The cool caress of autumn filled the air as Celeste and Anelisse walked arm in arm up the cobblestone street toward their Hightown apartment, the rich emerald of the trees lining the street having faded to jewel-toned hues of gold, orange and red in the weeks they'd spent on the sea. The trees were the only thing that had changed during their absence, however - the square had been as lively as ever.
They'd gone to check on Anelisse's stall, having decided to venture into town when they'd arrived in Marchedor, desperately in need of a distraction. Gandriel, to their surprise, had declined to join them and instead chose to head home alone, saying he'd see them for dinner.
The male had been unusually stoic since discovering the terrified children in the cargo hold, his eternally sunny disposition quieted in a way that had Celeste quipping jokes to try and get a smile to bloom on that obnoxious mouth.
They'd been successful, even though the light hadn't entirely reached his eyes. It would take time, she realized, time for him to come to terms with what they'd seen. Time for that light to return.
She'd skin Dermot for that alone.
Not to mention the other hundred horrors he'd subjected them to. Her nose still burned every time she sneezed.
Fortunately, they'd seen Celli, ever smiling and kind, who had greeted them with months' worth of town gossip and a basket filled to the brim with pastries that had instantly lifted both of their moods.
Hopefully they'd do the same for the sulking shapeshifter at home. That was, if he hadn't accidentally turned himself into a turtle in his morose mood and decided to hermit within his shell. Celeste still couldn't believe he hadn't realized he'd shifted himself and, as befitting her first mate, was still in complete denial it had happened.
Plucking another turnover from the basket before Anelisse could get to it, she wondered how long it would be before he got himself stuck in another form he couldn't escape from. Maybe he'd turn into something even more ridiculous, a chicken or a lizard perhaps, laying eggs or climbing the walls in a wild panic.
Undoubtedly, he'd probably blame Ithaca for it.
Celeste hid her smile at the thought as her sister babbled mindlessly, shoving an apple pastry into her mouth, crumbs dropping from her lips. Glancing sidelong at the brick-walled shops, she watched the denizens of the city mill about, her mind drifting to the tidbit of information that Celli had given them.
The man who'd bought the painting had returned, looking for Anelisse and by association looking for her. They hadn't forgotten her. Celeste shuddered at the thought, relieved to know that Celli had informed him they'd be gone for some time and that he hadn't returned since.
Celli had given her an odd look when she'd muttered her relief and had informed them that the man had seemed a bit put out about their absence. "Put out" was likely a rather mild description of the stranger's reaction.
If she were lucky, he'd accept the knowledge that she'd died that night all those years ago, bled to death and drowned, and would choose to look no further.
And if not . . . well, she'd deal with it.
Celeste tugged Anelisse closer - he'd be a dead male if he even came close to her or her own again. Information regarding her whereabouts and status of being alive would never reach the shores of that damned city as long as she drew breath. She wouldn't hesitate to kill him or die trying. And she certainly would never return to that place of shadow, under any circumstances.
And the spells she suffered through at their memory . . . just another one of their cruel games, whatever it was that he'd done to her. Some lingering force intended to torment her further, to break every piece of what she'd been, to force her into submission.
She wouldn't let it win and she was damned determined to not let another spell happen again.
No, she reassured herself as she noted a lovely leaf drifting lazily to the ground in front of her, their presence was gone and they would not return, of that she was certain.
She had to be.
Realization bloomed in her mind that they were home and at the base of the stairs that led to their apartment when Anelisse's amused chirp cut through her train of thought. "Well, sounds like Ithaca's back."
Blinking, Celeste turned her attention to the apartment above them, the sound of scuffling and screeching resonating from behind the closed door, Gandriel unusually shrill yelp echoing as something crashed, loudly.
Oh, so their fourth housemate had finally decided to return from wherever she'd slunk off to then.
It also sounded like Ithaca had found another loophole in Celeste's orders, if the alarmingly loud crashing and snarling was any indication. The woman had made an art of exploiting the bond they shared.
Another smashing noise echoed, this one sounding suspiciously like glass.
Celeste was willing to bet Gandriel wished he'd gone to town with them instead. Perhaps he'd stop sulking now.
Anelisse flinched.
"Shall we go back to town?" Celeste sent her a wry look and nodded over a shoulder. She was certain her favored pasta place would be thrilled to see them and would likely have an array of fall wines for her to try too.
