Chapter 348
Sacred relics gleamed beneath protective gises, and vepron Nitars of Wirkwood and obedian Votive lights illuminated sconces along the walls. Every detail spoke of reverence, tradition, and age.
Entering the hall, Daemoniksi’s eyes fell upon one object.
Once awakened, it was one of the most powerful relics they had ever possessed. Among its many attributes was the power to grant great strength during times of weakness. Stolen during the last eclipse moon, it was taken from the man’s winged, dead fingers after he’d been slain.
Forcing that night from his thoughts, Daemonikai ascended the dais, the assembled assembly rising in deference. His eyes found her, as they always did. And as ever, something within him felt an intense connection.
Princess Emeriel sat among the highborn ladies and mistresses of Urai. Beside her was her sister. The two women leaned together, heads touching as they slept, a bowl of nuts precariously balanced on their laps.
“Look at them,” Daemonikai nudged Vladya with his elbow.
Vladya was already watching them, stopping beside Daemonikai instead of moving around to take his seat.
“It is the best feeling, seeing your female carrying your child. There is nothing like it,” Vladya said quietly.
“I know,” Daemonikai replied. He could sit and watch Emeriel all day and never tire of it. “It doesn’t help that they look as sweet as spring blossoms, with their moods swinging from laughter to tears in the blink of an eye.”
Vladya chuckled. “Ackeira burst into tears yesterday because her broth was too hot. I was helpless. It comes without warning.”
They were aware of the hall watching them—waiting for their rulers to be seated before the gathering proceeded. Following their gaze, many in the crowd glanced toward the princesses. A few snorted, others exchanged glances and rolled their eyes, but most smiled. The sight of the two women still seated while the others stood, heads pressed together in sleep, was enough to soften even the hardest lords.
“We had best take our seats,” Daemonikai said, forcing himself to look away from Emeriel. He subtly gestured to the crowd before lowering himself onto his throne.
Before him, Vladya sat to his left, Ottai already seated to his right. Between them, Zaiper’s throne stood conspicuously empty. In the front row of mistresses, another chair remained unoccupied; the seat reserved for his bloodhost.
Daemonikai had heard everything that transpired in his absence after he regained consciousness three days later. Vladya told him Sinai brought her fate upon herself, but he still felt bad about his actions. As usual, he remembered nothing of those hours. But fortunately, the Mistress was alive, healing under care.
The ceremony moved forward, the solemn cadence of the sacred rites beginning. The priests and high elders took their places, beginning the murmured incantations. The priestess stood over the wide bowl of water set upon the altar, a slender ceremonial blade poised in her hand.
“We give blood to the waning, so the waxing may thrive. Let no shadow devour the whole. Let no darkness steal its soul.”
Chapter 348 (Continued)
Moonrise, moonrise—guard the light, untie the…
She drew the blade across her palm, drops of blood falling into the…
The grand event hall was as still as a tomb, the only sound the hushed expectancy, a current felt rather than heard.
However, a faint disturbance began beyond the hill’s…
At first, it was a murmur. A distant scuffle, like the shifting of many feet.
Voices now. Raised commands. The sharp clang of steel.
Inside the silent hall, the assembled clans glanced at each other with apprehension. But none broke the sacred silence.
Daemonikai gestured to Wegsi, who nodded once and signaled several soldiers. They left their posts, quietly departing to investigate.
The chaos outside grew.
The grand entrance doors flew open with a crash, and standing there, behind the great doors, was the last person Daemonikai expected to see.
“Oracle?” He straightened, breaking the silence.
The old woman turned, looking behind her as if she expected something to follow. Then, with a wave of her staff, the grand entrance slammed shut of its own accord.
“Seal this door, barricades in place, now!” the Oracle ordered.
The guards hesitated, glancing at Daemonikai, who frowned but gave a curt nod. They moved immediately, hauling the iron drawbars into place to reinforce the door.
Daemonikai turned back to the tense Oracle. “We are in the middle of the sacred rites for the Moonrise—”
“That can wait, Great Grand King.” Gripping her staff tightly, she walked forward, her steps heavy, moving towards the center of the hall. “I bring news of great importance. It may be the last news I ever deliver, which is why I ask you to listen carefully. Do not interrupt me. Do not react, no matter how difficult it becomes. I have but little time to speak all that must be said.”
Daemonikai frowned deeper. As cryptic and maddening as she had always been, something in her tone rooted him in place. He exchanged a glance with Vladya, then Ottai. Both were tense too, and just as watchful.
“I am hunted,” the Oracle continued. “Those who wish to keep this secret buried pursue me. They will soon break down that door and try to undo my words. But I am the Oracle. I do not lie, and most of all, always remember… it’s not a lie if every bone in my body shatters as I speak truths never meant to pass my lips.”
“Oracle,” Vladya rose. “This seems highly dangerous—”
“Five hundred years ago, under the Eclipse Moon, one of us betrayed our kind.”
A ripple ran through the hall, but the clans sat frozen. Eyes wide. Breath held.
“It was never the humans,” she stated in a loud, reverberating tone. “One of our own joined forces with a dark mage, using the human king as a pawn. One of us brought disaster upon our land. One of us opened the gates to slaughter.”
(Continued on next page)