Throne of Fire (Celestra Forever After Book 5) by Addison Moore
A horrific groan expels from me as one reality is traded for the next. I give a few lazy blinks, only to find myself lying along the shore of Ahava as the icy waves slap over me. Its peaceful beaches, its serene hillsides that glitter like an emerald put me under a spell that I never want out of.
“Get up,” a sharp voice, decidedly female, barks from behind me.
Carefully, I turn to find Candace herself outshining the sparkling lake. The emerald hills have nothing on her beauty. She is the exact representation of Skyla with the exception of everything on the inside. She and Skyla are nothing alike when it comes to their inner workings—not yet anyway. And then it hits me. It wasn’t Skyla at all back at Dudley’s. It was Candace.
“Come, come.” She bows down to give me a hand, but I don’t take it. Instead, I stagger myself to my feet on my own accord, my clothes weighted with water, my bloody wounds still prominent over my crimson-stained shirt. “There we go.” She dusts off my shoulders, gives my chest a few good slaps right where Dudley pierced me, and my clothes are miraculously white as snow. “Listen to me.” She flicks my chin up hard with her finger until we’re eye to eye. “When I pulled you out of the muck and the mire, it was for the benefit of our people—for the benefit of my daughter.” Her eyes pull back unnaturally when she mentions Skyla as if something about that genetic detail enraged her. “I’ve asked one thing of you, Logan, and that was to love her. I expect you to do so. I also expect you to revere me and honor the words I’m about to impart. You shall have Skyla. There shall be no vacillating of the heart. You do not have my permission to gift her like a stone to another. She is no possession of yours to be traded as you please. Do you hear me?” Her voice is loud and shrill, and I can’t help but think everybody heard.
“Yes.” I wince because I can’t seem to process everything at the moment.
“You can’t process it?” Her brows rise with amusement. “Perhaps I should paint a picture.” Her cool hand falls hard over my forehead, and a soothing hum of light and love pulsates from her body to mine. I suppose this is that love drug Marshall spews at Skyla, at women in general, and, oh my hell, am I ever addicted. “At this hour, I’m going to bestow upon you a blessing and a curse.”
“That’s what I was afraid of,” I mutter to myself.
“From this moment forward, you will be privy to the intimate dealings of Skyla and her so-called beloved. Should she choose to venerate him with her body—all will be revealed to you in your mind’s eye. I shan’t hide a single carnal detail. And if you wish to quell the madness that will surely grip your heart, all you need to do is find Skyla and press your lips to hers. All will be well once again.”
I glance around, half-hoping that Marshall or perhaps even Gage himself will free me from the madness.
“Madness?” She draws her hand away, her eyes widening with rage. “Do you liken me to a madwoman, my love? After all I’ve done for you?”
“No.” I swallow hard. “I was just having a hard time deciphering whether that was the blessing or the curse?” Truth. Right there.
Her crystalline eyes sharpen over mine, and it feels like a hostile takeover. “Shall I slap you or simply answer the question?”
“Perhaps you should do both.”
She cradles my cheek in her palm a moment, studying my lips as if she were about to kiss them. “I can no more harm your beautiful face than I can curse you. All I have to offer are blessings this fine hour.” Her affect falls serious as death. “But you won’t see it that way, will you?”
“If that lovemaking reel I’ll be privy to is indicative of things to come, I’d venture to guess not.”
“That’s what I love about you.” She leans in and blesses my cheek with a quick peck. “You do love the truth.” Her chest rises and falls, and every filament of hair on her head lights up as if each strand had a jag of lightning imprisoned within it. “Once we’re through with you here, I’m going to catch you up on all of my darling daughter’s greatest hits with that dark-haired prince Demetri has seen fit to pair her with. We’ll start with the very best of the best, their wedding blight.” She pulls me along toward the hillsides, and we pick up speed. “Remember, my love, you can always stop the viewing with—”
“A kiss”—I finish the thought for her—“yes, I have that rule carved into my brain.” I have a feeling I’ll need it.
A chortling laugh escapes her. “You will indeed! But first, I have a little surprise for you.”
