“Ah,” he murmured, glancing down the hall. “I’m guessing they were still asleep?”

“They were when they left, which kind of surprised me,” I admitted, having figured one of them would’ve woken when Ash draped them over his shoulders.

His head tilted. “Younglings are deep sleepers. Once they fall asleep, they’re out until morning.”

“Huh.” From what I knew, that was the complete opposite of mortal children.

His attention shifted back to me. “I hope you got some rest after your eventful night.”

My thoughts flashed to the hours spent in bed with Ash. There had been some rest involved. “I did.”

“That’s good to hear,” he said. “You may feel stronger than ever.”

“But I’m a baby Primal and, therefore, need lots of nap time,” I said, eyeing him. “Why do I suspect that you knew exactly where your daughter and Reaver were?”

A faint smile tugged at Nektas’s lips. “Am I that transparent?”

“Yes.” I stepped aside. “Would you like to come in?”

His chuckle was low and raspy as he walked in. “This is unexpected.”

“What is?” I asked as I closed the door.

“This,” he answered with a sweep of his arm.

I scanned the chamber and winced at the bed in complete disarray and the leftover food and clothing scattered about. “The place is a bit of a mess, isn’t it? We had just finished dinner when Reaver and Jadis came by.”

“A mess?” Nektas surveyed the space. “It actually looks lived in.” He bent, picking up a napkin that had fallen to the floor. “You remember what it looked like before.”

Cold. Neat. Almost empty and devoid of…life.

“It is actually a relief to see such a mess.” He placed the napkin on the table. “There is a warmth to it.”

A mix of emotions surfaced as I fiddled with one of the buttons on my robe. I was at once glad that there was life here and sad that there hadn’t been before.

That Ash hadn’t been able to allow that.

“I hate Kolis,” I whispered as a surge of essence rippled through me.

Nektas turned his head to me. “For what he has done to Ash and to you.”

My breath snagged. What he’d said hadn’t been posed as a question. It was a statement of fact. “Yeah.” I swallowed thickly. “By the way, I heard Jadis tonight through the te’lepe.”

Crossing his arms, he faced me. “I believe we were right in our assumptions regarding the maturity of the embers.”

I nodded.

“I did come here for a reason,” he said after a moment. “I wanted to apologize for tonight’s interruption. Both Jadis and Reaver were told to give you and Ash space.”

“Oh, gods. Please don’t apologize. I was glad to see them. I missed them, and I think they needed to see us to know we’re okay. Especially Reaver. And I needed to see them. There was a time I didn’t think I would see them again.” Avoiding Nektas’s gaze, I cleared my throat and then did what I had already done more than once this evening. I changed the subject. “Ash and I discussed Kolis,” I said, giving him a brief rundown of what we’d planned.

“All of that sounds good,” he replied. “Though I have no interest in speaking for the draken.”

My lips pursed. Who would be better? “But you really do think it’s a good idea?”

“It’s a change.” He scratched his chin. “But change is good, especially when it’s needed.”

Exhaling slowly, I nodded. “There’s something else. Something I realized after speaking with you.”

He picked up an untouched strawberry. “What is that?”

“The riders. Do you know what they are?”

He finished off the sugar-dusted fruit. “What do you think?”

“I…I think you know more than you’ve shared with Ash,” I said after a moment.

Picking up another berry, he went quiet for a moment. “I was still of only one form when the riders came into existence, created to bring about the end.”

“Gods, you are so old,” I mumbled. He shot me a narrowed-eye look, and I flashed him a quick, bright smile. But he was old, and I knew what that meant.

“Why do you ask?” he questioned.

“It wasn’t until I was having dinner with Ash that I remembered all the stuff I’d seen during my Ascension,” I explained. “You know who the Fates are, don’t you?”

He nodded, looking out over the courtyard. “I remember the Ancients more clearly than the eldest of the Primals. I know what some became.”

“And you never said anything to Ash?”

Nektas shook his head as he wiped his fingers on the napkin he’d picked up.

“I didn’t either. I almost did, but I had a feeling I shouldn’t. That there would be consequences if I did,” I told him. “But I don’t know why. I was wondering if you did.”

“Power. Ancestry,” he stated. “Some gods and mortals would seek to follow them instead of the Primals—those who would always align themselves with those they believed were the strongest—who they descended from in one way or another. We are lucky the Arae know the truth.”

“What truth?”

“That beings who wield control over life and death, the lands and the elements, those who hold within them such unyielding power, can never be in a position to rule,” he said, eather flashing in his pupils. “For they are blood and bone.”

“The ruin and wrath of a once-great beginning,” I whispered. A fine shiver curled its way down my spine at the same moment cold fingers of dread pressed into the skin behind my left ear. I thought about what Kolis had sought to become.

A Primal of Blood and Bone.

Of Life and Death.

“The Ancients,” I said. “They held power over all, right? Before they split their powers and went into Arcadia or became the Fates.”

“Before then, a single Ancient could influence gods and mortals to go to war or make peace. They could inspire invention and love, or slothfulness and envy, and ensure that the lands were as fruitful as a union between the two,” he said. “One could turn an entire village propitious or curse every inhabitant with misfortune.” His gaze met mine. “It is because they wielded control over all forms of life and death.”

A chill went down my spine as I crossed the chamber, stopping at the balcony doors. “The part about them being able to create new realms wasn’t hyperbole.”

“I never saw them do it, but it was said they could,” he said as I pulled a curtain aside. “But they could also undo the realms. They could topple the mountains and flood the lands. That is what some wanted to do. Not complete destruction, not a complete undoing of the realm, but they had done it before. In different lands.”

“Lands to the east and west, separated by unending seas and mist,” I murmured, thinking about the mountains I’d seen erupting into flames, and the steel buildings that had fallen. Had they already done what I’d seen? Was that why we couldn’t pass beyond the veil of eather?

Or was that what was to come?

“But you know what the Ancients were capable of and what the ones who went to ground still are,” he said.

“I know. I was just thinking about why there has never been a Primal of Life and Death.” My fingers tightened on the curtain. “It’s because they would be…”

“Not just mightier than any Primal,” he finished, “but a Primal of Life and Death. Therefore, as powerful as an Ancient once their essence reached maturity.”

I stared at the dark skies beyond the glass. “If Kolis drained his brother and took the embers that way, he…” I rubbed the nape of my neck. “He would’ve taken all of them.” The prophecy whispered through my thoughts. “For finally, the Primal rises…” It spoke of the Primal of Blood and Ash. Blood and Ash stood for Life and Death. Blood and Bone. “He would’ve become the Primal of Blood and Bone.” I forced in a slow, even breath. “He could still become that.”

“Will you allow it?”

My gaze flew to him. “Fuck, no.”

“Will Ash?”

“Absolutely fucking not.”

Nektas smiled. “I didn’t think so,” he said. “Once Kolis is dealt with, such a being will not be a concern.”