✧ Kam ✧
IT HAS BEEN TWO WEEKS, TWO GODS AWFUL WEEKS. The palace has gone into lockdown. No one leaves or enters. He issued a stay-at-home order throughout the province. Whatever he is doing, is not good, to say the least. The castle is in shambles, the staff are scared to round corners, scared to approach any of us. Landon and I have been holed up in my suite, I have never seen him so antsy before. He has been pacing through our room; the little girl is sitting beside me on my bed—Clementine. Somehow Landon and I were left in charge of her, which must be the funniest thing from this whole . . . debacle. Landon and I, the deadliest people in all Llyria. The High-King and his General. Living nightmares. Tales told to children to scare them inside. Have been entrusted with a child. A child. It is incredibly unnerving; I do not know how to act around her. She is so fragile, so quiet, I do not want to say the wrong thing and upset her. That is the last thing I want to do.
I do not want to hurt her.
They told me Ember was the one to bring her—to find her. I was not the least bit surprised by the knowledge, her heart is too big, too full to ever abandon her. Too many children are abandoned, too many grow up alone and unloved, I am glad Ember took her. Is giving this little girl some sort of stability, even if it is with the most unstable people in the world. But it does not matter what the home is made up of, it is the people inside of it. A home does not need to be pristine or large or fancy, all it needs is love.
Love is what makes a home. Love, friendship, and family.
And Ember is making that a possibility, she is doing that for this little girl. Giving her so many people she does not know who to choose.
My heart swells, thinking of her. Of Ember.
I have been confined to my suite and the grand floor. But I am not to see Ember. I am not to see the Bastards. I am not to see the only people who really matter right now.
I have heard Shann sneak up here—the spy, he has been up here a few times—but he has not even gotten close to my room without the royal guards threatening to murder him. I had thought Ember had a foul mouth; I was so very wrong. That boy was vicious. Using curses that were so old and ancient that he confused the guards, but had sent Landon to the floor, howling with boisterous laughter. I have informed him, time and time again, that the girl is fine, but he refuses to believe me. She has even popped her head out a couple of times when they were dragging and pushing him away. He still does not believe. I am still not sure if I should be insulted or not, that he believes I would hurt an innocent child. But then again, he does not know me. He does not know my motives or what role I play in all of this.
What role I play in this. What a loaded statement. I play no role in any of this. I thought I had. I had thought King Adrian wanted to merely study Ember, to help bring both kingdoms' together. No, that was never his plan. I was a fool to not see it until it was too late. Until he was killing her best friend—
Uncontrollable guilt seizes me, every time I think—think back on what he did. What he did to her. What he took. The life gone. Her devastated tear-stained face continues to haunt my dreams. Her and her sister's broken sobs. I should never have sought her out. All of this is my fault. If I had put aside my love, if I had put all aside and allowed her to be happy—happy in a world without me, then he would be alive. Ember would not be within the King's clutches. Her friend would be alive.
Everything is my fault.
My magic claws at my skin. Taunting me, agreeing that everything awful is my fault. It rips its talons across my blood.
I steady my breathing, breathing in and out deeply. Slowing my racing heart.
I have been doing this every day since the twins were taken with the King. I have to bite back my magic, because if I give in, I'll explode and kill the King to get to Ember.
But hurting him and his subjects will be an act of treason and Moriella will go to war with Llyria. If I take her, I will have to force my country into war.
And I'd do it. However selfish that would make me—I don't care. I would do it a thousand times over, if it meant keeping her alive and safe.
Landon has been forcing me back, trying to distract me with work. Well, more like a plan. A plan to get her out, and her friends, which, I am not too excited about. But I have to, I dragged them into this, I have to help them leave. I'll kill Minette if it comes to it. Rid Ember of that debt and set everyone free.
But it is hard to pay attention when all I feel inside of me is nothing. That bond between us has gone dark. I can feel her there, but it's weak. She isn't in pain, but it doesn't seem as though she is healthy either. It makes me sick to my stomach thinking about what he's doing to them. What he's doing to my mate. My strong, beautiful, wonderful mate. I want to thunder through these halls and burst through his studies. I want to squeeze my hands around his neck, I want to watch the light and life leave the King's eyes. I want to drag his limp body back through the halls, trailing his blood and innards down the corridors, until I enter his throne room. Throw him on his massive marble throne and stain it with his blood. That thought is the only thing holding my sanity in place.
Landon stops pacing, his midnight hair is overgrown, and, in his eyes, he pushes it away, irritated, and braces his hands on his hips. The General taking over, his face is hard, set in a scowl that demands violence. A scowl that demands death.
