“Not exactly.” His fingers trailed down my spine. “When I came into consciousness, I was deep underground.”
I gasped. “You were buried alive?”
“No, na’laa.” He drew his hands back up my spine. “I was created from the earth, like all Deminyens are, and when we come into our consciousness, we are not yet fully . . . formed.”
“Not fully formed?” My gaze fell on his sheathed sword. “I’m going to need more details on that.”
“It takes a while for our bodies to develop into what you recognize now, and things can go wrong in the process of creation,” he explained. “We are but a consciousness at first, then over time, our bones are forged from the rock deep in the ground as our flesh is carved from stone.” His fingers skimmed the sides of my ribs. “All the while, the roots of the Wychwoods keep us fed, creating our organs and filling our veins. The process can take years while we listen to the life around and above us.”
My mouth was likely hanging open. I tried to wrap my head around all that and gave up because there was no way. “Years beneath the ground? I would go insane.”
“Of course you would. You are mortal,” he stated simply. “We are not.”
“But I don’t understand— I mean, you bleed blood. Not sap.”
“As do the Wychwoods.”
Recalling the rumors, my lip curled. “I’d heard that the Wychwoods bled, but I . . .”
“You didn’t believe it?”
“I figured it was just red sap people saw, but I guess I now understand why the Wychwoods are so sacred.” I gave a shaky laugh. “You know, the night in the gardens when you said you were a part of everything around us, I didn’t think you meant literally.”
“Most would not.” His fingers glided along the curve of my waist.
I thought about what he’d shared with me about the past world. “Did those who lived before the Great War know about the Wychwoods?”
“If they did, it was forgotten, but there would’ve been signs upon entering the woods that they treaded on sacred ground. Warnings that had to have been ignored. It was the destruction of the Wychwoods that woke the firsts.”
In a way, it was hard not to be angry with our ancestors when it seemed like they’d dug their own graves almost willingly. “There are Hyhborn that are born, right?” I asked. “I’m not talking about the caelestias.”
“The children of Deminyens are born and they age just as a caelestia or mortal, but perhaps slower.”
“That’s what I thought.” I paused. “Do you have children?”
“No.”
I didn’t know why I was relieved to hear that, but I was. “I’d heard that Deminyens can actually choose when to have a child. Like both parties have to want that for a child to be created. Is that true?”
“It is.”
“Must be nice,” I murmured.
“And you?” His hands slipped up my back again. “Have you had children?”
“Gods, no.”
Prince Thorne laughed. “I take it you aren’t fond of children?”
“It’s not that. It’s just what kind of . . .” I stopped myself. Grady’s words resurfaced. Why would I want to bring a child into this world? That was a damn good question for most, but for me? Even more so. How could I even touch my child?
“I understand,” he said quietly.
I opened my mouth, but closed it, thinking that maybe he did understand that I wouldn’t be able to give a child the life they deserved. That I feared that I would end up repeating history. I didn’t want to do that to a child. I couldn’t. But there was no way he could know how truly difficult it would be for me.
I cleared my throat. “Anyway, you said that things can go wrong during the creation?”
“If the process is disturbed, the creation is interrupted.” He slid his hands down my arms, catching the sleeves of my gown. The breath I took snagged as the silky material slipped from my arms and from my hips, pooling at my feet. “What is unearthed is even less mortal than a Deminyen.”
A chill hit my exposed flesh. “You’re talking about the ones who don’t look like us? Like the nix?”
“In a way,” he said, his palms grazing my ribs once more, chasing away the coldness. “The nix are awakened early on purpose.”
My mind went back to the last time I was in this chamber. “Is that what you meant when you talked about not trusting those who created the nix?”