Wings of Lomay (14 page)

“I have to do this, Arturo. I have to learn to let go.” She looked away. “And I have to find out how to access the magic the queen is referring to.”

How high up do I need to be?

She looked over to him, trying not to let her unease show on her face. “I have no idea.”

Just let it loose. Find joy in your abilities. The rest will come.
Arturo moved to the safety of the sky, rising, the sun glinting off his iridescent feathers.

Turning around, she took a deep breath. “Let’s see what I can do.”

***

ALCANDER DROPPED THE BUBBLE, leaving himself just enough magic in case of an emergency.

The three of them flew over empty fields and old abandoned villages from before the days of the Shadow. “Drustan, take us down for a little while.”

“What’s wrong?” Emane asked.

“I need to build my magic back up before we head into Tavea,” he said as Drustan landed. “I can’t go in like this.”

“Are we just going to wait out here in the open?” Drustan asked.

Alcander slid off Drustan’s back and held up his staff. “I am hoping this will help.”

“Oh, good.” Drustan plopped down on his belly. “I love it when he hopes.”

Alcander touched the staff to the tree and pulled off the glittering waves of light that preceded an enclosure.

Drustan’s head perked up. “I didn’t know it could do that.”

“The staff does what it can to protect to the king.”

Drustan was already snoring before the barrier snapped into place.

Emane leaned against a tree and slid down, pulling a dagger from his belt. He held it by the blade near his cheek, took aim, snapped his wrist, and threw it across the enclosure. It stuck firmly into a trunk. Holding out his hand, he called the blade back to him. It wiggled against the bark and then flew across the clearing—hilt first. “That never gets old,” Emane said, grinning as he waved the dagger at Alcander. “It’s not summoning, but it will have to do.”

Alcander grunted something unintelligible. He dropped to the ground and threw one arm over his knee.

Emane glanced at him sideways. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Sure,” Emane said sarcastically as he threw the dagger again—sinking it into the tree. “Are you worried about heading into Tavea, or about Kiora?” Emane called the blade back, jabbing it in Alcander’s direction. “And don’t tell me you don’t worry, because I will call you a liar.”

Alcander quirked an eyebrow. “Fine. Both.”

“Me too.”

Alcander leaned back, peering down his nose at Emane. “Really? You seem to have shut things off.”

Emane snorted. “That’s me—no emotions.”

Alcander watched Emane continue to throw the dagger and call it back. Each throw was stronger, sinking deeper into the bark. He shifted awkwardly before clearing his throat. “I didn’t realize you had seen the picture in the library—of Kiora and me.”

Emane pursed his lips with a bitter nod. “That was a not a good day,” he said as the blade thunked into the tree.

“You never told me.”

“Why would I? Not much to say.”

Drustan didn’t usually snore, but today his Dragon lips vibrated off each other in the most annoying sequence. Alcander leaned over and poked him with the edge of his staff. Drustan grunted and turned his head to the other side. Mercifully, the snoring stopped.

“Is that why you stopped fighting for her?” Alcander asked.

Emane stilled, his arm pulled back for another throw, his eyes haunted. Swallowing, he threw the knife again. “No.”

“Then why?”

“Now who’s talking about feelings as if they are on the menu?”

Alcander’s mouth curled up on one side. “Very clever.”

“I try.” Pushing to his feet, Emane walked over to the dagger and jerked it out of the trunk. “I’m going to get some rest while I can.” He tucked the dagger in its sheath, stretched out on his back, laced his fingers behind his head, and closed his eyes.

***

AS KIORA PULLED THE wall of water up from the ocean, she felt the euphoric rush of unrestrained magic running through her body. It ripped through her like a drug, her eyes nearly rolling back in her head. She pulled more and more—pushing her magic to its limits.

Swirling water towered over her, stretching high enough to block the sun. An ominous shadow covered most the island. A giggle worked its way up, escaping before she could stop it. Disgusted with herself and her unnaturally gleeful enjoyment of this magically induced rush, she thrust both her hands out, splitting the wall of water into two separate pieces, one on her right, and one on the left. Jerking the waves forward, she released them, sending water tearing over the rocks on either side of her.