He has been freaking out, too. Landon thinks of Ember as his best friend, even though that spot was reserved for someone else. Someone who was taken from her. I doubt she'll ever let anyone take that title again. No one will be able to fill his shoes.
But Landon wants her back, wants her safe and with us. We have been drowning ourselves in battle plans, that we have barely talked to each other. It has been this.
This distorted version of us. Our friendship. We are too lost in our own minds to talk to each other. Too blinded by fear, guilt, and anger, that we can't articulate anything of value to one another.
"What if she is no longer in the castle?" Landon asks, sorting through the thoughts and ideas running a muck through his mind. "What if the King has taken her and Faune out of the castle. Taken them where no one would find them."
I exhale through my nose. We have been through all this already. Every thought, every idea, every explanation, of what is happening.
"She's here," I tell him. "I can feel it through the bond. She's here. She's close."
Landon curses, not at all caring about the child sitting next to me. She has been trying to help as well. Asking to help come up with ideas—it is incredibly sweet.
Clementine does not even blink at the foul words that come out of Landon's mouth. All the death threats he's swinging through the room. I have the urge to clamp her ears with my hands and block out all the negativities. A child ought to be in a healthy environment . . . right? That is what I would assume would be tolerated in a family home. Then again, this is not a family home. It is a jungle full of vipers, cradling a kitten in the middle of the darkness.
"He has no right—no right to lock us in here!" Landon booms, his voice turning low and hoarse. He is going to explode, his fist is clenched, his shadows skitter around him. I keep myself as still and calm as possible, he needs to vent. He needs to explode.
He turns his furious dark gaze on me. "You never should have let her go," he grinds out. "If you had plucked up some fucking courage and told her that day that you knew—knew there was something in both of you. Even if you did not know if it was the mating bond or the Allurement you still should have said something. You were a coward, Kamolinn. And all of this," he says, waving his arm all around us. "Is your fucking fault. She could die. Do you realize that? Do you realize that King Adrian could kill your mate at any second?"
Rage boils through my blood, whining and screaming inside of me. He's trying to get a rise out of me. Trying to get me to lose my cool. He wants a reaction from me, I won't give it to him.
He walks up to me, his eyes wide and livid. "Your mate was taken from you, taken from your arms and you sit here. Letting all of this happen. You're letting him kill her. And if she dies, it will be all your fault."
I explode. "Shut your fucking mouth," I roar, my magic erupting from me like a tidal wave. I shoot off the bed and lunge for Landon, he throws up a shield at the last second, sending me stumbling away. Clementine yelps.
"Thank the gods," he declares. "Finally, some sort of reaction out of you!"
I stare at him incredulously, my rage is still living and breathing inside of me, but it is slowly ebbing away.
"You have been sitting there, acting as if you don't care. Or that she means nothing to you." He says, running a hand through his overgrown hair. I clench and unclench my fists. He baited me and instead of ignoring him I exploded. I scared Clementine. I never wanted to—
I take a deep breath, forcing the air in and out of my lungs. I slowly walk back to the bed, perching on the edge. I put my head in my hands. "Of course, I care, she's my mate, Landon. I'm in love with her." I nearly gasp as the words leave my mouth. I've never said it out loud before. Uttered those words. Allowed them to be heard by others. Something I would have kept hidden and secret if I wasn't so terrified. If I wasn't trembling with fear and rage.
But there's no denying it. I love her. I always have. Ember is the dim spark inside of me, igniting the parts of me into a roaring hearth. A strong fire that makes me warm. Makes me feel good. She is that fire. She is the fire inside of me keeping me warm. She started the flame and has been keeping it alive for the past year.
She's the embers. She's my Ember.
I knit my fingers through my roots. "You think I don't already know that all of this is my fault? All of it? Because I pushed her away? Because I broke it off? I fucking know, Landon. All of this is my fault. Ember getting taken, her sister being taken, her best friend dying—" My voice breaks, I inhale deeply before letting go of my hair and meeting my cousin's stare. "Everything you just said, I've been thinking about these past two weeks. I have been telling myself over and over again that this is my fault. All of it. And all I keep doing is causing pain and heartache. She lost her best friend, for fucks sake! Lost him because he felt she was in danger, he felt that she was unsafe with me, and he came here, ready to take her home. Now? He'll never get to go home again, and it's my fault."
My head pounds, pounds with each furious beat of my heart. I am to blame for all of this, but saying it out loud and to my cousin . . . It's too much. I need to go, I need to leave this room. I need to breathe.
