Twilight of the Gods

For the Elysian who wished for the death of all angels, Ezra lived a remarkably boring life. Or at least Haydn thought so in the week that he had been watching him.

All the man ever did was read, eat, and sleep. Dozens of tomes lined his bed stand and several more were scattered on his bedroom floor. They were usually heavy and leatherbound with gold lettering on their covers and spines. But the length of the books never deterred him from consuming multiple of them at once. For as many books as Ezra possessed, he had double the amount of notes and annotations.

This was unsurprising to Haydn. All of the literature Ezra read was about the Board and if it didn’t concern that, he was skimming works about other artifacts of power. Ezra was obsessed to say the least. It wasn’t enough to control a select group of mortals who worshiped him. Clearly, he wanted the world.

Haydn laughed at the thought. Ezra was greedy and like all greedy men, he was sure to meet a terrible end. He had seen it before in the many years of his immortal life. There was never an end to the wanting. Ezra’s desire would swallow him whole until there was nothing left but an empty hole carved in his shape.

But for now, he was an infuriatingly boring man with a massive stick up his arse. Haydn suppressed a yawn as he watched him examine the Board, fiddling with the pieces. Ezra would make a few moves with his white pieces, muttering to himself as he pushed pawns and tapped bishops. The black pieces across him would move on their own, eating up his rooks. Whenever that happened, he would slam his fist on the table, startling a devotee serving him and shaking the glass of water on his left side. Occasionally, new white pieces would appear on his Board to replace the fallen and he would continue the game anew, invigorated by the seemingly infinite number of chances that he received.

Haydn shook his head. He was going to cry from boredom if he had to continue this any longer. But he couldn’t stop. Nyx’s Board said that Ezra was the key to finding out what happened to Evelyn. He refused to give up, even if the sight of the Elysian was starting to annoy him.

He crosses his legs, trying to get comfortable on his perch. He was watching Ezra from outside a window where he remained unnoticed, cloaked in his glamour. Today, he had chosen to disguise himself as a crow. He puffs up his sleek black feathers, keeping his beady eyes on Ezra’s head. He blinked twice, unsure if he could believe what he was seeing.

Ezra had fallen asleep at the Board, his head tilted sideways in slumber. For someone as disciplined as he, this was unusual. The Board’s games were everything to him. What was even more strange was that Haydn knew Ezra wasn’t sleep deprived. The Elysian slept a full eight hours everyday, undisturbed and in a fully dark environment.

He eased himself through an opening in the window and entered Ezra’s room, his curiosity fully piqued. He flew in, careful not to flap his wings too loudly. Ezra remained unconscious, not even stirring when Haydn accidentally knocked over the glass of water on his table.

Certain that Ezra wouldn’t wake, Haydn drops his glamour and examines the Elysian closely. Objectively, when he wasn’t speaking or breathing, Ezra could be described as an attractive man. His shiny, thick hair and flawless skin were attributed to his careful diet of fish and greens. His pale blue eyes, when they were open, could even be thought of as pretty, framed by an enviable set of lashes, but only if they weren’t looking at you. And his body? Let’s just say he exercised far more than he had to.

As Haydn drew closer to Ezra, he noticed something strange. Clenched between the fingers of his right hand was a doll that looked just like him. Several thoughts ran through his mind. It looked like a child’s plaything, with blue button eyes, brown yarn hair, and a stitched-up smile. A rational person would assume that it had been gifted to him when he was young and that maybe the doll helped him fall asleep. But Haydn knew better. Ezra didn’t need such things to sleep soundly. Perhaps the Elysian had a bigger ego than he gave him credit for if he needed a replica of himself.

But Ezra was a utilitarian. He didn’t own things that weren’t useful to him. That doll served him somehow and Haydn would bet good money on the fact that it probably had something to do with the Board. If Ezra hadn’t been holding it so tightly, Haydn would’ve stolen it from him.

No matter! Haydn was a patient man and Ezra couldn’t keep the doll in his clutches forever. He would wait. In the meantime, he took the opportunity to peruse through his belongings.

He was familiar with the layout of the room, having snuck in before under the guise of a beetle. There was his bed, neatly made as always with the white sheets tucked in at the corners. There was his desk where he now rested, which was perpetually in a messy state with scattered papers and various bottles of ink. And then there was his wardrobe, no doubt filled with rows of white shirts.

He pulled the handles of its double doors, looking at the neat piles of clothes within. Then he stared back at the bottles of ink on Ezra’s desk. He was sorely tempted to make a mess. Ezra would never suspect it was him and would blame it on his devotees instead.

Alas, common sense outweighed his appetite for fun. He wasn’t here to wreak havoc on the Elysian’s life even if he was more than capable of doing so. No, his job was to find Evelyn.

Haydn continued to rummage through his clothes, sliding out drawers and picking through his underwear. Occasionally, he would look back at Ezra to make sure he was asleep. The Elysian would be livid if he discovered that someone was looking through his things.

Deeply concentrated on his task, Haydn almost didn’t notice the hollow thunk beneath his palm as he tossed out Ezra’s clothes. He tapped on that area of the drawer again, intrigued.

There was a hidden compartment beneath the surface of the drawer. His fingers search for an opening. Click. The floor of the drawer gives away, revealing a small white box beneath.

He gently removes it from the drawer before carefully lifting the lid. What he saw inside chilled him to the bone.

Ezra kept a strange collection of objects. Necklaces, pieces of hair, earrings – all little souvenirs, no doubt from women. And there, at the center of the box, were two objects that he was all too familiar with.

The first was the lavender hair ribbon. He had seen it before, fastened to Evelyn’s hair and fluttering in the wind. He brings it to his nose, smelling the faint scent of the sea mingled with the sweetness of caramel. Tears rose to his eyes unbidden.

