“What caused that to change?”

“The same things that happen to any being who sees too much time pass.” His thumb glided over my lower lip. “They lost their connection to those who came from their flesh and the mortals, seeing less and less of what made those who inhabited the realms beautiful over time. My father said they began to see anything not created by them as parasitic. The changes mortals made in their realm didn’t help. The Ancients were particularly displeased with the disruption of land in the name of advancement. Too many forests were cut down, replaced by farms and manors. Roads replaced soil. Cities were built upon meadows. When they looked at the mortal realm, they only saw death.”

“Really?” I drew out the word.

Ash nodded. “My father said the Ancients were not only able to see but could also connect to the souls of every living creation. That included higher forms of life such as you and me, but also animals and plant life.”

Creases formed between my brows. “Plants have souls?”

“That is what my father said the Ancients claimed.”

“So, I take it that neither you nor the older Primals can see such a thing?”

“Correct.” His thumb made another sweep across my lip. “The Ancients came to believe that mortals and the lands could not coexist. They figured they had to make a choice.”

“Mortals or…or the trees?”

“Mortals cannot exist without the bounty of the land,” he said. “So, to them, the choice was easy. They decided to cleanse the lands and clear it of mortals.”

“Dear gods,” I murmured. “And they could do that?”

“The Ancients were…well, remember what was said about a Primal of both Life and Death? How such a being could both destroy the realms and remake them in the same breath?”

“Yeah.” I shivered, thinking of Kolis having such power. “The Ancients could do that?”

“At first. Luckily, some realized the dangers of any being having such limitless power and took steps to lessen theirs long before the first mortal breathed. And they did that by creating offspring from their flesh.”

“Primals like your father?”

“Yes. They transferred parts of their energy—their essence—into each of their children, thus splitting their abilities among them and, therefore, creating a balance of power that was shared.”

Something about what he’d said struck a chord of familiarity.

“When the Ancients decided to cleanse the land, the Primals and gods joined forces with the mortals, draken, and their ancestors, to fight back.” He halted. “Even Kolis fought side by side with my father. It was a different time then.”

It was hard to imagine a time when Kolis and Eythos were on the same side.

The low, warbling trill of a draken drew our attention to the trees. “They’re waiting for us.”

“They are.” Ash guided my gaze back to his. “They can wait a few more moments.” Eather churned restlessly in his eyes. “How are you feeling? Honestly?”

Out of reflex, I started to tell him that I felt fine, but there was no point in lying. It also wasn’t fair to him. Or to me.

I took a breath that didn’t seem to inflate my lungs fully. It was a different feeling than the one that accompanied the anxiety-fueled breathlessness. This felt like a part of me simply no longer worked as well. “I’m…I’m tired.”

Ash’s expression revealed nothing, but his throat worked on a swallow. “How does your head feel? Your jaw?”

I wished I were still lying to him. “Just a dull ache right now.”

“Okay.” He dipped his head and kissed my brow. “Promise me you’ll let me know if the pain gets worse.”

“I promise.”

Ash stayed as he was for several moments, his cool hand against my cheek, and his lips against my brow. Then he stepped back and took my left hand, moving like he planned to lift me into his arms.

“What are you doing?”

His brows knitted. “I was going to—”

“Please, do not say you were going to carry me.”

“I want you to conserve your energy.”

“Walking doesn’t take any energy.”

The scowl deepened. “Along with not understanding what arguing is, I don’t think you get how the body works.”

My eyes narrowed. “I can walk, Ash. I’m dying,” I said, forcing my tone to be light as I swatted his chest, “but I’m not dead.”

The eather went unearthly still in his eyes. “That is not something to joke about.”

I sighed. He was right. “Which direction?”

“West.”

“West?” I looked left and then right before turning my stare to him. “Do I look like a compass?”

His lips twitched. “This way, liessa.”

With my hand held firmly in his, he started to our left. “We don’t have to walk far,” he said, his voice a little rougher than usual, drawing my gaze to his face. He stared ahead, his features impossible to read.

I squeezed his hand.

He gave me a faint smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “Careful,” he instructed. “There are a lot of small rocks and branches. I don’t want you tearing up your feet.”

 That made me smile, and also made my heart hurt a little because he was worried about me hurting my feet. My feet. They could be chopped off, and it wouldn’t really matter.

Okay, it would probably hasten the inevitable, but his concern was sweet and…and it felt loving.

With the diamond in my hand, I walked with Ash for a few minutes, him leading me around fallen branches and scattered pebbles that wouldn’t pierce my skin even if I jumped on them. Eventually, slivers of white—dull white marble or limestone pillars—appeared through the trees.

“Is that a Temple?” I squinted.

“One of them.” He reached up, holding a branch out of the way. “And before you ask, I’m not sure who it once honored.”

“I wasn’t going to ask.”

A lock of reddish-brown hair fell against his cheek as he sent me a sidelong look.

“Whatever,” I muttered, falling quiet for about two seconds as I eyed a fallen, moss-draped tree. “So, mortals did live east of the Skotos?”

“They did.” Letting go of my hand, he gripped my hips and lifted me over the fallen tree with such ease that I couldn’t help but feel dainty and delicate. “Used to live right up to the foothills of the Carcers.”

“Wow.” Portions of the flat, square roof of the Temple came into view. “I didn’t think they ever lived that close to Iliseeum.”

“Primals and gods interacted more closely with mortals then, visiting villages and spending time with them,” he explained, taking my hand once more. “That was before the Primals’ abilities matured, and their effects began to influence the mortals.”

Ahead of us, something—no, a tall and lithe someone dressed in black moved between the trees, walking at a fast clip toward us.

“Who is that?” I asked.

“Bele.” His lips thinned. “You don’t—”

“Finally!” Bele yelled. Above us, limbs trembled as the silent birds took flight, scattering into the air. “I was starting to get worried.”

My lips began to curve as Bele came more into view, her skin a light golden brown in the fractured sunlight. She strode toward us, the midnight-hued tail of her shoulder-length braid bouncing as her pace picked up.

As usual, Bele was strapped to the teeth with weapons. Daggers were sheathed at her thighs, the bands on her forearms secured smaller blades, and the hilt of a sword on her back jutted out at her waist. Over her shoulder, I saw the curve of a bow.

Bele was…she had been fierce before she Ascended, confident and sometimes a little scary. But now?

Now, she was drenched in power and strength, moving through the thicket like a predator on the hunt.

 My steps slowed. She was now the Goddess of the Hunt. Or rather the Primal Goddess of the Hunt and Divine Justice. The last I’d heard, no one knew if Bele had Ascended into actual Primalhood, but that had been before Hanan’s untimely demise. If she had, though, wouldn’t I have felt her approach?