I need her. Just like how I calmed her with her terror, I need her to do the same for me. I need her arms wrapped around me. I need to feel her close to me again.
I hate that I was the bigger male and told her I would be her friend. That I would leave her alone as long as I had her in my life. It would be unbearable if she still wanted me as just a friend, but I'd endure it. Living in a world without her was devastating. It tore at my soul feeling so far away from her. That was my fault as well, I pushed her away, and when I had finally come to my senses . . . She was already gone, sailing back to Marelli.
That day is still a blur to me, after she left, I went on a rampage, pummelling anyone I could find just because I could and because I was angry and devastated at what I had done. I broke bones and spirits, until my fists were so bruised and bloodied, I could not do it anymore, and found myself stumbling into a pub. Where I drank and drank and drank. Landon found me passed out on some table and managed to haul me back to the suite I was given to by the mayor of Kryler. That is all I can remember. Beating the shit out of people, drinking, and waking up in my suite. Landon had a green tea waiting for me. It made me so incredibly angry looking at it. Remembering the memories that came with the drink. The early mornings spent, lounging on her couch, drinking teas from Genni's.
The smell of earl grey still sends me into a sort of frenzy.
I want to give Ember the world, I want her to never worry about looking over her shoulder when she walks alone, I want her to feel safe and loved. I want to be the male to give that to her. I want to give her a home.
I take another deep breath. I turn to Clementine; her face is fear stricken. My heart falls, I didn't mean to scare her—
"Your magic—it's like Ember's," she says, her fear quickly turning to curiosity. "It was as dark as hers, like her wolves." She swivels her head to me, awe glints through her big blue eyes. A flicker in her ocean.
"Can you create wolves, too?" Asks Clementine. My face softens, a small smile curling at my lips. Ember shared her wolves with her, shared the part of her she keeps hidden. Showed the darkest part of her to a child filled with such light and curiosity. I shake my head, "No," I tell her. "I can't create wolves; my powers are more . . ."
It's hard to decipher what my magic consists of. I have two dark gifts, one from my father's side, taking his mind control, his abilities to bend things to my will: inanimate and animate objects. But then I inherited the powers of a goddess who is made up of mischief and madness. A goddess forbidden from blessing any children—all because of me. Because of the mistake she made, blessing a Fae instead of a Boundling. A goddess who taunts me day in and day out, causing extremely dramatic fits, which I am not proud of; but she knows how to get into my head. She knows which buttons to push, which words strike nerves. The Boundment she blessed me with was never a blessing. It was a curse. She honed me into a monster, capable of everyone's downfall. No wonder Ember's my mate.
She was honed to a terrifying creature as well, shaped to instill fear in those around her. To take one look at her and run. The same could be said for me, I suppose, but I am feared because of my title and the power I wield with it. Ember is not known for her Boundment—she is known for her violence.
Such beautiful violence, violence I always find singing to mine.
I loose a long breath, "My magic was inherited from my father's," I say to Clementine, whose eyes have lit up with fascination and wonder. "His power was very dark; it comes with the title of being High-King. All past rulers inherited the magic bestowed upon us by our ancestors."
Clementine pushes back her curly blonde hair, smoothing it away from her face. "So, you are not Bound to any god?" She asks, curiously. I smile, despite myself, I can see the mischief running through her mind. She's trying to get me to reveal more about myself. I don't see any malicious intent behind her question, she's just genuinely curious. About everything, and she likes to be involved. She likes the knowledge.
"I am Bound to a goddess," I tell her, not saying who exactly I am Bound to. That is private and would cause quite a bit of an uproar.
She leans forward, bracing her head in her hands and leaning her elbows on her thighs. "Who?" Inquires Clementine.
I level her a flat look, "You are full of questions today, hm?"
She ignores that bit and pushes forward, "Is it a Series 1? No, you are quite powerful it'd have to be someone powerful. Maybe . . . Moon? Are you Bound to Luan— wait, no. It can't be Luan, you said you were Bound to a Goddess . . ."
Clementine continues rambling on about all the goddess' I could be Bound to. I throw my cousin an exasperated look, he covers his mouth with silent laughter.
Clementine gasps, drawing my attention back to her. "Could it be Sheerah?" She muses. "But she's only ever been speculated, there have been no real reports on her whereabouts, or if she ever existed." She ponders for a moment, tapping her chin, her gaze shifting to the wall behind me as she sorts through her thoughts. She smiles suddenly, her bright gaze sliding back to me. "Did you know," she babbles. "That she is rumoured to be the mother of all the gods? That she is their creator? They say that she was the first Goddess to ever live, she lived for centuries before creating the others. She started with the solar gods, then moved to the rest of the elements. It is said that she created them from her own blood, she made their bones and flesh straight from her magic. Then she created all of us, she created the Boundlings first, then the witches, fae, elves, and so on. I know she is just speculated, but I believe that she is our creator. I believe she is out there—sleeping."
