A muscle flexed along his jaw as he looked away. “You.”
“What?”
“There’s no one answer for why when it comes to other places, but for here? It was you. Your bravery. I figured that if you were that brave, then surely there were others like you.”
“Others that would fight back?”
“That is another question you already know the answer to.” The black faded from his eyes as the blue and green hues reappeared. “In a way, I’m glad that I was poisoned. If I hadn’t been, I wouldn’t have found you.”
But you found me before. Those words whispered along my tongue but didn’t make it past my lips. Swallowing what my intuition wouldn’t allow me to speak, I looked to the window. In the distance, I saw the glowing sōls.
“Do you finally think of me as a monster?”
I closed my eyes.
“You should,” he said softly. “The blood that is on my hands will never wash off. I wouldn’t even attempt to do so.”
A faint shudder worked its way through me, the heaviness of his words speaking the guilt and maybe even the pain he carried. Should it be only his hands that bore that stain? Or the King’s? Because he was right. Choice was limited. Everyone answered to someone, even the King. It was said he answered to the gods, but the Prince still had a choice. “What would happen if the King wasn’t just displeased with your decision but demanded that you destroy the city anyway? And you refused?”
“War,” he answered. “The kind that would make what is brewing in the Westlands seem like nothing more than a skirmish to be forgotten.”
My breath caught. “You’re talking about the Great War,” I whispered.
He nodded, and a moment passed. “Do you know what the realm was like before the Great War?”
“Not really.”
“Most don’t.” Prince Thorne returned to the credenza and poured himself another drink. “Would you like another?”
I shook my head.
He replaced the topper. “By the time the realm was stable enough after the Great War for anyone to begin chronicling the histories, all who could remember what it was like had long since passed, taking with them the memories of thousands and thousands of years of civilization. It was decided that it was best all of it was forgotten.”
“Were you . . . alive during that time?”
“No. I was created shortly after, with the knowledge of what had come to pass.” He went to the window, the angles of his face tense as he peered out. “In our language, the Great War was called the Revelations.”
A chill slipped down my spine.
“Hyhborn have always been around, in the background, watching and teaching. Protecting not just man but the lands itself,” he said. “We were known as many things throughout history, worshipped as gods at one point, called the fair folk of the forests— nymphs and magical beings from another realm— for a time.” He laughed quietly. “Others believed us to be elementals— spirits that embodied nature. Some believed us to be angels, servants of one god, while others saw us as demons— both written in scriptures by mortals who barely understood the visions and premonitions that they had.”
Air slowly leaked from my parted lips. Did he speak of visions similar to those I had?
“I suppose the first of the Deminyens were all of those things in different ways. Each name given fit in some way.” He took a drink. “Either way, the Deminyens were ancient, Calista. As old as the realm itself. They were here when the first mortal was given life, and I imagine we will be here long after the last passes.”
Another shiver curled its way down my spine as I moved to the couch and sat on the edge.
“Time is unrelenting, though, and even Deminyens are not immune to its effects.” Prince Thorne eyed me as he drank. “And while in the beginning the Deminyens interacted with mortals, there came a time when that was not something that could continue. Deminyens moved more into the role of watcher, but they began to lose their connection to those they protected. The wisest of the Deminyens— his name was Mycheil— saw the dangers in that. He was already seeing it in others. How time was changing them, making them colder, less empathetic and humane. Accidents began to happen.”
“What do you mean by accidents?”
“Deaths.” His lips twisted in a wry grin. “The causes varied. Sometimes it was simply fright from seeing a Deminyen that took a life of a mortal. Other times it was due to the Deminyens attempting to stop a mortal from doing something that would either bring harm to the many or to the lands, and at that time, striking a mortal . . . it was unheard of.”