Next to the ribbon was a handkerchief with an intricate “E” stitched into the corner. A light flowery scent hits his nose. Both objects were without a doubt, Evelyn’s belongings.

The question was, what were they doing here, in Ezra’s room? What were any of the objects doing in the box?

He caresses the hair ribbon, running his thumb over the textile. His heart ached with sorrow so rich and deep he could’ve drowned. He tucks the ribbon away in a pocket next to his chest, one step closer to finding his lost soulmate.

Haydn had also been tempted to pocket the handkerchief, but the item was too conspicuous to go missing. For now, the ribbon would have to do. He makes a mental note to come back for the cloth.

With a heavy heart, he puts Ezra’s things back into place. Then, he slips his glamour back on and waits.

The Elysian was certainly more interesting and complex than he appeared. Whether that was a good thing could only be left up to time, something Haydn had an infinite supply of.

In the gardens beneath Ezra’s room, Uriel was lounging among the peonies. He inhaled the fragrance of the flowers, relaxing in the foliage. Devotees of all the Elysians took turns staring at him, openly gawking. Much like the God he served, Uriel was an unusual beauty.

Between his gold wings and metal arm, the angel glittered under the light of the two suns, dazzling anyone who beheld him. He paid no mind to the onlookers or the chorus of sighs that erupted as he adjusted his hair. His God had given him specific instructions, words he followed down to every syllable.

Sit still and look pretty, Daeva had said. Let her come to you. Let her think she conquered you.

He wasn’t sure if there was any merit to the plan, but he obeyed regardless. Her will was his will. But he was beginning to question that recently.

Before he could pursue that train of thought further, Iris appeared in his line of vision, curls bouncing as she came to him. The devotees dispersed, not wanting to incur the wrath of an Elysian.

She smiled sweetly at him, taking a seat closer than he would’ve liked on the bench he rested in.

“I see that you’re enjoying our garden,” she said. “Did you know that I planted these flowers?” She strokes the petals of a nearby peony.

“I had no idea,” he said, turning his eyes toward her. The direct eye contact catches Iris off guard and he sees a rosy flush paints her cheeks. “Your work is impressive.”

“Sabine and Hubert helped,” she said. “But it was mostly my work that kept the garden flourishing.”

“Your reputation precedes you, Patient One,” he said, layering on another compliment.

“You’re too kind,” she replied, pretending to shake off his flattery. “Where’s your God?”

“She’s resting in her chambers,” he said, the lie coming easily to him. “The dinner yesterday made her ill.”

“I hope her health recovers soon.” Her eyebrows knit her face into an expression of fake sympathy.

“Thank you. I’m sure she appreciates your wishes.”

“You’re very polite,” she observed. “Do you enjoy serving her?”

It was the second time he was asked that question. “Her will is my will.”

“But is that something you like?”

He bristled inwardly. The woman was persistent.

“I’m not sure what I like,” he said, playing the innocent angel.

“I can teach you,” she whispered, suddenly leaning close. Her heavy perfume wafts over him. “Under my hands, you will know the things you love and hate.” She trails her fingers up his one good arm.

He pulls back, not too much to suggest disgust but more so to suggest fear with an undercurrent of anticipation. Iris takes the bait and leans into him.

“I know a place where we’ll have privacy. We can go slow, I promise.” Her words were heavy with suggestion.

“I’m not sure,” he said.

“It’ll be in the Glade. No one’s been there for years. You will be far away from your God if that’s what you’re afraid of.” She grabs his wrist, pleading with him.

“Lead the way,” he surrendered.

She pulls him to the domed buildings of the Glade, dragging him through the tall blades of grass. Once inside, she pushes him on top of a table before straddling him and moving to take his clothes off.

He grabs her wrists, stopping her in the middle of unbuttoning his shirt. “You said you would go slow.”

Impatience flickered in Iris’s eyes. Uriel blinks and the emotion is gone, replaced by fondness.

“You really are innocent. Has Daeva never done anything like this to you?” Her voice is honey-sweet, dripping with stickiness.

He thinks back to last night when he was cradling Daeva’s sleeping form in his arms. “Never.”

“I find that hard to believe for someone as beautiful as you.” She reaches up to touch his cheek. “I would’ve taken a bite already if you were mine.”

He sees a flash of red from the corner of his eye. That was his cue. He scoops Iris up in his arms, easily lifting her into the air, and drops her on the table next to theirs.

“I see you’ve changed your mind about taking it slow,” Iris laughed.

Uriel pays no mind to her words, quickly fastening her restraints. Iris stops smiling. Before she could speak, Daeva appeared from the shadows, knives glistening on her thighs.

“I should’ve known,” Iris said. “Your angel made it too easy.”

Daeva smiles maliciously, eyes ablaze and hair aflame. It seemed to him that she looked like karma incarnate, the very embodiment of revenge.

“I wouldn’t blame him,” she said. “You’ve always had an appetite for pretty boys.”

“You won’t hold me for long,” Iris said. “The others will notice that I’m gone.” Flames trailed up her arms, making their way to the iron restraints. Immediately, a shower of water douses her, slamming her back into the table.

“Like they noticed with Julia?”Daeva holds a blade to Iris’s cheek, slowly dragging the pointy tip down her skin. The Elysian lets out a cry of pain, pulling away as much as she could.

Daeva had planned to make Iris suffer more than she did. She had designs for hours of torture, for scars in places the twin suns didn’t shine.

What she didn’t anticipate was the knife dropping from her hand and the dread that flooded her heart. She blinked several times, unable to believe what she was seeing.

Dripping from the cut on Iris’s face were several droplets of black blood, the ichor that only ran through the veins of Gods.