All I can do is blink at her. For a child so young, she seems to know an awful lot on Sheerah. A Goddess who has not even been proved to be real. There are books telling stories about her, but they are more folk tales. No one truly knows who or what she was. Or if anyone can even be Bound to her.
I must agree with Clementine, though. I do believe that Sheerah is real, I think she is more aware and awake than anyone gives her credit for. I think she has been watching all of us, watching what has happened to the perfect world she created, and how we have ruined it. Ruined her perfect creation. Perhaps she is waiting—waiting for the perfect moment to make an appearance, a dramatic entrance if you will—for her time. And when that time comes, she will snap her fingers and rid all of us from her perfect world: the world we destroyed.
"I am not Bound to the Blood Goddess," I assure her. "Though, I am flattered that you think I am that powerful. It helps boost my ego; I'd appreciate you keep the compliments coming." A smile curves at my lips. She clearly does not hear the sarcasm or understand it because she scrunches her brows together.
"Then what—"
Landon steps up to us, changing the subject. "We need a better plan, Kamolinn. A plan that'll get us out of here, get them out of here."
I sigh. "I know, but we've been through every possibility—"
"Have we, though?"
My brows furrow. "What do you mean?" I inquire, the smile leaving my lips and turning downcast. "We have discussed every room she could be kept in and haven't found her in any of them. They are being hidden, somewhere he wouldn't expect us to look—" I trail off as I realize the one place we haven't looked. The one place the King would not expect us to even set our foot in.
He's been holed up in there since Ember has arrived at the palace. Refusing to let anyone see him while he's down there. Locking everyone out. Even his own son.
Ember told me what Lawrence told her. That he was down there, studying the resting monarchs. I never got to go to the royal archives with Ember that night, that night she was seized by her Boundment. We never got to research Theon, or what he did to piss off whoever the voice in my head was talking about.
Perhaps the King knows exactly what the King did and who he pissed off. Someone powerful enough—powerful enough . . . good gods.
"The crypts, under the castle." I say, breathlessly, to Landon, who is already nodding. Placing the pieces together like I am. "The catacombs."
He runs a hand through his hair. "The problem is," he starts pacing again. "How are we supposed to get down there? We have been confined to our rooms, and the guards have doubled. We would not be able to get down there alone. We'd need help."
My lips twitch in a wicked grin. "How very fortunate there just so happen to be a Band of assassins underneath us." Landon stops pacing, whirling on me. "It's incredibly lucky that we have quite common goals with that group, don't you think?"
Landon grins at me, white teeth flashing in the light. "How very fortunate, indeed."
Clementine looks between the both of us, brows pinched together. I turn my body so I'm facing her. She's so small sitting beside me. She sits with her hands in her lap, daintily, and stares at me head on. She does not cringe or shy away, she keeps her spine stiff and her chin raised. I smile wider at her. She's a warrior—a very little one, but a warrior all the same.
I cock my head, "How would you like to see the Bastards?" I ask, her eyes light up, excitement and unsureness flash through the deep ocean of her eyes. "Perhaps, Shann in particular?"
She looks between Landon and me again, wariness written all over her. "How? They never let us see them, and every time they drag Shann away. How do we get past the guards?"
"Leave that to me." Landon promises. I look at my cousin. I can see the spark of wickedness in his eyes. My General has been caged up for too long. Too long have the guards, the King, the world, kept him locked up. It's time to unleash Landon Alinac upon this decaying rotten world. It is time to let out the beast inside and let him destroy everything and everyone in his path.
I pity the fools who have the misfortune of crossing my General. I can practically smell the violence and danger radiating off Landon. The murder in his eyes. This ought to be interesting.
"But—" Clementine starts.
"Do you trust us?" Landon asks her. "Do you trust me?" His eyes have a type of urgency in them. Like he needs her to trust him. To let him do what he must, and for her not to worry what will happen.
Clementine swallows.
She nods. "Yes," she says to us. "I trust you."
Landon smiles. "Good, because we leave now."
Clementine blinks, the only surprise she shows before Landon scoops her up in his arms. She shrieks, her arms flinging themselves around his neck. He chuckles before looking at me. "Let's see how well the guards can keep up with a shadow." He finishes with a wink. Clementine yelps but raises her head to attempt and address me. "Are you not coming with us?"