What’s wrong?

I’m no closer to tapping into nature’s magic than I was when I started.
Kiora shuddered, trying to push through the lingering waves of pleasure.
And it feels too good. I . . . I don’t like it.

What is so wrong with that?

It shouldn’t feel good,
she snapped.

Why not?

Because! I am preparing to use it for destruction—complete destruction! I should not enjoy it.

Arturo was silent as he dropped from his safe spot in the sky to stand next to her.
Enjoying your magic does not mean you enjoy the results of your magic when it is used in a way you would rather not.

I don’t have to enjoy it in order to—

Yes. To reach your full potential, you do. If you don’t, you will continue to find yourself stuck in this cycle. You almost find out what you are capable of, and then you stop. You feel guilty enjoying it because you view magic as the cause of all your problems.
That
is the true problem.

His words sank deep. He was right, and she hadn’t realized it. Numbly, she dropped down to the wet rock. “Magic has cost me
everything
. My family, Emane, my home—my free will.” She looked up wearily.

It has given you much as well, and will continue to. You have bonded with a Tavean. This magic has given you more years with him than you can imagine.

Kiora nodded. There was truth there, and a sparkling bit of light in what otherwise felt like blackness. “You’re right.” She sniffed. “You’re always right.”

Arturo nudged her cheek affectionately with his nose.
Stop being so surprised.

Now, let’s try it again.
He headed back up to his vantage point.

Kiora went to push up from the rock, forgetting her arm. She nearly yelled out and quickly took her weight off it. She looked down at the blackened wound, frowning. It looked redder around the edges than it had when they left Toopai, and small red lines were beginning to spread toward her shoulder.

CHAPTER NINE

Return to Tavea

AS THEY APPROACHED TAVEA, Alcander scanned the horizon, trying to confirm what his senses were telling him.

“What is going on?” Drustan asked suspiciously.

“What’s wrong?” Emane asked.

“I don’t know,” Alcander said, still frowning. “Almost all the threads are gone.”

They crested the last set of hills between them and Tavea. Alcander inhaled sharply. The castle that had once stood so majestically was in ruins. Massive vines wrapped around it, crushing the giant stones to rubble. Its towers lay in pieces around the village, leveling the once-colorful homes. Any dwellings far enough out to escape the falling rock were wrapped in vines, as thick as horses, that had traveled from the throne room. The vines hunted traitors and had traveled to the edges of the village, eradicating everything and everyone. It was the kind of destruction that came from thousands of years of wind, weather, and nature, but this had probably occurred in days.

“I would say your sentence was carried out,” Drustan said.

The last time they were in Tavea, Alcander had claimed his right to the throne. He had convicted the Taveans of murder and treason, and set the vines to carry out their sentence. “I . . . I had no idea,” he whispered. His jaw was slack and his arms hung limply at his sides.

They flew closer, and Alcander dropped his bubble.

“Where to?” Drustan asked, his voice quiet, respectful, and far from the sarcastic tone that usually colored everything.

“The castle,” Alcander said. His spine straightened as he inclined his chin. “Then we can go to the stables.”

“What you came for was in the . . .” Emane sputtered, realizing exactly where Alcander had intended to take them.

“Not now, Emane,” Drustan said as they glided down. “He just lost everything.”

Alcander slid off Drustan and walked toward the ruins of his castle with slow, stiff steps. He felt Drustan and Emane holding back and was grateful—he was having a hard time keeping his emotions below the surface.

He stepped through a gaping hole in a section of wall that a thick vine had punched through. He looked down the hall, first one way and then the other. The vines wove themselves in and out of the halls and rooms. Doors were jerked from their hinges and chandeliers lay in pieces on the ground. But worse were the bodies—and body parts, still trapped and twisted within the vines as they draped around the castle. Right next to him was a Tavean who had been wrapped from neck to ankle. His face was purple and bloated, his body twisted in the middle where the vine had snapped him in half.