Anelisse stuck out her tongue in response, reproach in that gaze.
Celeste shrugged. "You can't blame me for wanting to leave him to his fate."
"Come on." Her sister pulled at her arm and stepped up onto the stairs, free hand skimming the railing.
"I suppose we can go save your moron."
"Don't give me ownership," Anelisse muttered as she tugged her along, pastries tucked under an arm, "that makes me responsible for his idiocy."
Celeste grunted her agreement as the sounds of shouting grew louder, ownership of Gandriel was a huge commitment. After all, keeping the male alive was becoming an art form. Stepping ahead of her sister she twisted the knob to the door open and peeked her head inside. Glancing to the right she pulled back, narrowly avoiding a plate that nearly skimmed her nose before smashing against the wall with a clatter.
The ancient woman was certainly pissier than usual.
"Stupid boy!"
OH.
That definitely wasn't Ithaca.
What former lover had decided to visit their dear Gandriel this week then? It hadn't been the first one they'd encountered in their time in Marchedor. In fact, much to Celeste's eternal amusement, she'd already watched Anelisse chase one off with a broom, her sister having waved the cleaning implement wildly about as she ordered the female out of the apartment like a poltergeist.
She would have been lying if she hadn't admitted she was almost looking forward to seeing that again.
Sneaking into the living area she kept low and she waved for Anelisse to follow, motioning for her to keep silent. She inched forward and peered around the corner of the kitchen, curious to see exactly what this woman or female looked like and formulating just how hard her sister was going to have to smack her to get rid of her.
To her surprise, "radiant" was the first thought that flitted through Celeste's mind as she took in the small female's frame, round chocolate-toned eyes narrowed beneath bold arched brows as she glared at Gandriel with the fury of a thousand devils. Her full, lovely mouth set into a scowl that twisted her petite caramel-toned face into a snarl of irritation as she bared her teeth at the male.
Radiant and fierce.
The female threw out an arm in exasperation and Gandriel visibly flinched. Her dark curtain of hair shifted across her slim shoulders, revealing delicately pointed ears.
And fae.
Those sharp, round eyes immediately snapped to Celeste, nearly making her jump in surprise as static pulsed through the room, the energy crackling like lightning.
"Gandriel . . ." The female's voice came out like a velvet purr, rolling in a thick Monteserrian accent that danced from her lips as she flicked her attention over Celeste and her sister as they stood in the archway. "Why are there two women here?"
Well she certainly didn't seem the type that Anelisse would be able to shoo away with a broom. They might actually have to pull a knife to get this one to abate.
There was a heavy pause as the male no doubt scrambled and failed to come up with an excuse. The female sniffed once, eyes widening at what she detected. ". . . Are you sleeping with both of them?" A loud crack sounded as her hand holding what appeared to be her shoe slammed across his face. "GANDRIEL, you stupid, insufferable boy—"
Then again, if this female was beating Celeste's first mate with a shoe then surely, she was a reasonable creature of some capacity. She'd bartered with harder cases before.
Gandriel yelped, pressing a palm against the blooming red mark on his cheek, instantly slipping into his native tongue as he waved his free hand about frantically, "Por favor, escuchame—"
"A human and a fae woman? ¡Cómo te atreves! Tener a dos bajo el mismo techo y al mismo tiempo, pequeño casquivano irrespetuoso—"She brandished the shoe again and Gandriel jumped back, his hand still pressed firmly into his injury.
"It's not what it looks like!"
"Don't lie to me, boy."
"I'm not—"
She let out a snarl that had the hair on Celeste's neck prickling and she took a tentative step backwards, herding Anelisse behind her as the female growled, "¡Ay, qué irresponsable! Primero te la piráis para andar de carallada en la ciudad mientras tu pobre madre se marchita, luego no sólo veo que estabais de picos pardos sino que además le faltáis al respeto a estas pobres chicas, ¡en lo único que pensáis es en ligar! ¿Te habéis preocupado por darles de comer? ¿Hacerlas sentir como en su casa?"
Gandriel was sweating, the scent of fear entangled with what smelled oddly like relief saturating the room. "Por supuesto, mamá, yo nunca—"
"¿No habéis hecho nada, verdad? Claro que no, creí haberte criado mejor que esto, para que tratéis a las mujeres con decencia—"
"¡Mamá," the male's voice had nearly hit a wail as he pressed his hands together in front of him, "te juro que no estoy mintiendo!"