I shake my head. "No, I'm going to the library," I say rising to my feet. I shove my hands into my pockets, my magic spilling out and around me. "I am going to break into the royal archives and get the information I need on King Theon. And then? We will get my mate back and destroy this palace." I say, my tone promising death. Landon's smile deepens, turning downright murderous, before pulling on his darkness and becoming living breathing shadows. Clementine gasps, earning another chuckle from Landon.
Landon nods his head at me. I hear the silent message through the gesture. His shadowy head bobbing an important message. Be safe.
I nod back, reiterating the message. Be safe.
And just like that, they're off.
Gone without another word.
I hear some curses in the hall, clanking sounds of armour, and chuckling. I roll my eyes at his dramatics, but still smile at what trouble my cousin will cause. What he will do to this palace for us. For them. For her.
And what I'd do, too.
I roll my shoulders—my back incredibly sore and stiff from sitting in those gods-awful wooden chairs in here—and pull on that dark thread inside of me. The onyx cord inside of me, singing and humming as I near it. As my fingers graze the hard cord. I yank on it, and in a matter of seconds I am no longer in my room. I am in the library. My eyes slide across the room. It would have been perfect if I were alone, but of course, nothing ever seems to be in my favour. A handful of courtiers are sitting around a table and talking animatedly.
I yank on that cord inside of me again, my body becomes mist and I evaporate from the grand ball of the library. Pushing myself through until I find the door marked: PRIVATE, and slither through. My darkness curls around my core, swirling around my center and guiding me through the private room.
My mist seizes the room. Lights sniff out, candles flicker, fires dim.
I uncurl my fingers from that dark thread inside of me.
I'm in.
I waste no time.
I scan the room thoroughly, looking for any young acolytes or priests who might have access to this room. I spring down the three bookshelves. Scanning scanning scanning. After darting through each aisle, I blow out a breath. I am alone.
I flick my wrist, honing on the control deep inside of me. A soft click indicates me that the door is now locked.
Where to start where to start?
I start at the beginning; I go to the first bookshelf. Beginning at the far left. My eyes skim across the brown leather-bound books. Thick books with yellow and brown pages. Books with pages protruding from the edges.
I highly doubt that the books I need will be out here so casually. The king is no fool, he wouldn't dare place them in a place where anyone could find them. But it's the only lead I've got. The only thing I can go off of. A rock I've grabbed onto on the side of a cliff, digging my fingers into the mountain and hauling myself up.
This is all I have, the only hope I can reach. It's something.
I bend down, peering at the old writing scrawled across a couple of ancient texts. Without flipping it open and scanning them, I pull them out and start piling them. Ranging from novels dating back to the first Gwenyth to ever claim Moriella's throne, to everything about the gods themselves. I know they are to play in all of this. I know it deep inside of me. I can feel their taint stick to me like oil. Thick and greasy, glazed across me like tar.
I saw that darkness in her. That darkness coiled around her. The voice that left her cracked throat. The voice that sounded nothing like her own. The voice I learned to remember better than my own deceased parents was not Ember's.
There is something inside of her. Something ancient. That must have been what I was feeling the first time I met her. I could smell her magic. I could feel it's phantom hands holding me there, drawing me closer. Pulling me to her on it's ghost wind.
Ember felt old and new. Ancient yet young. As if she'd lived a life before all of this. As if her true person was asleep. Hibernating inside of her, waiting for the perfect opportunity for it to awaken and strike. To take over and protect her.
Like a defense mechanism.
Taking over her body but not her mind. Putting her soul away, tucking it into it's loving embrace and holding her until she's ready to put up a fight again. Until she's strong enough to let herself back . . .
Good gods, that must have been what happened when her friend died. Her and Faune had looked at each other. Looked at each other so defeatedly. They broke that day, and that . . . thing inside of them offered its help. Offered assistance—to make the hurt go away. And they gave in. They gave into that safety blanket. Dove into the dark raging sea deep in them. And their ocean had held it arms out, beckoning them in, with open smiles and praises. Silent words of encouragement, and finally took them.
But not completely; I can still feel her. Feel her steady thumping heart like it's my own. Steady and in unison with mine. She's there—deep, deep, down.
They're letting it take over. I can feel how tired Ember is, can sense it. Goose flesh pimples across my skin.
She's so fucking tired.
Shit.
