Love Me to Death (Underveil, #1)(51)
Whoa. Nikolai was supposed to be the king. “So you think Fydor will kill him to put an end to the divided loyalty.” She picked up a rock and rolled it in her free hand. “Where do I fit in?” She pitched the rock out into the crystal water.
“I don’t know. That’s the other missing piece in the equation.”
“Fydor believes I’m the Uniter from the prophecy. What’s the prophecy?”
“Well, I can only tell you what the hieroglyphs on Itzov’s body say, as I’m not familiar with the origin or mechanics of the prophecy. Time Folders are more like long-term observers than members of the Underveil.”
“Spill it, Stefan.”
He closed his eyes as if seeing Nikolai’s body in his head. “His glyphs say, ‘From the ashes of death, the Uniter shall rise. Awakened by warrior’s blood to restore balance.
With the power to dethrone tyrants and anoint kings.’”
As if the words themselves had power, a strange jolt rocketed through her, like the bolts of current when Stefan touched her. The phrase was familiar, but she knew she’d never heard it before. That weird need to search for something lost washed through her, and she pushed it down.
The Uniter would dethrone tyrants. Riiiiight. They had the wrong girl if she was supposed to be this Uniter person.
“There’s more,” he said. “The Uniter is also, ‘Guardian of the bridge between species above and below the Veil.’”
“What the hell does that mean? What bridge?”
“I assume it’s metaphorical.” He waited patiently while she processed.
This was a terrible and deadly game she’d been dumped into. And then it dawned on her that as kind as this man—or whatever he was—had been to her, she knew nothing about his motivations. She didn’t even know what kinds of powers Time Folders had, other than that of the almighty dollar and an electric supercharge of some kind. Still, Nik seemed to trust him. Perhaps it was just that of all the evil in this new world, this guy was the least horrible option. “And where do you fit in all this? Whose side are you on?”
He shrugged. “I’m on the side that protects the stability of the planet I inhabit. Right now, that would be any faction that opposes Fydor.”
“So, Nik’s side.”
“Ah.” He folded his hands behind his back. “No. Not unless he steps forward and demands his throne back. As of now, he’s self-absorbed, careless, and politically unmotivated.”
A strange sensation surged through her at the slight to Nik. It was as if her frustration had pooled in her palms. “But only because he doesn’t have all the information.”
“None of us do, yet he just goes on blindly thrashing his way through the days, refusing to look into the dark places that sent him on this quest to begin with. My bet is on you. Whether or not you bring Nikolai Itzov into your wake as you destroy Fydor, is your business.”
The sensation in her palms dissipated, and fear caused the fine hairs on her neck to prickle. How in the world could she destroy a Slayer like Fydor? Somehow, she felt like she was being manipulated again. She turned and strolled back toward the lounge chairs, sipping her daiquiri. “Nik is immortal. How can Fydor kill him?”
Stefan ran his fingers through his gold hair. “Being immortal doesn’t mean living forever. Humans have a life expectancy of eighty-five or so years, though some die much earlier. Immortality is the same. Though Underveilers can live for hundreds and even thousands of years, depending on species, many are destroyed prematurely.”
“Destroyed how?” She cupped her hand above her eyes to block the sun so she could see his face in the bright sunlight.
“All immortals have an Achilles heel. With many, like the elves and shifters, a simple beheading with any weapon is enough. Vampires have to be burned. Poisons specific to species are fatal as well, like that poor woman in my building. But all of them, including Slayers, are subject to death from a sword of elven ore. Some species require a full decapitation, while others will die from a wound from such a weapon.”
“Like Nik’s sword.”
“Yes. There are a limited number of them, thanks to Fydor. He imprisoned a light elf named Aksel, the only craftsman who could forge the swords. He locked him away centuries ago in some unknown location, in order to halt their manufacture. It wasn’t until recently that I realized the significance. The fewer swords there are, the better Fydor’s chances of survival. He had been planning this war for a long time—centuries before his brother died.”
She strolled along the beach, trying to organize this new information in some kind of cohesive fashion. A week ago, she was studying blood cells through a microscope and analyzing blood anomalies. Wars, swords, and imprisonments weren’t even on her radar, now she was supposed to be some Uniter person who could end wars. There had to be a punch line to this, but sadly, she doubted there was. “What about you, Stefan? What’s your Achilles heel?”
A strange look crossed his face, and then was replaced by a slight smile. “I have none. I cannot be killed by any hand but my own.”
She finished off her drink, studying his perfect face over the rim. “I guess that makes you your own worst enemy.”
“Aren’t we all?” Stefan’s phone rang. “Excuse me,” He turned away from her and answered. It sounded like a business call because he asked about the authenticity of something and then told the person on the other end to buy it regardless of cost.