“Stop being dramatic, Morven. What would happen if I did—I’m not saying I will consummate with him—but tell me what would happen if I did?” Given the look on the vampire’s face, she added with a sigh, “Look, I’m not actually considering it, I swear on Ilyana’s grave.” She meant it, as much as her rationale mind was assured, or was capable of now that she wasn’t in the presence of Tiyus.
Morven snorted as though Clythia was asking what color the milk was without being blind. “Connect the dots,” he ran his fingers on his chin. “You are the most powerful witch, an overpowered being as you have stated, and sealing your freedom to an Evil, I don’t think that will go well for us all. You are a few steps down—regarding power—to be the Sovereign, and if this Tiyus got full control of you, who knows what his devious motives are. Maybe he would want to conquer all of us and make us slaves to breed poisonous thorns like him.”
“He can do that?” Clythia asked softly.
“As an Evil, yes, he can. That was their purpose: to breed their line and corrupt our blood. Where do you think the extreme notion of ‘don’t mix races’ came from?” Morven gave her a look that made her guess he was both baffled and annoyed she was oblivious of the Shadow’s era.
As much as she despised how his eyes were a bold spotlight on her, Clythia had no way of convincing him she wasn’t as ignorant as Morven’s stare was painting her to be.
It was laughable that she had been gloating just a few months ago before those farmers, trying to show them she was their savior—their oblivious savior, the savior who was on the brink of trading Zyvern to beasts who could tarnish all races. Clythia wanted to shrink within herself.
“But the Seven are not the Evils. It doesn’t make sense why that was the only reason to take such a measure,” Clythia said. “Although I agree with it, because not mixing races, whatever the motive was at first, is the right measure. It is what has kept Zyvern safe for so long.”
“Of course, you would think that,” Morven said distastefully, his gaze assessing her. “Anyway, the reason was everyone feared every other race was tainted by the blood of the Evils, and interspecies marriages or any opening to that were banned. By doing that, at least the Seven can protect their bloodline. And if their bloodline is already tainted, then that’s their problem to deal with and not anyone else’s.”
“Our,” Clythia stated, with an assertive voice, a little pleased she had found something to accuse Morven of, to deflect his accusative glare.
“Excuse me?” Morven crossed his legs, a tad taken aback by her tone.
“You talk as if you are not one of the Seven,” she explained with contempt. “You are the Seven.”
The Seven: the collective names of the races that inhabited Zyvern; vampires, sorcerers, humans, elves, faeries, werewolves, and gods. No one knows what the race of the Sovereign was, as the omniscient being was apparently akin to an undecipherable black cube.
The vampire rolled his eyes, with his stiff body it was an action oscillating between comical and horrifying. "This is why I really prefer other planets over Zyvern."
Traitor.
"Why?" Clythia probed, hopeful she would veer his attention off her further.
“Zyvern is boring,” Morven said, annoyed. “Out there in the skies, different races live together, and with that unity, they harbor an advanced civilization. Bringing the strengths each race has and building something not a single one of them alone can achieve.”
The vampire leapt to his feet with a light's sped, new excitement ignited on his face. “Two hundred thousand years and nothing has changed here. Two hundred thousand years, and we rely on our mystic abilities rather than trying to understand the natural world and hone it to perfection. Why? Because we are extremely comfortable with a peace that had festered into a disease of boredom.”
“And you prefer trouble? Like trouble that makes peace scarce, just to excite you?” Clythia asked, shrewdness dripping from her tone. But when Morven opened his mouth, she resumed quickly, “Like the time during the Shadow’s era, when you could hunt humans like a fox did to a deer, when you were fortunate enough not to be in the grip of the Shadow, where you were the predator alongside the Evils and the beasts of Surial.” She perked an eyebrow, satisfied by where this conversation was heading.
Morven went quiet for what felt like a long minute. “I would prefer any trouble any day, prefer to hunt humans like barbaric beasts if the Shadow was off the table, so you are right—almost right. I love excitement.”
Clythia pushed off her feet and advanced towards him with urgency. “Promise me,” she pleaded.
The vampire king frowned. “Promise you what?”
“Don’t tell a single soul about me and Tiyus,” she rested a finger on his chest, exposed between his unbuttoned brown shirt, revealing marble-white skin pouring iciness to her finger.
