So grand to sail the River Cryth, past the Sea of Bones, and to the Hollows. The passing ones loved my corpus rose gifts. I hope you like my flowers, death pretties.” She beams, exalting in how some brides moan, fingers straining for her. “Now, now, Aylsa, we will have no interruptions to my twisted tale.”
“Davyna,” I say.
Isla flicks her head up. Pinches her lips. Cocking her head to the side, she narrows her eyes upon me. “Did you have something to say, my King?”
Heaving a sigh, I dismount from Ifrynna, approach the refter brides from behind, and gesture to the one she’d pointed to. “That is Davyna. She always wore her hair twisted into heart-knots on her head.” I trace a finger over the knots bound to her head, though they are now gray and frayed. And decorated with Isla’s floral circlet. My bride stiffens but tracks my movements.
“That is Aylsa.” I jerk a finger to my former bride four rows down on my right, pinpointing her from among the mass. “She has a scar beneath her right eye from the time she rode her horse and met an unfortunate encounter with a tree branch.”
Isla postures, raises her chin, as sovereign as when I’d placed the crown upon her head last night. “I’ll remember, thank you, my King. Perhaps you may introduce me to all of themproperly...unlike last night’s unfortunate and incidental introduction.”
“You’ve made your point clearly, Isla.” I extend a gloved hand.
She laughs. The sound?wind chimes from the Isles, soul sirens, icicles breaking due to a spring thaw?guts me. I knead my brow, understanding the depth of my transgression and how my penance will need to be tenfold to gain a foothold of her good graces.
Dismissing my hand, Isla faces the refter brides again and continues her story. I quirk a brow when Ifrynna curls onto the soft, gray meadow grass among the refters to listen, folding her massive paws one over the other. Isla grins at the Guardian’s presence.
Closing my eyes, I listen to every word. Feast on them, including the bitter poisonous ones because this is her vengeance. Her thorns stake my heart. The new knowledge of the deal she made with Kryach when Kanat tracked her to the library, how he’s accessed her all this time, haunted her every step. She knew and plied him and tempted him, and his shades enclosed her every night after I’d finished my lullaby. All this pierces me as deep as the mark upon her flesh.
Until the fateful wedding morning when Kryach assaulted her, forced her to her knees, and strangled his death-essence around her. Death gave her a sample. Last night, I gave her the full dose. Malice thickening in my throat, I growl under my breath. Sick of this endless cycle. At least Isla has joined with the games unlike my past brides who were on the receiving end.
Except for Finleigh who refused to engage. Who had the audacity to spit in Kryach’s face every time. Finleigh rejected and ignored the God of Death but affirmed and respected and grew to love me. While Isla tempts and seduces us both.
My bride concludes her story, “It was such a pleasure to get to know all of you last night,” her voice sparkles, and she blows them a kiss. “I wish it had been under better circumstances when the King was not acting like a malevolent and maliciousmonster.”
Her words are a justified scythe carving my heart. I’m certain she would love to hold the vital muscle in her hand. And I would bow before her and allow her to squeeze it, to crush it like a pomegranate fit for her captivating mouth.
As Isla waves to the refter brides, Ifrynna rises, leaps over the thorny fence in a single bound to shake the ground beneath Isla’s feet. My bride’s smile is more radiant than all our kingdom’s mines of jewels when Ifrynna lowers her great trio of bone heads to Isla. She snorts a laugh when Isla tickles beneath her ears one head at a time.
“Not to fret, my lovely Guardian. I have three flower crowns for you, too!” Isla squeals, then opens her hands, vines bursting with ease. Not one bead of sweat mars her delicate brow. I nearly shake my head in disbelief.
“Ifrynna...” my Guardian pronounces, triune-united.
Grinning and nodding her gratitude, Isla motions to Ifrynna’s first head?the one whose expressions are the most subdued. “You seem more of a white Inker flower. As if you have depths beneath the shallow surface. But be careful, the inner black barbs are venomous,” warns Isla with a side-smirk as Ifrynna’s first head bows to accept the apt crown.
Marveling at my bride’s perception, she moves to the center head, strokes her side only to have Ifrynna’s hot center tongue lash her palm. Isla giggles. “You are scarlet heart. I can tell you are a fierce warrior who loves even fiercer.” Ifrynna’s middle eyes gleam, her smile toothier when Isla forms the heart-like flower the color of fruit wine with its golden center.
Incredulous, I shake my head but can’t deny my rising smile, the warmth radiating through my body as Isla moves to my Guardian’s third and final head. Stepping back, she taps her lips in contemplation. Ifrynna’s third eyes, dark and labyrinthine, are unreadable?her expression as stoic and quiet as ever. Not even I have wrestled more than three words from Ifrynna’s far-left head. My chest dulls with the knowledge. I wonder how upset my bride will be.
Finally, Isla nods, smiles, bows her head. “No pretty flowers for you, my beauty. You have roamed every inch of the Nether-Void, have looked into the eye of Eyleanan and Ifrynn for which you are named. But while hell may have staked its claim on you, dear one, you have conquered it. Just as I hope to one day.”
Bewildered, I reach for a nearby branch to center myself, fingers crushing flower petals. Breath stalled, I stare at my bride as she removes the crown of thorns from her head, yanks a few long strands of her silver hair like spun star silk to entwine them around the thorns, then raises it to Ifrynna’s third head.
Ifrynna doesn’t move, as if she will reject the offering. But after blinking and tilting her head to the side to survey my dark rose, Ifrynna finally lowers her third head.
And once Isla beams and dons the crown upon Ifrynna’s third brow, she opens her sacred mouth bearing few words and urges, “Climb upon me, wonder. Today, you will ride upon my back, and I will carry you wherever you desire within Nathyan Gyeal.”
