Dark Light

37. Of Misdeeds and Vileness

You clutched at Azriel's loose sleep shirt. "What?" You looked from him to Miriro and then back again. "What?"

Azriel looked just as shocked as you felt. "I . . . don't know."

Great.

Something brushed up against you, making your hackles rise. "Eep!" You pressed into Azriel as a formless ghost continued on its merry way. Your wings rustled as you shivered. "Absolutely not. What the fuck's going on? Are we dead?"

Azriel glanced around the narrow street. You followed his gaze and saw ghosts leaning over stone balconies, watching.

Busybodies even in death.

"You are very much alive," Miriro said gently. She gestured for you and Azriel to follow her. "As for your questions, I will answer them. And do not worry. I am not the Bone Carver, so I do not require compensation for my knowledge."

Even though Miriro had just said she'd answer your questions, you looked to Azriel for answers. "The what now?"

"He's . . ." Azriel laughed, but it sounded forced. He pushed his hair back, but it fell back into place. "Don't worry about him. He's been dead for a few years now."

"Indeed he has." Miriro started to walk away, so you and Azriel followed her. "Even though he was a death-lord, he had a shadow, and so his soul rests here, in Anima. I have spoken to him. He has a great sense of humor."

Azriel made a face. It looked like he wanted to comment on the Bone Carver, but he refrained from doing so.

And then — your chest ached because Azriel's reaction had been so natural and unhindered.

Was it because he'd been away from the Night Court?

. . .

You hoped not.

No matter how much you despised Rhysand, he was Azriel's friend, brother, and family. You'd never make Azriel choose between Twilight and the Night Court, but you hoped with all your heart that his stoic demeanor hadn't been the result of his time there. The only thing more exhausting than living with a toxic family was convincing yourself they weren't.

"So . . . We're in Anima," Azriel said, roping you back into the conversation. "But what is it? And where is it? And why haven't I heard of it before today?"

Miriro smirked at him over her shoulder. "Every world has its own version of the afterlife, but Anima is neither that nor heaven nor hell . . . I will quote the prayer you say to someone when they are dying. 'Cauldron save you. Mother hold you. Pass through the gates and smell that immortal land of milk and honey. Fear no evil. Feel no pain. Go, and enter eternity.' Anima is that. It has always been an eternity. And it is unique in that it is obsolete."

For some reason, the prayer made you shiver. If Azriel noticed, he didn't comment on it. You just hoped you'd never have to say it.

Azriel made a confused sound but said, "Continue."

"Anima existed before this world did," Miriro clarified. "Before the Mother spilled the Cauldron's contents on this world, it did not exist. Before the Cauldron was full, it was empty. And before that, it was forged in silver fire."

"By whom?"

"The Burning One," Miriro said matter-of-factly. "The Smiter, The Maker, The Defender. Epithets for one person. One thing, really. They are not human."

"But—" You stopped when Azriel started to speak, but he gestured for you to continue, so you did. "But Koschei told me that Anima was a Trove, not a . . . place."