“You have my word,” Morven dipped his head as his coal eyes grilled hers. “But on one condition: you give me the ability to walk freely in sunlight.”
Clythia’s lip quirked up. “You know what that entails. I don’t believe you are stupid enough to make a deal with a witch.”
The vampire king frowned, visibly struggling with himself about whether he should strike a deal, then he said, “Fine. In justice, keeping your secret would have been enough, but-”
“The price of a deal is by a precious coin, one side a blessing and the other turmoil,” Clythia chimed in, finishing his sentence. “And you requesting this after all this time, well, that speaks volumes,” she tilted her head, “Desperate volumes. It seems your advanced civilizations didn’t manage to solve your setback. You need a sprinkle of mysticism,” she cooed at him, pouting her lips in a mock gesture of disappointment.
There must be some reason why he would want this ability now. Also, part of her thought that even without Tiyus, he would have brought it up somehow. Desperation was drooling off of him, despite his immaculate effort to maintain impassiveness.
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However, his impassiveness was of a different sort than his usual carcass-like immobility—an impassiveness that resembled the living when one is cornered in an unlikely situation but can’t walk away, even though the price would be higher than anticipated.
“Why do you want to walk with the sun biting off your head? I assure you, it’s not as enticing as many paint it to be,” Clythia said, amused. However, it was true that she preferred winter over any season that harbored the ball of fire frequently.
“None of your business,” Morven glared at her with a clipped tone. “Do we have a deal or not?”
“We do,” Clythia singsonged, and tapped into her Inner Sense, which had barely boosted up. One of these days, she was certain one of her companions would succumb to madness, if she didn’t. As hoped, if the hierarchy of power kept her safe. “I take your ability for unorthodox speed as payment for your freedom in sunlight,” Clythia hummed.
Horror splattered on Morven’s face. Before he could protest—too late to change his mind—a sapphire gust gleamed around his figure. Clythia tapped her orange ring, willing a flask to pop out. The gust of light and air began coursing towards the hole of the flask hovering at her side.
The vampire was flung onto his back, tipping the chair off as his elbow hit its leg. The flask drank the light until the last drop. Morven was panting, too exhausted to be furious as he picked himself up from the floor. When done, the flask shrunk into the bead of her ring.
Clythia stepped back, masking her expression with blankness, and sat back on her bed, legs crossed. For Morven, it seemed she was displaying cruelty, but in truth, wielding magic again after it was recharged so little was wobbling her knees.
Thus, she needed to pretend, so she did.
She gave him a grin as she extended toward the frail thrum of her Inner Sense again, “And I curse your tongue to lock on itself if you even think of revealing anything about me and Tiyus to anyone, or even speak about it out loud to yourself.”
The thing was, for a request, the witch or wizard defined the number of curses to flank the prize with. The requester could only pray to be lucky enough to be sent off with one curse, a minor one, but if they were unfortunate, they would return with a bunch, making them regret their inquiry.
This was practiced very often during the Shadow’s era on a large scale, but during the Sovereign’s era, it was a ritual seldom practiced. Races forged borders and lived amongst their own kin, and the demand for such deals was confined between stronger and weaker sorcerers of DavinSaw.
The vampire king staggered back until his long limbs couldn’t support him yet again, plopping onto the floorboard. The Rope of Promise tied around his tongue. Horror was splattered on his features, as he struggled to conceive what was vicing around his tongue and paralyzing his body. However, before Clythia’s vision, a golden thread was twisting around the red flesh until it dissolved.
Morven pulled himself up from the floor after the binding alloyed with his essence. “You really didn’t have to do that. I would have kept my word,” he grunted. "Isn't it enough that you have already taken my speed? What would you possibly gain from taking my speed?"
“I thought I was being generous,” Clythia said, feigning shock.
“Generous?” Morven ran his fingers through his head, ruffling his jet-black hair.
“You said you liked trouble, excitement. And since you don’t like peace, a peace ensured in bloodshed. A peace you find really boring, I was giving you a little treat of difficulty when you galvanize into the skies,” she swept her arm in a wide arc; the window bolted open, and sunlight streamed in.
Out of habit, Morven shied away, but he was too late, thanks to his newfound sluggish speed, as the ray poured onto his marbled face and neck. If he was striking in darkness and shadow, he was gorgeous in sunlight. He should have done this sooner.