Had he just called her "Mama?" Celeste cycled through the rapidly spewing dialogue that had just untangled before her, surely she'd misheard-
"And what happened to you? This scar on your neck? Where did you get it?" The female jabbed a finger into his chest, pushing him back. "And there is something off about you. Something . . ." she sniffed loudly, "different. You smell different. Why do you smell different—?"
"Smell different?" A nervous laugh. "I don't smell different, what are you talking about? There's no scar on my throat—"
"And the new career choice? Why you didn't contact me as soon as that happened—"
"I didn't think it was a big deal-"
"You know perfectly well it's a big deal," she hissed, grabbing his arm and lowering her voice, "¿Sabéis lo que significa si descubren que existes? Y que estáis trabajando cerca de su mejor amigo-"
"Mamá, por favor escuchadme, sabéis que nunca te mentiría— "
"¡No habéis hecho más que mentirme! ¡Ni cartas ni noticias me habéis enviado! ¡Silencio total! ¿Sabéis cuánto tiempo te he estado esperando preocupada en la cama? Y cuando por fin cojo las fuerzas para venirte a buscar, te encuentro actuando de esa manera "she reared back her improvised leather weapon and brought it down with a crack like lightning on Gandriel's head,
"egoista-" a smack,
"-verriondo-" another,
"-gilipollas-" and another, this one harder than the last,
"Igual que tu padre—"
Gandriel gasped, reeling back from his guarded position as his arms dropped to his side. He lifted a single finger, his voice dropping to a low snarl, "Take that back."
Another pulse crackled through the room as the female became deathly still, her pupils blotting out the chocolate of her irises as they flared, "Don't talk back to me, boy."
Gandriel immediately caved, dropping his hands as his voice came out in a whine, his shoulders curved inwards. "Perdonadme, mamá, pero no me estáis escuchando—"
"Mamá?" Celeste inquired, certain that time of what she'd heard, looking between the female and Gandriel, as the word finally sunk in. "This is your mother?"
She hadn't registered the vague similarity between the two as she studied their features, the curve of his nose and lips the same as the tiny fae before them, though that was where the resemblance stopped. So much for looking just like his mother.
This was the same female that her first mate had literally died for to save. She felt Anelisse peer around her shoulder with curiosity.
Both Gandriel and his mother stopped, directing their attention to what had been their audience for the last few terse moments. The male let out a long sigh as he ran a hand through his disheveled locks as his mother crossed her arms over her petite chest.
"Yes." Despite the fear that danced in his eyes Celeste could see the world-ending relief, the softness that had taken over Gandriel's gaze upon seeing that the female was fine, "This is my mother, Lady Marianna Adella Aella, granddaughter of the Matriarch Glorietta Isadora Aella, head of our family."
"And mother to an ungrateful brat who listens to no one!" She slapped him once more with the slipper in her hand, albeit less fiercely, her face scrunched in fury. "Are you going to introduce me, or should I hit you again?"
Gandriel grunted, his cheeks reddening in embarrassment.
"Of course. Mamá," he cleared his throat, "this is Cel-Lily. " Celeste quirked a brow at the blatant lie, his mother no doubt catching the slip up as well. "Captain of the Loreley. Lily," he nodded between them, "Mamá, Mamá, Lily."
So he'd told his mother about their work in the slave trade then.
Marianna thrust out a hand, a sincere and kind smile replacing the snarl she'd been wearing moments before with unnatural ease. "A pleasure."
Celeste shook it, a bit dumbfounded, surprised to feel the callouses and sturdiness in the grip, someone who was well accustomed to blades.
"-And her sister Anelisse ," a hint of another blush bloomed on his cheeks as he put his hands on Anelisse's shoulders and directed her forward, "the woman I'm . . . courting."
Courting? Celeste nearly snorted. Fucking was more accurate. The thought must have been obvious on her face because Anelisse stepped none too gently on her toe as she approached Marianna.
"It's good to finally meet you," Anelisse took the female's hands in her own, smiling broadly in the way that Celeste knew would break even the most rigid souls. "Gandriel has told us a lot about you."
That you were dying and he sold his freedom to make sure you survived, Celeste internally mused.
