Aether & Ash, page 16
One Thrall stirred a simmering broth, the surface glowing faintly from crushed redroot, another peeled vegetables and tossed them into the mix along with crushed herbs. The meat sizzled on flat stones set over flame, the scent heady and wild. It was quiet work, focused and fluid, but I couldn’t look away. There was something almost elegant in the way they worked in synchrony.
And despite knowing nothing about spices or simmering times, a small, unexpected part of me wondered what it would be like to know how to do these things—to make something edible, to create something warm and whole from raw things plucked from wild grounds. So, I sat there, pretending I was only resting, letting the quiet hum of the encampment settle around me.
It was then that I heard it, her voice. That saccharine, silken tone that always managed to grate on my nerves like stone dragged across glass. My heart skipped a beat, a sudden rush of unease blooming in my chest, and I turned. And there she was. Fiora, emerging from one of the caves, her movements light and graceful as always, her gown clinging in all the right places. She glanced across the camp, and her eyes flicked past me like I was smoke.
Damien had promised he’d dismissed all his intimates. And yet, there she was. As if nothing had changed. Of all the Thralls he could’ve brought with him—he chose her. And he’d done it knowing I wouldn’t be there. The thought churned in my stomach, sour and raw.
A younger Thrall, crouched by a crate of herbs, looked up as Fiora passed and offered her a curious smile. “You’re done already?”
Fiora’s lips curved in that demure, practiced way of hers. “Hmm...I’ve already been to Young Sovereign’s,” she said. “He asked me to return tomorrow.”
The other Thrall giggled. “Oo...You must be his favorite.” Fiora’s smile deepened, and she winked at the other before disappearing into another cave.
I couldn’t move for a few moments. Something cold settled over my skin. I stood there for a few moments. Then my legs moved, my body simply carried me to his cave.
I didn’t care what she’d actually been there for—tending to him, feeding him, whispering lullabies for all I knew. Damien had promised, “All gone.” Yes, right. She was in his cave with him—that alone felt like betrayal because she is an Intimate.
Damn them.
I cursed myself when I reached the cave. My satchel was there, half opened. I took his bath brick and towel.
I know the sting I am feeling is from the truth unraveling beneath what I’ve discovered, that I could never truly claim or control him. He was the Heir of Atlassian. His choices would never be mine to shape. He would always have the right to do whatever he pleased.
And what did that make me? Some naive, insolent woman he had to gently correct, keep in check, silence with soft looks and half-truths? I hated how I couldn’t stop wondering—are they still involved like that?
Stars. How pathetic did I sound?
And yet, beneath all the spiraling thoughts, I knew one thing with aching clarity—I had a right to be treated with dignity. And if he couldn’t uphold that, then I’d be gone.
Not from Etheris though, I might be naive, but I’m not an idiot. I would gather my satchels, collect my things, and find another cave. Damn him and his royal privileges. There was still so much I hadn’t explored. The Legion was warming to me, and with this strange new tether blooming inside me…I had potential. Real potential. I could feel it. I didn’t need to mope in the shadows of someone else’s choices. I had my own.
As I gathered a few essentials from the cave, moving swiftly with an air of forced detachment, I heard the unmistakable sound of his boots.
Damien. His stride echoed against the stone, unhurried but heavy. When he entered, his eyes flicked first to the satchel at my side, then to the cloak I’d folded, then to me. “Why are you packing?”
I didn’t respond immediately. My fingers stilled over the fastenings of my bag, hovering as I weighed whether to lie, deflect, or let silence speak for me. Because if I opened my mouth now, I’d sound like a petulant girl. A lover scorned. And I would not give him that.
Damien’s voice came again, lower this time. “I was going to suggest you move to another cave.” His tone was maddeningly measured, as though it had nothing to do with me at all. “You’ll attract less attention from the Elders,” he added. “And while I am out Hunting, I won’t have to worry about whose eyes are on you. I don’t know which of them are scheming to leverage my Bonding, but I would rather not hand them ammunition.”