I race down every aisle, pulling out any document, scroll, book, text, that will offer me any sort of clarity. Something that will soothe my racing heart, the thunderous thoughts pounding against my temple. Thoughts so loud I fear there is a lightning storm. Lightning so loud and booming I'll start screaming soon if I don't make it shut up.
I take my pile and walk to the end of the hall, where I slump to the ground, back pressed up against cool stone.
I pluck the browning scroll from the top of the pile and unclasp it's knot.
I need to hurry.
Landon needs to hurry.
The Bastards need to hurry.
We all need to hurry.
Every single one of us need to make haste.
I don't know how much time we have. I don't know how long the twins will remain inhabited by another, but I bet it won't be for long. The things could be breaking them down and getting them to force themselves over. To give up that last ounce of control. The control that they have been holding onto for over two weeks.
Two weeks, I let this go on for two weeks—
Something flickers inside of me. Something soft, something cold, something dark. Something deep inside of me stirs. It curls around me. Like an embrace, a dark and fierce one. It holds on tightly to me. Clinging on like it'll slip. It will fall off that invisible cliff and never reach me again.
It feels foreign, but . . . familiar. Something I have felt for two years now. A feeling that ignited inside of me the first time I met her. The first time I felt her magic. That darkness that coated me in it's intoxicating kiss.
My eyes water at the pressure in my gut, the feeling pulling and tugging on me.
Her tugging on me.
My heart shutters.
Ember.
♢♢♢
Nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
I've been sitting here, back aching, for nearly three hours. Going over every single book. And I have learned nothing. But I have learned a Manileya Gwenyth was quite the harlot. She had flat out refused to sire an heir to keep her lifestyle. That was before the then king—Anixen Gwenyth—threatened to cut her off. She would be shunned and outcast from Moriella. Of course, our favourite princess, decided to listen and marry a duke from Durmine. But, apparently, she did not stay faithful to her husband. Rumour has it her youngest son is not the duke's child. Peasant born.
Besides that, fascinating bit of history; nothing.
I'm furious.
Landon has been trying to round up the Bastards, come up with a battle plan. Something to give us leverage going up against the king.
How am I supposed to go back and tell him I found nothing?
I was so certain I would find something, and now . . . I feel like a failure.
I had one job.
Keep Ember safe.
And I couldn't do that.
Then, I came up with my brilliant plan to look through the royal archives. Hoping to glean any information I could. Information on Theon and why he's somehow connected to the gods. I know that bitch in my head was talking about the gods. But I just don't know which ones. She said couple, but that doesn't narrow it down. Ara and Anala are married, as are Eteri and Orestes. Which eliminates the series three gods—Hema, Aslen, and Eire.
So, who could have pissed off one couple so much that I was warned of what I had done? In bringing her here, I had made a fatal mistake. I had angered one of them. But why? Why was she so important to the gods? Why were they so important to them?
That is what I do not understand. The gods rarely interfere in our lives. Perhaps once, if we are in dire need of assistance. But for all of these gods to be involved in the lives of teenagers? It makes no sense.
Perhaps it is not the girls themselves they are after, could they be after their powers? It is a possibility. Ember and Faune are extraordinarily powerful. Maybe they want to exterminate them because of how powerful they are, and what kind of threat they pose to the gods themselves. It must be Luan and Tesni, they are the only ones who would be angry enough to want their powers taken back. Their blessing's revoked.
But then again . . . they were willing to help both girls. The Moon was here the night Ember lost control, and Tesni followed the morning after—promising to bring their friends to the castle.
I huff a sigh and push the scrolls from off my lap. I keep going round and round with theories that lead me nowhere. Theories that make my temple pulse and pound.
I get so close, so close I can feel it. My boot toeing that invisible line and then—a wall. An invisible wall blocking me out. I slam my face into that wall every time.
I am beyond mad.
I am livid.
This block makes me want to rage. To tear this room to shreds. Push over every shelf, snap the wood in half, rip the pages out of the books, and burn them.
Anger pumps through my blood stream. Anger I cannot control, and don't feel like controlling right now. I push my stiff body up and off the ground. I will not just sit here for a minute longer. Sitting here pouring over these texts has gotten me nowhere. It is helping no one—especially Ember.
My lips curl back in an ugly snarl.
What the fuck am I supposed to do? I want to roar.
I want to hit someone. I want to pummel someone's face in.
I need to— I need to . . .
An irritated growl leaves my lips before I begin to pick up book after book and hurl them at the walls. I don't care how old these books are, I don't care that these have been in the royal families Keep since the dawn of Moriella and the Gwenythes. I don't care that people have slaved away trying to find these past documents and records of the lives before ours. To be frank; I don't think anyone will miss that story about Manileya Gwenyth.
