The smoky flavor of the whiskey went down surprisingly smooth. “I know I’m about to sound repetitive, but I cannot understand why anyone would do that. You’re the Primal—”
“Of Death. I’m powerful. One of the most powerful. I can kill quicker than most. I can deliver lasting punishment that goes beyond death. I’m feared by mortals, gods, and the Primals, even those who push.” Ash faced me as he took another drink. “And the reason some push has to do with that question you seem rather obsessed with. Well, one of two questions you have asked multiple times. The one with the very complicated answer best not answered while one is bathing.”
It took me a moment. “Why you didn’t fulfill the deal?”
He nodded. “It’s because I did not make the deal.”
Shock seized me as I slowly lowered the glass to the bed beside me. “What?”
“It wasn’t me. I was not the Primal of Death then.” A tightness settled into his features. “My father was. He made the deal with Roderick Mierel. It was he who demanded the first female of the bloodline as a Consort.”
Chapter 25
All I could do was stare at Ash as what he said echoed over and over in my head. Denial immediately rose because of what it meant. I wanted to latch onto that denial, but Ash had said at the lake that not all Primals had been the first.
I’d just never thought he was referring to the Primal of Death.
My thoughts whirled. “Your…your father was the Primal of Death? He made the deal?”
“He did.” Ash stared down at his nearly empty glass. “My father was many things.”
Was.
“And he died?”
“It is not often that a Primal dies. The loss of a being so powerful can create a ripple effect that can even be felt in the mortal realm. Could even set in motion an event that has the potential to unravel the fabric that binds our realms together.” He swished the remaining liquid in his glass. “The only way to prevent that from occurring is having their power—their eather—transferred to another who can withstand it.” His hand stilled. “That is what happened when my father died. All that was his transferred to me. The Shadowlands. The Court. His responsibilities.”
“And me?” I asked hoarsely.
“And the deal he made with Roderick Mierel.”
I exhaled roughly as the strangest burst of emotions blasted through me. There was definitely relief because if that deal hadn’t transferred to Ash, there would be no way to stop the Rot. But then I realized that if it hadn’t transferred, the deal would’ve been severed in favor of Lasania at the time of the Primal’s death. It hadn’t. Obviously, it had moved to Ash. And what I felt wasn’t relief. It was an emotion I didn’t want to acknowledge—and couldn’t.
He hooked one leg over the other. “Drink, liessa. You look like you need it.”
I needed an entire bottle of whiskey to get through this conversation, but I took a healthy swallow. I was surprised that I actually did it. Something occurred to me as I placed the glass on the table. “You said there were Primals younger than some of the gods. You were talking about you, weren’t you?” When he nodded, my grip tightened. “Were you…were you even alive when he made the deal?” Immediately, I wished I hadn’t asked because if he hadn’t been, and he now had to die for something his father did…it made it all the worse.
“I had just gone through the Culling—a certain point in our lives where our body begins to go into maturity, slowing our aging and intensifying our eather. I was…” His lips pursed. “Probably a year or so younger than you are now.”
Hearing that he had at least been alive didn’t make it better at all. He’d been my age. What he’d said in the Great Hall came back to me. Choice ends today, and for that, I am sorry. Gods. It wasn’t just the loss of my choice but his, too. He hadn’t chosen this. I felt like I would be sick.
His head tilted. “You’re surprised?”
I tensed. “Are you reading my emotions?”
“A bit of your shock got through my walls, but they’re up.” His gaze met mine. “I swear.”
I believed him because staying out of my emotions would be a kind and decent thing to do.
I took another drink. “Of course, I’m surprised. By a lot. You’re really not as old as I thought you were.”
A dark eyebrow rose. “Is there a difference between two hundred years and two thousand to a mortal?”
Had he not asked the same while we’d been at the lake? “Yes. As bizarre as that may sound, there is a difference. Two hundred years is a long time, but two thousand is unfathomable.”
Ash didn’t respond to that, which allowed me time to try and make sense of all of this—of why his father would do this. “Your mother…?”
That eyebrow climbed more. “You say that as if you’re not sure that I had one.”
“I figured you did.”
“Good. I was afraid for a moment that you might believe I was hatched from an egg.”
“I really don’t know how to respond to that,” I muttered. “Were your parents not together?”
“They were.”
I opened my mouth, then closed it before trying again. “And did they…like each other?”
His chin lowered. “They loved each other very much, from what I recall.”
“Then I’m sure you understand why I’m even more confused that your father would’ve asked for a Consort when he already had one.”
“He no longer had one when he made that deal,” Ash corrected quietly. “My mother…she died during the birthing.”
My lips parted as sorrow rose within me—sadness I didn’t want to feel for him. I tried to shut it down, but I couldn’t. It sat on my chest like a boulder.
“Don’t apologize.” He stretched his neck from side to side. “I don’t tell you this to make you feel sorry for me.”
“I know,” I said, clearing my throat. I resisted the urge to ask how they’d died. I wanted to know, but instinct told me the more I knew about their deaths, the harder it would be for me to do what I must. “This is why you never collected on the deal.”
“You never consented to it.”
The ball of tension inside my chest tightened even further when it should’ve loosened. As did the knowledge that he hadn’t been the one to make the deal that had made me what I was today. A killer. A deal that had taken away every choice I could make. A deal that had set my life on a path that would ultimately end with the loss of my life.
But, gods, I wished he had. Because I could hold onto that. I could convince myself that he was getting what was coming to him. I could justify my actions.
“You didn’t consent, either,” I stated flatly, looking up at him.
He watched me in that intense way of his. His gaze flicked away. “No, I did not.”
I looked down at my drink, no longer feeling as if I would be sick. Instead, I felt like I wanted to cry. And, gods, when had I cried last? “Do you know why your father asked for a Consort?”
“I have asked that question myself a thousand times.” Ash laughed, but there was no humor to the sound. “I have no idea why he did it. Why he would ask for a mortal as a Consort. He died loving my mother. It made no sense.”
It really didn’t, which made all of this so much more frustrating. “Why didn’t you come to me at any point and tell me this?” I asked. It wouldn’t have changed anything, but maybe it could have? Perhaps we could have found another way.
“I considered it—more than once—but the less contact I had with you, the better. That is why Lathan often watched over you.”