That stung, more than I cared to admit. As if all I was now was a threat to his strategy.
So, I smiled. I smiled with teeth. “Yes, I thought so too. Maybe if I stay in another cave, Izmer’s, perhaps, mingling with him would pull the attention away from us.” I didn’t look at him when I said it. Just smoothed the fold of a tunic, his tunic and shoved it deep into the satchel. “I was heading there now. That’s why I’m packing.”
For a moment, he didn’t speak. When I finally glanced up, his expression had changed, his features carved from stone, eyes unreadable. Then a slow, merciless smile curved over his mouth. Something colder, darker, like the flicker of steel being drawn. I took a step back, pulse stuttering. He moved forward.
“I don’t know,” he said, voice quiet, too quiet, “what kind of man you have decided I am.”
Another step. I backed up instinctively, my spine brushing the edge of the cavern wall. “But let me make something clear to you, Mirabelle.” His voice dropped into a low and gravel-edged timbre, the kind of tone that didn’t need to rise to be dangerous. “I might bleed for you. I might kneel for you. I might damn myself if it meant keeping you safe.”
His hand braced beside my head, palm flat against the wall, caging me in. His breath brushed my cheek, warm and intimate.
“But never mistake that for weakness.”
His free hand trailed slowly down the front of my tunic, stopping just short of contact, before curling into a fist against the stone near my hip.
“I don’t bend unless I choose to.” His voice was a gravel drag, hushed but lethal. “And I won’t tolerate hearing another man’s name from your lips like you don’t know exactly where you belong.”
I couldn’t move. But I glared back at him. “Izmer,” he bit out, the name like poison, “is lucky he is not involved in this. But if you go to anyone’s cave, if you so much as let them think you are theirs to even think about, I will end them.”
I stared up at him, chest rising and falling too fast, skin burning cold. His fingers came to my jaw, tilting my face up. “You understand?” he murmured, menace curled in velvet. And then, he leaned in and pressed a single kiss to the corner of my mouth. I turned my head, jaw clenched, refusing to let it land properly.
“I refuse to be your muse,” I spat, my glare unflinching. “If you get to keep Fiora behind my back, I will have whoever I damn well please in front of you.”
He tsked, softly. “Wrong, wrong, Mirabelle. So wrong.” His hand tightened at my jaw, firm enough to remind me exactly who I was provoking. “You will never choose anyone else,” he said, his voice low, controlled. “That life of options, that is over for you.”
I tried to twist away. “You’re delusional—”
“And here’s the thing,” he interrupted, eyes burning into mine. “I am a very reasonable man.”
“Reasonable, my ass—” Before I could finish, his grip shifted and his mouth found mine again—this time fierce, bruising, silencing. I clenched my jaw, refusing him in, lips sealed tight.
I tried to push him off. He didn’t budge. When he finally pulled away, it was because he chose to. “If there is something burning in that clever head of yours,” he said, “bring it to me. Don’t twist it in silence. That is not how we work.”
My chest rose and fell, uneven. I said nothing. His hand left my waist and skimmed the base of my throat, lingering for a heartbeat. “And this is the last time you weaponize someone else’s name against me. Do you understand?”
I gave a stiff, reluctant nod.
He stepped back, slowly, gaze still pinned to me. His expression softened just enough to draw breath again. “I dismissed all my intimates before the Hunt,” he said simply. “Fiora included. She wasn’t summoned, she was assigned.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Assigned?”
“She’s been doing cleaning duty during Hunts for years,” he explained, still irritatingly calm. “I came first with the Elders. The Thralls followed with the supplies. I wasn’t even aware she was among them.”
“Oh.” My voice fell flat. That…wasn’t terrible.
But I wasn’t letting it go that easily. “And yet,” I said, “you wanted her to return again to your cavern.”
He gave a slow nod. “Yes,” he said. “To clean. This cave. When I’m not in it.”
