Arms shaking, I backed up until I was nearly behind the pillow. My fingers curled against my stomach as my hands started to warm.
Jove was pale. He was dying.
Kolis jerked his head back without warning. “The process is fairly simple,” he said in a thickened voice that reminded me of the overbearing summers in Lasania and how he spoke of his need. “The blood must be taken from the Chosen right up to when the heart begins to falter.” He paused, catching a drop of blood from his lower lip with his tongue. “Then they must be given the blood of the gods.”
The act of Ascension for the Chosen was the same as Ash had spoken of. A transfer of blood.
“Your Majesty.”
Startled by Elias’s voice, I turned sideways.
“Come, Elias,” Kolis answered.
The guard passed me, not looking at me as he went to Kolis’s side. Without saying another word, he lifted his wrist to his mouth and bit into his vein, drawing shimmery blood.
My gaze flew to Kolis as understanding dawned. Kolis couldn’t give the Chosen his blood, which was what I’d figured when he took me to the ceeren instead of healing me himself.
But what I didn’t know was exactly why he couldn’t. Ash was a Primal of Death, and his blood healed. Could it be because Kolis was the Primal of Death?
I stood still as Elias placed his bleeding wrist over Jove’s mouth. The Chosen’s head was turned from me, but after a few moments, I saw his throat bob in a swallow.
Shivering, I folded my arms around myself, barely feeling the sore pull of my muscles. I didn’t know how much time passed, but at some point, Elias had lifted the limp Jove into his arms.
“That was and is how it is done,” Kolis said.
As if coming out of a daze, I blinked. Elias carried Jove toward the curtained archway.
“Come.” Kolis didn’t give me a chance to respond, just took my hand. “I’ll explain more.”
Every part of my being rebelled against his touch as he led us back through the doors. We returned the way we’d come in silence, arriving at the cage in what felt like heartbeats.
Kolis and I were alone.
“When my brother did the Ascensions, the Chosen Ascended into godhood.” Kolis’s upper lip curled, and then his expression smoothed out. “Without the embers of life, they simply become the Ascended, as I told you before.”
Raising my hand—my left hand—to his mouth, he pressed a dry kiss to the top. “Those who are like gods but not. Sickness no longer plagues them. They may consume food, but it is not necessary. And they will survive most mortal injuries, susceptible to only a few manners of death,” he told me, his voice carrying a hint of pride. “But I’ve been working on a few drawbacks.”
“Like…？” I trailed off as he began leading me across the chamber, my heart spasming as we neared the bed. We passed it. He sat me on the divan, and I cleared my throat. “Like what?”
“They can become as strong as a god if given time, but so far, they have not been able to harness the eather.” He walked over to the table. New glasses and fresh pitchers had been brought in during our absence. “They have a strong aversion to sunlight.”
I thought about how Gemma had said the Chosen who returned remained indoors during daylight hours. My gaze flicked to the doors. Was that why the part of the sanctuary I’d seen the last Ascended in had been so dark? “But the sun is still out, and Jove was—”
“The aversion is not immediate. It takes a few hours.” he cut in, running his fingers over the linen draped across the table. “While they do not need food, they do need blood, and their hunger is…insatiable in the beginning. It’s difficult for them to control. Some do not learn such restraint. Any blood will suffice, but that which carries even a few drops of eather is preferred. It can help them manage the hunger.”
The dull ache in my head returned, pulsing at my temples. “And if they cannot manage their hunger?”
From where he stood on the other side of the table, his gaze lifted to mine. “They are put down.”
The way he said that, without any emotion, was more than unsettling.
Gods.
“That bothers you.” He spread his fingers over the linen. “It shouldn’t. It is for the greater good.”
Gods, my two most hated words, but hearing Kolis speak of the greater good was, well, so absurd it was actually amusing.
“Gods have been unable to control their bloodlust, too. They were also put down under Eythos’s rule,” Kolis said, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his tone. “The only difference is that neither he nor those the god served bloodied their hands.”
“It was you?” I figured.
“I was the Primal of Death, after all,” he answered with a hollow smile. “Who else would carry out such distasteful deeds?”
He was still the true Primal of Death, and he knew it. But even I could admit that being tasked with such an act must have been terrible.
“Like Eythos, I’m creating life, not death. And an Ascended left uncontrolled is exactly that: Death. I give them a chance to restrain themselves. I do,” he repeated, his shoulders rising sharply. “But if they fail? They will glut themselves on blood. And once they’ve fallen into bloodlust, they are almost always lost. They will kill indiscriminately, draining their victims, and what becomes of them then is nothing more than the living dead…” He pursed his lips. “It is not an act I enjoy, contrary to what others may believe. But I do not pawn it off on others. An Ascended who has given in to bloodlust must be killed, and it should be done by their creator.”
There was a whole lot of stuff there to process, starting with the fact that Kolis actually sounded as if he believed what he said: that he was creating life. And it seemed he truly cared about that life. There was also the idea that he thought of himself as the creator of these Ascended. But was he? He’d drained Jove, but Elias’s blood would ultimately Ascend him. However, what he said happened to those the Ascended fed upon and killed prompted my next question.
“How is an Ascended different than what you spoke of before? The Craven.”
“Well, one is still alive, and the other is not. They are like the Gryms,” he explained, and an image rose of the waxy-skinned once-mortals who had summoned a god and then offered their eternal lives in exchange for whatever they believed they needed so badly. “But one whose bite spreads a very different kind of toxin. An infection of sorts that will turn whomever they bite or scratch into the undead—if they survive the attack.”
My mouth dropped open. “That’s a pretty big drawback.”
“Yes, especially since those who are mortal—or more mortal than god—are susceptible to turning Craven.” A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Which means newly-turned Ascended are a danger to the Chosen.”
“If they are so dangerous, why was an Ascended left to feed on a Chosen?” I demanded.
Kolis’s eyes reverted to their cold, lifeless stare, sending a surge of alarm through me. “Well, because it’s not a danger we’re entirely unaccustomed to. What do you think happens if a god drains a mortal? Something similar. You could say it’s an even more virulent infection.”