Page 63 of Storm of Shadows

I say none of this and continue stroking Zephyr. “Anyway,” I say, “I don’t believe you.”

“What don’t you believe?”

“That the only reason you’re eager to leave is so you can return to the Abyss sooner.”

“Returning to the Abyss is my only interest. What could possibly make you think it is not?”

“Oh, just the part where you were intrigued as to what Arluin intends for Imyria. And where you said you hate necromancers.”

The Void Prince turns away, his gaze settling on the quiet streets in the distance. His jaw tightens.

“Didn’t you say before that you hate necromancers?” I continue, peering at him.

“I did.”

“And why would a fearsome Void Prince like yourself hate necromancers? Do you not wield the same dark magic as each other?”

“Though we demons wield the shadows as necromancers do, that does not mean that our magic is the same, like how the magic of magi, enchanters and stormcallers differs, despite all wielding aether.”

“That answered my second question, not my first. Why exactly do you hate necromancers, Natharius?”

“I do not wish to discuss this matter with a puny mage like yourself.”

“All right,” I say, raising both hands in surrender. “It was only a simple question. There’s no need to get so angry about it.”

Natharius doesn’t reply.

“I would wager that the reason you hate necromancers is the same reason you wanted to bite Taria’s head off earlier today. I think the reason you hate necromancers has something to do with why you became a demon. Why you sacrificed your entire kingdom, your family, to sell your soul to the Void King in exchange for power.”

“Stop,” he snarls. It seems I’ve touched a nerve.

I would continue to probe the demon, to uncover what truths he hides, but beneath that snarl I swear I hear the twang of pain.

If it were anyone else, I might apologize. But not to him. Back when we emerged from Nolderan’s Vaults, he took delight in my suffering, in my people’s suffering. He doesn’t deserve my sympathy. He’s only lucky I don’t take delight in his misery.

“Fine,” I say. “Suit yourself.”

Natharius turns away from me once more, this time gazing up at the stars. I do the same. There’s no moon, and it makes the stars shine brighter.

Even several minutes later, when I return my attention to Natharius, his furious expression hasn’t relented. He looks even angrier with me than he did with Taria earlier in the city’s square. And I didn’t even threaten to reveal his past to all of Esterra City.

Maybe Taria will tell me. I doubt Natharius will ever reveal the truth to me, and I don’t want to stoop so low as to order him to tell me.

Not that the Void Prince’s past matters so much to me, of course. I’m merely curious why he’s so bad tempered whenever it’s brought up. Then again, Taria alluded to it being the reason he has an instrumental part to play in Imyria’s fate.

By the time Taria and her guards finally show up, Natharius is still riled. Seeing the three of them only seems to infuriate him further, if that’s at all possible.

“I apologize if we kept you waiting,” Taria says as she approaches us.

“It’s fine. We weren’t waiting long.”

Natharius scoffs, but at least he doesn’t make none of his usual remarks.

The priestess is dressed in the same sleeveless robes as before, and they flow from her lithe form like molten gold. Though I also wear robes, the indigo fabric isn’t as billowy and is less likely to get snagged on twigs and branches. Then again, it’s hard to imagine the priestess getting tangled in foliage. She is too graceful for that.

I also wonder about Taria’s arms being bare and whether she feels the cold. While I’m not sure what the climate is like in the orcish land of Jektar, I doubt it will be as warm as Selynis, the Kingdom of Sand and Sun. Maybe the priestess has a fur-lined cloak inside a saddlebag her guards carry, but they all look too small. Perhaps the holy magic radiating from Taria’s entire being prevents her from feeling the cold. Even from several paces away, I can feel the warmth exuding from the priestess. She is like the sun in mortal form.

“Come,” Taria says, continuing past us and gliding down the temple’s steps. Her guards follow closely behind her. “We will find some horses in the stables.”