I opened my mouth, but he beat me to it. “Not to fluff my pillow. Not to coo at me from the foot of my bed.” He tossed my own words back at me like coin, and I stared at him, stunned, the heat climbing my cheeks, equal parts mortified and achingly drawn to him. I tried to hold my ground.
“I know exactly how I look right now,” I muttered through clenched teeth. “And I hate it.”
But his gaze only softened. “Then don’t fight me like I am your enemy.”
He reached for me again, this time slower, his fingers brushing the curve of my cheek in a silent apology. I leaned in without thinking, pressing a quick kiss to his lips, a flustered, awkward little apology I hadn’t planned. But the second I tried to pull away, Damien’s hand caught the back of my neck.
In one swift movement, he hauled me in, his lips crashing against mine with a heat that stole the breath from my lungs. He kissed me like he needed it to breathe, and when I whimpered into his mouth, his hold only tightened, dragging me closer.
Then pride reared its head, and I pushed against his chest.
Damien’s brow arched, a curl of satisfaction playing at his lips. “I didn’t know jealousy could look so regal,” he murmured, brushing a kiss on the tip of my nose. Then he leaned in, his breath warm at my ear. “And you,” he drawled, “you wear it like an Empress.”
Before I could come up with something appropriately cutting, he reached past me and plucked my half-packed satchel from the bed, then gestured toward the mouth of the cave. “Come.”
We walked in silence, the tension between us settling into something quieter, no longer volatile. His stride was slow, and I found myself matching it with ease. He didn’t speak until we rounded a bend near the far end of the encampment, where a smaller cave nestled beneath an overhang of slate-like stone. Vines clung to its edges, and a stream trickled softly nearby, filling the air with the sound of water on stone.
“This is yours,” he said simply. “Close enough to be watched. Far enough to be left alone.”
He stepped aside, letting me take in the space. There were basic comforts already inside, blankets, a low bench carved from stone, a raised bed with furs, and a lantern already lit. His voice cut through the hush again. “There’s a pool past those deep green vines, east of your cave. That one’s for you.”
A beat passed. Then, with that same composed command, he added, “Be civil with everyone while I’m gone. Fiora included.”
My jaw ticked. “She’s not harmful, Mirabelle,” he added, tone even but firm. “I know how you feel. But she’s not a threat to you.”
Not harmful. My mind flicked back to her faux-innocent act, her coy little lies, the way she let me hear just enough to wound. But I wasn’t about to fling that tangled net of insecurity and venom in front of him. So I gave him my best icy smile, the one that had once gotten me out of three shifts in the laundry pools.
“Oh, I’ll be civil,” I shrugged. “I’m always civil.” That earned a look, but he let it pass.
He set my satchel down near the bed, movements unhurried. I thought he’d leave right after, drop me off like a parcel and vanish into whatever duty called next. But he stayed. Sat on the edge of the bed, boots off, and tapped the space beside him like it belonged to us both. One exchange slipped into another—about the terrains, meals, his thoughts, the real him beneath the Heir’s cloak, their dead-ends with the current crisis, and more than I expected him to share.
And when he finally rose to go, the knot in my chest pulled tight. All the things I wanted to say swelled behind my teeth, so naturally, the most useless sentence came out instead.
“Can I help with the cooking tomorrow?”
He looked at me for a moment, then nodded. “Sure, if you want to.”
If I want to. Stars. What I wanted was to prove I wasn’t just some delicate little thing he had to tuck away like fine glass every time something sharp entered the room. But no—he wouldn’t let me join the Hunt, wouldn’t let me fight beside him, wouldn’t even let me argue about it.
So, I’d chop vegetables instead. Fine. If I couldn’t scorch the battlefield, I’d scorch the pan. In the meantime, there were still the shadows. The ones that slid out of my skin like secrets, curling and coiling with a mind of their own. I’d start small. Contain them. Control them. Bend them to my will. Just like everything else in this Realm.
Hope so, hope so.