"Nothing good, I assume," Marianna quipped, looking suspiciously at her son who looked wounded by her accusation. Her eyes twinkled at it before she squeezed Anelisse's fingers in return and placed two chaste kisses on each cheek. "Ah, but where are my manners? It is a pleasure to meet you too." She looked Anelisse over with a discerning eye. "Polite and beautiful," she clicked her tongue, "too much for invalid son."
"Mamá." Gandriel grumbled in annoyance.
"Yes, mijo?" she purred, looking at him with the love only a mother could give, something that made a pit open up inside Celeste's chest as an image of Anidre flickered to life in her mind. "I'm only being honest. Perhaps if you'd bother learning some manners, I wouldn't have to observe such things."
"Mamá, lo siento, por favor deja-,"
"Make me." She glanced them over once more before lowering her voice again and speaking quickly and quietly in Montessarian, "¿Son de confianza?"
"Por supuesto," something resolute flickered across Gandriel's face, "Confío en ambas con mi vida."
"Then it's settled."
"Wait, what's settled?" He'd slipped back into the common tongue, his brow furrowing in confusion.
Marianna waved him off and turned Anelisse around before dropping her hand onto Celeste's shoulder and herding them out of the kitchen. She shared a confused look with her sister.
"We will finish this conversation later." The female shoved them both gently toward the door. "Since my son has no manners and has made no attempts to feed you, I will do it myself."
"Mamá, they're perfectly capable of feeding themselves—"
"Enough, Gandriel." She shot him a look over her shoulder that immediately silenced him and made the sense of admiration in Celeste grow ever larger. "We're going to dinner, no excuses."
"Of course we are." Gandriel gave a sigh behind them as he gathered up his jacket and slipped into it before following closely on their tail. She wasn't entirely certain why he seemed so put out, at least it hadn't been Ithaca trying to break his spine.
Though she suspected Marianna might do just that if she found out what, or rather who, exactly her child had done to save her life. Probably best not to bring it up.
Descending the stairs, Celeste found her mind wandering to the ancient woman and pondering where exactly she'd gotten off to.
No doubt she would find her way back eventually.
The aroma of decay wafted about Ithaca as she surmounted the hill, the blood seeping from the ground soaking into her shoes as a flash of lightning illuminated the unnatural storm clouds swirling above. She barely noticed the screams of the undead as they wandered before the crypt that stretched before her. The sight was more humorous than frightening, more homey than horror.
With a flick of her fingers, she mindlessly disposed of the wight that rushed her, the creature crumpling like paper beneath her might, its blade tumbling to the wet ground with a squelch.
Whoever had designed this little trap of an island certainly had a flair for the dramatic, no doubt to try and paint such despair as to drive the living to madness.
They'd certainly had no taste for real darkness.
The work of that two-faced little bastard and his immaculate, holy mother no doubt. Honestly, she should have let them both perish, should have drowned them in the damned lamb's blood that would have saved the putrid brat's life.
She nearly gagged at the thought of her mercy.
Unfortunate, really, that they'd both met such an unfortunate end all those millennia ago. Her soft-hearted mistake had been easily extinguished, even if they'd taken what she needed most and whisked it away to the ends of the earth where she couldn't locate it.
Millennia of searching and with nothing to show for it . . . until now.
That heinous amulet that the little heir of Night had slipped around her neck, that ancient hunk of flattened brass carved in that cursed language . . . it had sparked a memory in her. An artifact of a people she'd long since buried, a people that had taken everything from her.
A people that valued their dead and the power that came with their preservation. A tomb she'd been searching for endlessly, where a certain amulet had come from and where she hoped another artifact lay hidden. And with a tether, a small drop of its essence . . . she'd finally found the damned male's resting place.
Humming, Ithaca ran a gloved finger over the map she'd snagged back from the other pestering little male who'd somehow stolen it, her destination a red pinprick on the ancient parchment's surface. This was the first time this place had ever appeared on this map, in all her millennia of searching.
Gandriel's flowery reek still covered the page and she'd nearly burned it for the stench alone. The hint of life and light . . . it was repulsive, nausea-inducing. Little creatures that deemed themselves "immortal," unaware of the true vastness of immortality, the prospect of a future with no true end and a depthless power . . .
Ithaca pulled a hand free from one of her gloves and threw it to the side before grinning, eagerly awaiting the rush as darkness rose to greet her as she sent out a pulse of power, alerting the meandering wights. Their heads snapped toward her, their rattling bones clicking as they raised their rusted swords.