Emane and Drustan stepped through, coming up next to him. Drustan pushed his black hair off his shoulders, averting his eyes from the bloated Tavean. “Did you know it would do this?”

“No.” Alcander’s voice sounded empty, haunted—even to his own ears. He cleared his throat. “No,” he repeated. “We had never used it before. I knew its purpose was to defend Tavea against traitors to the throne, but I can’t understand why the first Tavean king would have designed something like this . . . something that would destroy
everything
.”

Emane ran his finger over a thin vine protruding from the wall. It wiggled in response. He jumped back, watching it warily as he brushed his hands off on his pants. “They probably never imagined a scenario like this.”

“Emane’s right. The vines were clearly enchanted to search out traitors. They never expected the traitors would be everywhere.”

Alcander was done talking about the destruction of the last place he had been truly and completely happy—the lump in his throat was painful and his eyes burned. “This way,” he said, heading down the hall.

They stepped over the vines that bisected the hall where they could. Some stood chest-high and they had to push themselves up, lying prone, before sliding over. As they neared the king’s chambers, Alcander felt one of the few threads that remained in the kingdom. The thread was an odd mix of evil and good, undulating back and forth between the two. He motioned to Emane, who pulled his bow from his back. Alcander held his staff out in front of him as they turned the corner.

In the middle of the hall lay a Tavean wrapped in vines. His arm poked out at an impossible angle, his lips chapped from lack of water, his dark hair lank, skin deathly pale. He moaned softly.

“Why haven’t the vines killed him?” Emane asked.

“He is trying to mask his thread,” Drustan said. “And doing a poor job of it.”

At the sound of voices, the Tavean opened his eyes, laying them on Alcander. “You,” he croaked. In anger, his thread slid back to its true form. The vines jerked tight, snapping his neck.

Emane released the tension in his bow as Alcander shoved past the dead Tavean, continuing down the hall.

The doors to the king’s chambers hung at an angle, half off their hinges and partially propped up by the deadly vines. The inside was relatively untouched, which made sense considering that the chambers were empty when Alcander unleashed the curse—the king had been in the throne room. One thick vine ran down the middle of the room, wrapping in and around the feet of the desk before disappearing under the bed.

Alcander scanned the room.

“What are we looking for?” Emane asked.

“A key of sorts,” Alcander said. “It’s going to be about the size of a plum—round and green.”

“That doesn’t sound like a key.”

“The word ‘key’ does not denote its appearance—it describes what it does,” Alcander said as he started opening the drawers to the desk.

Emane pulled a face of extreme self-importance, mocking Alcander.

“Any ideas on where we should look?” Drustan asked, his face cracking into a smile at Emane’s antics.

“None.”

Drustan started going through a wooden box on a side table next to the bed.

Emane walked to a bookshelf that spanned the length of the room, moving books to look behind them. After neatly replacing the first few, he began tossing them to the floor. “So, Alcander. The key we need to unlock something you won’t tell me about is in the king’s chambers. You failed to mention that.”

Alcander slammed the drawer he had been searching, looking around for another hiding spot. “Yes, I did. Otherwise I would have had to listen to you tell me how ridiculous it was—and I really wasn’t in the mood.”

“I see,” Emane said, nodding as he picked up a book and shook it. “And how were you planning on getting us in here?”

“Does it matter?”

Emane swung to look at Drustan while tossing the book over his shoulder with a flourish. “Does it matter, Drustan?”

Drustan pushed the mattress off the bed frame. “Maybe a little,” he grunted.

“Yes, maybe a little.” Emane said, resorting to sweeping entire rows of books off with his arm.

“I hoped since we had freed the slaves that the balcony entrances would be usable.”

“You hoped.”

“Again with the hoping,” Drustan interjected.

“‘Hoping’ is not the security I was looking for,” Emane added.

“Emane,” Alcander said, leaning forward on the desk, his hair falling in front of his shoulders, “can you shut up and look for the key?”

Emane looked down at the hundreds of books piled around his feet. “I am.”

Alcander turned with a huff, running his hands over the walls, looking for anything out of the ordinary. They worked silently, checking closets, clothes, under furniture. Nothing.