She whisks us toward the mountain in the distance, and a dark figure stands waiting at the base as we arrive.
“Dudley.” I’m both relieved and a little pissed to see him. I offer up a partial embrace and he doesn’t deck me, so I figure we’re good again. That’s the thing with Dudley—we fight like brothers—with an infernal desire to kill—and yet there’s still a mutual respect between us. At least on my end.
He looks to me with his affect softening. “On my end as well, Young Oliver. Are you ready to do this?” He bows as if expecting an earnest response.
“I have no clue what I’m about to do, but if the two of you are in agreement, then I trust your judgment.” I look up at Zion, to the holy mountain of God, and innately understand that it is our destination.
The three of us venture up slowly, making good time while I take in the sights, the River of Life, the trees that yield their fruit year-round lining its path. And in the distance I see the Elysian Fields. It reminds me of Skyla. Of our time here not that long ago. I cast a glance at the falls—the Falls of Virtue back on Paragon are a close replica. And that too is our special place. It seems the world, the universe, and all of paradise is filled with spaces and places that are memorable to Skyla and me. Perhaps the takeaway is that as much as my mind might want to protest, Skyla and I are special after all.
By the time we crest the temple court that houses the very throne of God, the three of us are winded but not because of something as menial as earthly fatigue—we are breathless by the fact we are in the presence of excellence, breathing rarified air—about to witness the very glory of the Master with our own eyes in these makeshift bodies.
“Now”—Candace pulls and tugs at my shirt, ironing it out flat with her hands—“the time has come for you to shine brightly. Step into the light, my son.” She cups my face and leans in, brushing the softest kiss over my cheek, but all I see, all I think about when I’m looking at her is Skyla. “I love you, my dear. You have endured much. You have fought the good fight—and though you must wage a new battle, I boldly declare you the victor. Though it seems impossible, improbable, and outright desolate at times—know this—I am with you. I have approved you. You are qualified and wanted on every level. Do not be afraid. Do not be dismayed. Together, we will prosper.” She turns me by the shoulders and propels me into the long neck of the foyer which leads to unimaginable glory. “Now go! Make haste! Your time has come.”
Marshall flanks me on my left and Candace on my right as we enter into the holy of holies. A heavenly choir cries out in a magnificent song that stirs my spirit to the point of unstoppable worship. We pass the twenty-four elders, and then I see them—the Father and the Son. The Holy Spirit wraps Himself around me so strong, every breath I take feels God-inspired. The elation, the peace, love, and joy I feel at this moment is something I would very much wish to replicate and distribute freely to every soul on Earth. It is a feeling that I want Skyla to have, something sublime to transcend the agony she’s embroiled in. Everyone should know this intimate wonder—and they will. For every knee will bow, every tongue confess in His mighty name.
The Son rises. He stands as I near the altar, and my heart is both humbled and awed. I spot Demetri standing far below the throne on the left, and by his side is Nathan, along with them all of my grandparents—my mother, my father. And then I see him. Gage Oliver—distinctly familiar, decidedly new. His hair gleams like the blackest night. His eyes reflect the sapphire thrones. By his side, hooked hand in hand, is his daughter Sage. Instan
I run to him, and we lock in a mighty embrace as tears of joy expel from me. “Is it really you?” I pull back to get a better look at him, and there’s something different about this version of my nephew. His face, his hair, those translucent eyes—everything seems sharper, crisper, far more glorious than I ever remember.
“It is. I love you, Logan,” he whispers. “I’m happy for you.” He slaps his arm over my shoulder, and for a moment I wonder what that might mean, and then it hits me.
I turn to Candace. “Is that what this is?” I look to Marshall as my heart begins to soar. “Was this the surprise?” My heart drums in my chest, a sensation I can only attribute to the memory of what a response like this would elicit.
I took my last breath in high school. Murdered by the hand of Chloe Bishop. I’ve spent the last few years locked in a Treble, in a time warp of my own, and now I can only dare to dream that the long horrible wait might be over. New life. New breath. New body.