The mindless creatures rushed her just as she dropped into the unending darkness, reveling in the brush of its might.
Gandriel could have sincerely died a happy, fat male after the dinner his mother had treated them to, her hand heavy with the bottles of wine as she always was as they'd gluttoned themselves and she'd reminisced stories that even had the usually dry Celeste in fits.
True, most of the stories had been to his detriment, favored anecdotes that always had his ears burning after she recollected the less savory parts of his youth. This time he hadn't even protested, instead joining in on the laughter as relief and happiness soaked him.
He'd never been so happy to have seen her fury, he'd nearly collapsed and wept when he found her standing in their kitchen, her eyes roving disapprovingly over the perpetual mess of their apartment.
She was wholly herself again, bright and wild as he'd always known her, not the corpse of the female in that pale bed begging him to be wise when she inevitably departed.
He'd do it all over just to ensure he never saw her in such a state again. Even if he had bartered his freedom off to Ithaca, something he'd thoroughly hated with every fiber of his being. He didn't think he'd ever stop thanking Celeste for helping him break that bargain, even if she'd nearly killed him again after he'd woken up.
His captain had saved him from more than his own death though, even keeping her mouth shut about the circumstances of his mother's baffling recovery that even she couldn't explain. Not that she needed to know the truth of it, ever.
Hiding the lingering scar from his mother had been tricky, and he'd been forced to settle for wrapping a silk scarf around the white line across his throat that hadn't faded despite the numerous salves he'd tried on it, and his own fae healing. He'd also surreptitiously doused himself in cologne in an attempt to hide his subtly changed scent, hoping that she'd have forgotten about that tiny detail when they talked again.
Gandriel steeled himself for the conversation ahead, struggling not to pace. The muffled laughter of the girls inside sounded from the kitchen as his mother looked out over their balcony, her arms resting against the railing. She didn't bother looking up as she spoke.
"You've lost weight, it's not like you to look so sallow in your cheeks, mijo."
"Ah, yeah, Mamá," he rubbed at his cheek, the bruise she'd given him from earlier having already faded, "that's what happens when you're subsisting on a diet of pickled eggs and stale wine."
"That's not it." Wise, familiar eyes landed on his face. "Tell me the truth, Gandriel."
He puffed out his cheeks, unsure of how to broach the subject, fearful of the response he'd receive. He'd fully expected the pride and approval regarding the bits that they'd told her regarding the slave trade, but the other things he'd discovered-
". . . Mamá, was my father able to . . . uhh . . . turn into a cat?"
Marianna froze and quirked a brow at him. "¿Perdóname?"
"You know . . ." he fidgeted, thinking of how to delicately bring up the subject, "shapeshifting? He didn't do that, right? It's just the winnowing—"
"Shapeshifting? Winnowing! Gandriel-"He flinched as he mother's voice rose, her eyes widening in fury once more. He only hoped she wouldn't pull her shoe off. "When did this happen?"
"A few months ago?" He tried to think how long it had been since he'd first teleported himself and Celeste from that cursed island. "And the cat thing . . . like a week?" He gave her a cringing smile.
"Shit," she pressed her face into her palms, sighing loudly. "This was not supposed to happen—"
"Mamá—"
Marianna composed herself, eyes full of an emotion that Gandriel could not quite put his finger on.
"Yes, that's his power." She rubbed at her face, irritation beginning to bloom her features as she leaned against the railing, her dark curls swaying in the cool breeze she summoned between them. "Of course you inherited it," she murmured more to herself than him, "I was hoping you wouldn't have to face this—"
"I know." She'd told him time and time again as a child, apologizing profusely for the role and responsibility he might one day inherit because of who had sired him. He'd never told her but he'd seen her crying at night too, toiling over the fact that in a line full of Aella females he'd been the only boy born.
The only one who could have inherited power.
"You cannot let him know, Gandriel." Something manic appeared on her features, as though she'd prevent the whole world from finding out herself. "I've spent years protecting you." She stopped momentarily, considering. "Perhaps I should just kill him."
Gandriel honestly didn't think it was a half bad idea.
"Ah, but that will only make it worse on you, especially if you're the next in line—" She glanced towards the door, where Celeste and Anelisse still laughed, enjoying the last of the wine. "Perhaps I should pack you up and take you home to Monteserre where you'll be safe and away from the idiotic, self-centered boar."