I don't care I don't care.
The only person I genuinely care about it is rotting away somewhere.
Somewhere I cannot reach.
I pick up one of the heavier books and throw it as hard as I can at the wall behind me. The stone groans against the impact.
I take a step back, panting and breathing heavily.
I shove my hands into my hair and look around the room. The room I have destroyed because of my little temper tantrum.
The shelves still stand tall. Tables and chairs a little disarray, but besides that, it's intact. Save for the books and scrolls. Those are severely damaged. I do not give a rat's ass about them.
I take deep steadying breaths.
A memory pops into my mind. A memory of me and Ember, walking down the hall past her cell. She was in those fucking gauntlets. The gauntlets that were weaning her magic out of her. Like a parasite eating her away.
She had told me . . . that I say ass too much. I smirked and told her maybe it was because I liked them so much. She countered me, saying perhaps it was because I was one.
My heart yearns for her. For her to be here. For me to see her, touch her.
She's been through so much, she lost two people that day . . .
I wanted to kill him, her boyfriend. I don't even know if they are still—
But I want to kill him regardless. The Prince. He lied to her. He deceived her, just like I had . . . and then she lost Lokas. Her best friend. Two people she loved: gone in a matter of minutes. Minutes.
I want her to hold on, I want to beg her on my hands and knees to stay, stay alive. To not give into the darkness inside of herself. But how am I supposed to? She can't catch a break. Awfulness seems to follow her wherever she goes, and it isn't fair. I know she knows it too. I know she's tired. Tired of fighting this futile battle. And I wouldn't blame her if she gave up. I'd fucking lose myself. I'd never recover.
But I would never blame her.
I slump back to the floor, my back sliding across the grey stone again. How could I ever blame her when she just wants to live a peaceful life—
My shirt snags on something. Probably some bit of stone I damaged while throwing things. I slowly turn around to inspect whatever damage I caused, but something halts me in my tracks. Something I did not notice before. A hole, about the width of two fingers. The hole is jagged, stone cutting across it. String from my shirt is tangled around it. I pull the thread free and bend down a bit to inspect the hole. It's narrow, I can't see much, it's dark. I can tell it's deep, from the darkness alone. It spreads through the hole.
Now, this is probably the stupidest thing I can possibly do . . . but I am out of options.
I stick my finger in the jagged hole. Stone pierces my flesh; I hiss out a breath through clenched teeth but plunge deeper.
The narrow tunnel is damp with some sort of moisture. I really do not want to know what liquid is coating these walls. I try not to think about it and continue to push through.
The farther I go the more it hurts, the more the stone punctures my index finger.
Just when I think it is useless and I am just hurting myself, I reach the end. I move my finger along the small wall at the back, feeling around for anything—
My nail catches something. It's cool to the touch, sending shivers through me. It feels too damn cold. It also doesn't help that it's wet too.
My nail slides down the cool . . . metal? I think it's metal. My finger curves around it, hooking around the end. It's a ring, large enough to fit another finger in but I've only got the one. I curl my finger around it and pull.
Probably another equally stupid thing to do on my end, but I am quite stupid, anyway.
I pull on the metal ring. Nothing happens. I grunt as a sharper piece of stone punctures my skin, but I do not go to take it out. I yank on the ring, harder—it starts to move. It must be connected to some sort of chain because I can hear the groan of the metal as I pull the ring out farther and farther. I don't stop until I'm able to pull the ring straight out of the hole. I grimace at the blood covering my finger.
I try guiding the metal out farther, but it won't budge. It seems to have reached the end. I whirl around behind me—while still holding the ring—and scanning the library. Looking for anything . . . new. Something to have appeared when the ring was pulled. Everything seems to be the same, the only thing disarray is the texts and books.
Besides that—nothing.
My eyes narrow, hoping hoping hoping, that I'll somehow see what ever this mechanism unlocked. What ever this—
Something begins to whine and groan from behind me, stone crumbles and shifts. I whip my head back around, smiling at what is happening.
A little cubby has opened up right underneath the hole. The front of it slides up, showcasing one small black book.
I hurry to it, worried that the cubby will close soon.
I snatch the book and let go of the ring. It snaps out of my hold and slithers back inside of the hole. The cubby's door drops dramatically, eliciting a loud clank throughout the room. I wipe off my bloodied finger on my black trousers and rush to flip through the pages of the book. There is no name on the book, or author, for that matter. Just the thick black leather—binding the pages to the book.