Candace steps forward and takes up my hand. “Indeed, that is what this is.” She pulls the words out slowly, cheerfully mocking me. “But first, I must bless you with a benediction.”
I glance to Gage for a brief moment. As much as it grieves me that Skyla isn’t here to share this moment, I’m glad he’s here, fully intact—a beautiful sight for my sore dead eyes.
“Logan Oliver”—Candace begins—“you are the most excellent of men.” Her thumb glides over my mouth soft as a feather. “Your lips have been anointed with grace. Our living God has blessed you forever.” The throne room bursts with the light of a million suns, and a pain spears my heart, just as sharp as one of those demonic arrows Dudley loves to wield.
Candace places her hand on my shoulder, those iridescent eyes press into mine. “Gird your sword by your side, you mighty one. Clothe yourself with His splendor and light. In your majesty ride forth victoriously in the cause of truth, humility, and justice. May your right hand be potent. May it achieve magnificent deeds that please the greater and confound the lesser. May your arrows be sharp, piercing the hearts of the king’s enemies. Let the nations fall beneath your feet in homage to your wonder. God’s throne will last forever and ever. His scepter of justice will be the scepter of your kingdom.” Candace takes a breath. Her entire chest rises as if she had no intention of expelling the holy air she’s filled it with. Her gaze cuts to Gage, her affect hardening before she looks to me once again with that piercing stare. “You love righteousness and hate wickedness. Therefore God, your God, has set you above your companion by anointing you with the oil of joy. May all your robes be fragrant with myrrh, aloes, and cassia—from palaces adorned with ivory may the music of the strings make you glad. Daughters of kings are among your honored women. At your right hand is the royal bride in gold of Ophir.” She waves a hand, and a brilliant spray of stars appears, only to reveal a holographic version of Skyla standing next to Dudley’s side. Skyla shines like the angel of light she is, her gown an intricate network of precious metals and jewels, unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. Her beauty only rivaled by her mother’s. “Listen, daughter. Pay careful attention: Forget your people and your father’s house. Let the king be enthralled by your beauty; honor him, for he is your lord. The island of Paragon will come with a gift. People of wealth will seek your favor. All glorious is the princess within her chamber; her gown is interwoven with gold. In embroidered garments she is led to the king; her virgin companions follow her—those brought to be with her. Led in with joy and gladness, they enter the palace of the king. Your sons will take the place of your fathers; you will make them princes throughout the land.” Candace gives a hard clap, and Skyla is no more. Candace’s eyes magnetize to mine once again, cold, depleted of the warmth they held for me just a moment before. “I will perpetuate your memory through all generations; therefore, the nations will praise you forever and ever.”
Praise me? I glance to Dudley, to my parents as if asking the question. Surely, she meant Skyla. She’s rearranged destinies, realigned planets—forced the moon to kiss the sun, all for her precious daughter. It’s Skyla who progresses the cause. I’m simply a warm body. Shoes to fill in the name of Celestra.
Something stirs in me. Those words, those verses she espoused as if they were her own—I’ve heard them before. Somewhere buried deep in my conscience they linger, nagging at me to identify them for what they are.
Dudley nods my way. Forty-fifth Psalm.
“The forty-fifth Psalm?” I look to Candace. “You recited the forty-fifth Psalm in my honor? It was written for the Messiah.” It comes out incredulous. “Here we are at the throne, before the Master Himself. I can assure you, I am no Messiah.”
“You are a type!” she rages back, so powerfully loud the cords in her neck distend. “And so is he.” Her gaze cuts to Gage. “Skyla is the golden bride.” She tilts her head to the left, her voice filled with sarcasm. “I have roused you from the dead. Not once, but twice. You will revere my words. You will bow to me with gratitude for all I have aligned for you.”
Heads turn to the back. The Seraphim floating above the throne cast their eyes in that direction. I follow their gaze, and my muscles freeze stiff. There I am, the paradise version of myself bursting forward with a strange mixture of prowess and humility, in an assurance and confidence that I have never lived up to—at least not yet. This version knows things. He understands what the future holds. I only understand who holds it. He offers a slight bow of the head as he comes in close and I involuntarily frown at him. He’s visited me before, on several occasions, none of them fruitful.