"Mamá," he started, hoping to convince her gently that going home would not solve the issue, that he didn't want to return. He'd finally found a purpose. " I can't leave Lily and Anelisse. We're . . . friends." Family was the word he nearly said, one that'd he'd found on his own.
His mother read the message clearly on his face.
"I know, mijo, and I won't force you . . . but be safe." She placed her hand on his cheek, running her fingers gently over it as she pulled him close, forever her son and her dearest babe. "I don't know what he will do if he finds out you exist."
"He won't." He'd shave his head and join a convent before his father discovered his existence. Maybe he could put his newly acquired shifting abilities to use.
His mother nodded solemnly, unhappy with the answer but accepting it, nonetheless.
"I have to go home."
Gandriel straightened at that, surprised and saddened to hear that she would be leaving so soon after arriving, he was about to voice said opinion before she interrupted him sheepishly.
"It is my fault, but I may have sent letters to Carmen, Maria and Sofia to help me retrieve you." Gandriel felt the hair on his neck rise as he broke out in a cold sweat, even just the mention of his aunts sending his heart racing. They'd loved him with a ferocity that made a mated male look tame and had helped raise him with iron fists that made his mother's shoe feel pleasant.
They were demons incarnated into tiny little bodies, each wielding the might of a hurricane, and if they were on their way to retrieve him . . .
They'd have to evacuate the whole city.
"Don't look like that! I know, I know, perhaps I should have waited to send the letter until I found you, but I was worried!" She puffed her cheeks, the freckles sprinkling them standing out in the dregs of moonlight sliding across the balcony. "They are on their way to Marchedor, I have no doubt. I need to intercept them before they raze the city to the ground."
If his mother could intercept them and make them see reason. Maybe it would be prudent that they head back to the Loreley a little earlier than planned, perhaps stay on the sea for a year or two to make sure he stayed alive. If not, Celeste would likely have to revive him again.
Marianna's sheepishness slipped away into a cool look, the knowing face of a mother about to speak a hard truth to her child, "Gandriel."
He braced himself. "Yes?"
Marianna looked to the door where the sounds of Anelisse and Celeste had faded, the girls having either wandered to another room or gone to bed. "She's very lovely, my boy, but you must remember she is human . . . you know what that means don't you? She's mortal."
He'd been expecting this, ready to explain to his mother that he knew exactly what that meant and what heartache would inevitably follow. He swallowed hard. "Mamá, I know."
She dipped her chin once and pushed away from the railing. "Just remember she is fleeting, my son, and try to keep that soft heart of yours safe," she poked him in the chest, a smile on her lips as she opened her arms to him and beckoned him forward. He slipped into that familiar grasp and nearly cried as she tugged him close, "and don't forget to write to me, understand?"
"Si, Mamá," he laughed as he hugged her back, pulling her close, "I won't forget."
"Where is it?" Ithaca tore through the sarcophagi, digging, desperately searching as she crunched the bones of the fallen wights beneath her feet, their brittle bones snapping as she strode to and fro, "WHERE IS IT—"
It wasn't there.
She turned to the large crypt and raked her hands through his tomb once more, snapping his remains as she pulled handfuls of jewels the size of lark eggs and weapons crafted of the finest steel from beneath him, everything but the artifact-
Furious, she yanked his skeleton out of its resting place, his jaw loose and smiling as his empty eye sockets bore into her, mocking her, laughing at her as she toiled on her fruitless quest. She cast his bones to the side with all of her might, the shattering sound echoing around her as she pulled her hands through her hair.
He'd known.
She slammed the lid shut and kicked the skull nearest her into the wall, the brittle bone of one of his personal guard shattering into dust. Useless bastards, the lot of them, even in death.
He'd hidden it somewhere else, somewhere else in this fucking hellhole of a world where she could not reach it. She screamed her fury as she blasted the opened tomb away from her, bits of gold and mortar splintering in all directions.
Chest heaving, she barely registered the cloud of dust that rose around her, the unstable creak of the tomb as it took the blunt of her fury. She'd level the whole forsaken palace.
He'd known she'd find his tomb; knew she wouldn't give up her searching until she found it. It was hers-
She bellowed.
Not here, not anywhere. Where had he taken it? Where had he placed it? She'd scoured every inch of the planet, bartered with, seduced, and slaughtered every manner of creature to find it—
She would not stop until she found it. Would not relent until what was rightfully her own was back in her possession.