“Happy?” she smiled at him.
He smiled back, tucking his hands in his pockets, mischief flickering in his eyes. “Your list of falling on the wrong side of Zyvern rulers is piling up. One day, you will be the trapped bird, and no one will come to save you.”
Clythia was taken aback. “Do I look like I need saving?”
“Yes, you do,” he shrugged, sauntering to her, her chin raising as he peered down at her. “As much as you think your magic is your salvation, it will be your undoing.”
“You’re welcome,” Clythia’s gaze flicked onto his freedom, the rays caking his pale skin, ornamenting it with a godlike glory. “Now, I would really appreciate it if you leave this room.”
Morven’s gaze swept over her one more time before he left the cabin, respectful enough to close the door behind him.
Yet again, Clythia was fortunate enough to be claimed by a dreamless sleep.
----------------------------------------
After what felt like a wink of an eye, Clythia was dragged out of her sleep, the ship, and out onto the land of Faerie. The sand gave way to palm trees, as they all waited to be escorted to Modyr’s palace.
Sorrow knotted her stomach whenever her eyes rushed over her dwindled companions, though they were the largest in number. Yet, she also felt proud that they died with honor, not out of childlike curiosity or lack of power, but while facing a beast unseen for centuries with steel boldness.
Clythia had changed into a white cotton dress with patterns woven on the hem, thin threads of gold alongside fabric dyed in sapphire blue and green.
Morven was clad in something regal too. Regal by the definition of Cravax’s tradition, the presence of silver spikes on his cloak and also sharp edges for a fabric around the neck. In short, he looked like a hedgehog.
Surprise flickered amongst everyone as they noticed Morven unbothered by the afternoon sunlight that was inches away from sinking onto the horizon. The humans and werewolves stared at Clythia and her companions warily, certain it was their doing. However, the witches and wizards were also clueless, narrowing some of their suspicions to Clythia, while some thought the surprise of the sorcerers was fake.
“My queen, I can’t question your authority, but—” Casarda began. She was wearing a sheer green garment, and her golden hair was swept into a messy bun.
“What on Zyvern were you thinking when you gave the vampire the freedom to roam freely in sunlight?” Vina snapped, unabashed by how she addressed the queen. Her auburn dress covered all but her slim hands and head, accentuating her parent-like scolding. “Now the leech will be free to feed on all of us.”
“For fuck’s sake, don’t be a drama queen, Vina,” Clythia rolled her eyes. “Our blood is acidic to vampires; the only ones that should fear him are the humans. Besides, I have taken something of value in return.”
“I hope so,” Vina said.
“What?” Casarda asked at the same time, her tone dipped in curiosity.
“His speed.”
Vina perked her eyebrows as Casarda gasped. “A good trade,” the Lady of Spies nodded, impressed.
“It’s really unnerving seeing him in sunlight,” Vina’s eyes roamed over Morven, but there was something else in tandem with her disgust; there was a speck of awe. But as her eyes left the vampire and darted toward Clythia, she was her uptight self again, making Clythia wonder if she had imagined it.
“It’s not unnerving,” Casarda said in a seductive tone. “My, my, he looks like an angel.”
“What’s an angel?” Clythia asked, watching Morven having a conversation with Glythia and some werewolves.
“Morven with wings,” Casarda responded, lost, enthralled by the vampire in a new light.
“And how do you know that?” Vina asked.
The probing snapped Casarda out of her trance, and she faced the Lady of Hypercas. “They were mythical beings from the Old World,” her gaze flicked to Clythia. “I know this because I am doing my job as a spy.”
“How does knowing a mythical creature from the Old World help DavinSaw?” Vina gave her a pointed look.
"It doesn't." Casarda clenched her teeth, "But it doesn't hurt to know."
It was Clythia who rolled her eyes; in doing so, her eyes met with Afia, who was listening closely, and she gave her a look that conveyed what Clythia was feeling about the constant bickering between the Lady of Melop and the Lady of Hypercas. She tossed Afia a knowing grin.
Three fairies approached them from the grove, lean and tall as all fairies were, wearing identical tunics made from what looked like blue fish scales, using their spears as a third leg.
Their gaze studied the travelers' faces, and the middle one spoke, brown hair, slightly slanted blue eyes, handsome as the two beside him. “Welcome to Nadir. Our king is expecting you. Please follow us.”