Chapter 20
Damien
The dawn broke cold over Etheris. The Celestia bathed the land in a distant light, its purple hues casting shadows that stretched over the jagged peaks of the Wildlands. Yesterday’s failure still gnawed at my thoughts, the bitter taste of defeat lingering like a foul aftertaste that refused to leave.
Ghor’mak. The name itself echoed in my mind with the weight of an inevitable regret. We had thought it possible to capture the creature, Izmer and I, even though deep inside, I knew it was a fool’s errand. But that relentless drive, that constant thirst to conquer the impossible, it drove me, always, relentlessly pushing me to challenge what should remain untouched.
Not every Tameable could be subdued, and it was still a mystery how, or why it happened, and which Tameables it would happen to. Only a rare few could form something deeper with us. That was the point of the Hunt, after all—to see if they were capable of Taming. Creating a true Tether—where a creature of raw Aether willingly gave a part of itself to a Hunter. A sacred exchange.
We thought Ghor’mak might be one of them. We were wrong. We had approached it under the cover of darkness, thinking we could catch it off guard, perhaps exploit its slumbering state. But the moment we saw it, I knew we had underestimated the creature’s true strength. Its form, massive and slow, could not have been more deceptive. We had thought it merely an island drifting on the winds, but when it stirred, the ground beneath us groaned in protest.
Ghor’mak was not just a beast, It was a biome. Its gargantuan body, made of living wood and endless roots, shifted as the very ground seemed to adapt to its movements. A floating forest alive with bioluminescent trees, glowing fungi, and smaller creatures thriving in its branches. Each step it took reshaped the terrain beneath it.
We fought to control it, our combined strength and Aether flowing toward one singular goal: tame the Tameable. I summoned mist, sending torrents to strike its great body, the liquid cascading over the bark like a deluge, trying to soak into the massive expanse.
The creatures and vines that draped its limbs were no match for the power of my will. Yet, it regenerated with a speed that defied reason, its body shifting and reforming with every attack.
Izmer was by my side, his dark Aether carving through the shadowed spaces between the creature’s glowing limbs. His movements were a blur, slashing at the roots that seemed to be alive, pulling the ground beneath us. His dark tendrils wrapped around the creature, attempting to trap it, to bind it in shadow, but the ancient beast shrugged them off, as though they were nothing more than the passing wind.
The more we attacked, the stronger it became. Its regeneration was too powerful, its will too strong. Every wound we inflicted only served to fuel its relentless growth. It was fighting itself. The land around us trembled, as if Ghor’mak was caught in an internal battle, an ancient war within its own being.
The roots we struck began to burn at contact, twisting and recoiling, as if Ghor’mak’s very body rejected submission. And we knew it didn’t need taming. It needed healing. And we weren’t the ones to offer it.
It was then that the weight of failure truly settled in. These entities cannot be subdued with force or Aether, they choose. Or they don’t. And Ghor’mak had chosen not to. There was no shame in the loss in Etheris, there was only the next Hunt. But still, as I stared back at the drifting figure disappearing into the violet haze, I couldn’t help but feel something else slip away with it, that was time for us.
Today, we were aiming for the Choral Swarm. I couldn’t help but let my mind wander to the day ahead. The Swarm was something entirely different, though perhaps even more dangerous. Not a beast you could confront head-on, but ethereal, shifting moth-like creatures no larger than hawks, each glowing with faint light from inside. They were beautiful, in a way, haunting even, their presence like a dream caught between worlds, inhabiting both the highest Celestia and the deepest forests.
When Tethered, they could move as one, guided by a single will. But the Swarm was far from peaceful. The creatures were capable of forming shapes in the Celestia, grand, twisting configurations that could span entire horizons, drifting through the air like ghosts. A calm, tranquil melody could turn into something dark and violent with the merest disturbance. And when they were disturbed...well, I had seen firsthand what they could do. Last time it happened, we lost seven of us.
The campsite hummed with murmurs. Izmer and I had spent the early hours checking the gear. He preferred silence when working, his expression tight with focus as we organized traps we rarely used for Tameables. They were for what we might encounter on the way.