My fingers shake slightly and fumble for grip of the edge. I scowl at my nervousness and rip the pages open.
I take in a deep breath and look at the first page.
My brows knit together.
It is a journal entry.
"December 14: Warrah refuses to speak with me. She is disgusted with my plans. What the other's and I plan to do. What we plan to take. I love my wife, but I do not plan on asking for her permission with this. This plan has been in the making for decades. I will not let my wife stomp her foot and demand I stay at home. That I put aside my objective and be the 'good' king she wants. I am a good king. She is too blinded by the wrongness of my goal to not see that this will be for the greater good. That this will make Moriella powerful as can be in the future. That so our great-great-grandchildren will be able to protect themselves. Will be able to fight for this country. This project will allow us to conquer all! The Gwenythes will be the most powerful men in the world, people will bow at our feet's. I am sure of it. I only pray—pray that Warrah will not hate me forever. That when I go . . . she will choose to rest with me; head on my shoulder, and fingers clasped.
Theon Gwenyth."
Well, shit.
I think I have just stumbled upon Theon's personal journal. This ought to be good.
I flip to the next page.
"December 27: Our deadline is nearing. I am getting more anxious and anxious by the minute. She keeps telling me to be patient—patient that we will succeed. That they will go there and get them. Bring them down and to me. Perhaps I should not have done this. I should not have concocted this. They are children—children! I should not have allowed them to sway me. Convince me that with their help I would be able to reign over everyone. But children . . . I can not harm children. Not when they are so close in age to my own. I suppose I should put all of that aside and barrel through. Should put my own beliefs and wariness away and think about the bigger and brighter future. I just keep telling myself the date—the date we will take them. January 11th January 11th. It is all I can seem to do nowadays. The only thing keeping me sane . . ."
My stomach falls at the date. Please gods do not let it be what I'm thinking—
I flip through the pages, not looking over the other dates until I find . . . the date where their plan goes down. My heart pounds against my chest. A constant drum in my ears. Reminding me I need to hurry up.
"January 11: Good gods, we've done it. We have them, they are incredible. Simply stunning. Both so incredibly divine. I am writing at the table across from them. They sleep. The spell worked; both are sleeping peacefully. Oblivious to what is happening and what they are being made for. She was able to wipe their memories. When they awake . . . they will not remember a thing. They will be reborn. Their appearances too. Moon white and Sunset orange hair is incredibly hard to hide, they would stick out like sores and boils. Other features are slowly fading, their iridescent eyes transforming to natural colours. Their skins dimming to blend in with the world, bodies being given mortal characteristics. I stare at these girls and can not seem to find an inch of guilt. Perhaps, it was cruel to steal them . . . but it was for the greater good. My greater good. For this Kingdom. And although I will be dead before they wake, I will not forget, and my mission will resume a century from now. When they wake—reborn and wiped clean. They are given a fresh start, and I am going to make them into my greatest asset, my greatest weapon to exist. On their eighteenth birthday we will complete the spell. Finish the merger. They will become one. They will bend to my will with the flick of my hand and cleave the world out from everyone.
I write this final entry as a message, to my future grandchildren. Do not forget any of this. Pass this on to every child you bear, make them keep track. And when the time is right . . . they will find you. They will take the sleeping children underneath the castle and morph them into the monsters they are meant to be. They will become the beasts deep inside of themselves. Never forget my plan, Moriella depends on it."
I don't think I'm breathing. My hands are shaking with rage and terror. Absolute terror. Because this can't be true. Please gods this can't be true. If this is . . .
A wretched thought pops into my mind.
What day is it?
I scrub at my jaw. I don't know what day it is. I stopped keeping track of the days once Ember was taken. The days began to bleed together. I do not know—
What day is it?
My heart starts racing.
I sprint through the room, throwing open the door, and looking around for any of the courtiers. I frantically search through rows and rows of books but come to a stop when I realize I am alone. The library is dark, and the candles are dimmed.
It's closed.
I pull on that shadowy string inside of me, and I am once again in my room. I storm over to the calendar on the small dresser. I snatch it with my shaking hands. I scan it, Landon had been keeping track. He ticked off the dates—
I drop the calendar to the floor.
No no no.
It can't be.
Good gods.
I fly out of my room. Racing down the corridors and looking for my cousin. My General. We need to go down to the catacombs—now. We need to get the Bastards and go. We need to get down there and save them. Before it's too late.
Today is January 10th.
In one hour . . .
In one hour, it will be January 11th.
Ember's birthday.
One hour until the King goes down to the catacombs and completes the spell to bind Faune and Ember together; forever.