“It’s time for me to help you,” he says it low as if for my ears only. “It’s time for me to be you.” There’s a sadness in his eyes as if he understands the weight of what that entails, and it pains him on some level.
I cast a hard glance to Candace, and she nods. “Yes, my love. The time has come. The Treble imposed on you has come and gone. I’ve revoked your temporal status. It’s time to descend back to Earth, back to your people, back to Skyla where you belong.”
Gage flinches, and I try my best to ignore it. Instead, I look to my mother with tears in her eyes, to my father standing tall and proud with his chest fanned out just for me. I look to my grandparents, their features set with wonder. To Dudley, who looks as if he were about to witness a miracle, and he is.
“Come.” Candace picks up the hand of the paradise version of me and leads him my way—so close until his frame is fully enveloped in mine and my head thrusts back as a powerful shock of pain, of splendor rips right through me. A roar bursts from my lungs as I look to the Master Himself, thankful for another lease at life—so very thankful. “Logan, my sweet love, Logan.” Her voice grows strangled with emotion. “I declare your time has arrived once again. Your splendor shall be known across the nations. May the Lord’s favor cover you from here to eternity. You shall bear no knowledge of your time spent in the kingdom. He is making everything new.”
An electric blue butterfly appears, graceful, so very small, fluttering through the air between us. The Seraphim begin in on a haunting hymn, the beasts at the base of the altar rouse from their slumber and let out a primal howl in concert. The elders rise from their thrones and cast their crowns to the feet of the king. And the Messiah Himself offers a nod of approval my way.
Gage steps in, so whole and so strong—but it’s the strength exuding from his eyes that startles me. “Welcome back, brother.” He holds his hand out, and I stare at it for a moment. Gage Oliver is whole again and so am I.
“I love you, man.” I connect my hand to his and the room, all of paradise seizes in a violent quake as a bloom of lightning jags from the nexus of our beings. A nuclear show of violence jolts my body, so hard and painfully hot, it knocks me backward—and I fall. I keep falling right through that clear sapphire floor, right through the mountain of God, right through paradise—I keep falling all the way back to the rock
My back slams against a solid surface, and I bounce three feet in the air, only to realize I’m back in my bedroom, back at Whitehorse, back on Paragon. It happened. Candace came through for me, after all. A roar expels from my throat without meaning to. I need to get to Skyla—tell her the news—tell her what I saw on the other side, the glory of the Lord. The glory of Gage.
I take a moment to catch my breath, blinking to life, just soaking in the darkness—the blurry violet glow from outside my window, the way the cool air feels as I fill my lungs to the hilt. My body. I’ve got it back. I slap my arms until they burn. “I’m here.” My hands slam over my chest as if doing a weapons search. I snatch my phone off the dresser. Text Gage.
Where are you? I hit send, not necessarily expecting a response, but the phone lights up with dancing ellipses as if he’s giving one.
Not here. He texts back, and the phone lights up again. It’s me Barron. Emma says she misses you and the boys. Please come by with Skyla and the kids soon. It would help ease the pain.
Skyla. I fall back against my pillow, and a flash of light goes off in my mind’s eye. I need to tell Skyla…
An image of Skyla and Gage kissing, the opening of a door—is that a hotel room?
“Crap.” I sit straight up as that threat Candace issued comes back full force. There they are, making out as if the life force necessary to survive was buried in one another’s mouths.
I grind my palm into my eye. I get it. Candace wants me to quit vacillating in my love for her—not to give Skyla away like a stone. But that’s not what I’ve been doing. Candace never did believe in giving me a chance to explain.
Gage peels Skyla’s shirt off as if he were born to do just that. She shakes out her wild hair, her tits bouncing happy in that see-through bra.
“God.” A wave of nausea comes at me as I stumble out the door, head downstairs, and snatch my keys off the glass bowl Lex designated as the key conservatory.