Wings of Nestor (29 page)

Alcander stiffened and Lomay’s face darkened.

Aimon spoke roughly. “The Shadow does not appreciate excuses, and there have been far too many as of late. The Solus is still free—gathering the people, by the looks of it.”

At the mention of the Solus, the rest of the group shifted uncomfortably in their chairs.

“Are we sure?” one finally asked. “It has been so long, and the Solus never came.”

Aimon fixed him with a steely gaze. “The Solus managed to get past the Illusionist and open up a passage through the tree, as well as smuggle a group of women and children through one of the most populated and well-armed areas from here to the ocean. If you would like to question me again, I can certainly add your beautiful wife to my personal collection.” His face was stone, without an ounce of feeling lacing his threat. “She is, as I recall, most lovely.”

“My apologies, Lord King. I spoke without thinking.”

“I believe you thought quite a bit,” Aimon said. “In fact, I believe you have been thinking about it for a while, which is why it came blurting out of your mouth at a most inopportune time. Do you have anything
useful
to add to this council, or shall I have you released and set to work elsewhere? Perhaps the slave pit? Many were lost yesterday to the Shadow’s wrath, and replacements will be needed.”

The Tavean paled farther. “That will not be necessary. I will personally attend to finding the location of the rebel camp along the seaboard.”

A glance at Alcander confirmed that there was indeed a camp along the seaboard.

“Will the Shadow be helping us, now that it has returned?” another asked.

“Why is that important?” Aimon asked coolly, his eerie gaze sliding across the table. “Do we
need
its help?”

“It would be faster, Your Majesty.”

Aimon tilted his head, looking like he was trying to decide what to do with an annoying problem. He flicked his wrist and the staff rose from the other side of his chair, flying across the room, plunging through the Tavean’s chest and thudding into the back of his chair.

Kiora jumped back with a screech, covering her mouth. The others at the table flinched and averted their eyes, keeping their expressions neutral as the victim gurgled, blood dripping down his chin. He clawed at the staff, but it was only seconds before his head dropped forward, his body pinned to the chair like a butterfly to a board.

“Would anyone else like to question the Shadow?” Aimon was met with silence. “It seems the Shadow has been gone so long, you have all forgotten your manners. I want the rebels found and exterminated. The Shadow will deal with the Solus.”

The door swung open and two guards entered. Kiora quickly adjusted the shape of the bubble, pulling it in as close as she could as they pressed themselves flat against the back wall—leaving less room for someone to walk accidentally through their only protection.

“Your Majesty.” One of the guards bowed. “It is one o’clock and your people are waiting. Shall I tell them to come back another day?” His eyes were fixed on the floor, avoiding looking at the dead body slumped in the chair. Kiora couldn’t help but wonder how often he walked in to find dead bodies in chairs.

“No. We are finished.” Aimon stood, wrapping his cape around him before causally walking over and jerking his staff out of the Tavean’s chest. The body fell forward, slamming its head onto the table, an arm twisting grotesquely to the side.

Aimon looked at the bloodied staff with a small smile before waving his hand over it. The blood vanished, leaving it clean. “You are excused,” he said without turning around. “Someone dispose of him.”

As the king swept out of the room, one of the Taveans rose to his feet. He was thicker than most of them, with huge arms and a bulky chest. The eyes of the others followed him as he went to remove the unfortunate one who had spoken out of turn.

“How much longer, Enzo?” one hissed, his eyes straying to the door in

fear.

“Don’t worry,” Enzo said, glancing around the table as he hoisted the body over his shoulder. “It will be soon.”

Some nodded, understanding, while others looked around, trying to piece together the meaning.

“We should probably go, “ Emane said, “before it gets crowded over here.”

He was right. With the Taveans up from the table and walking around the room, it could be disastrous.

“Come on,” Kiora said, grabbing Alcander’s arm and tugging him toward the door.

They hurried down the hall until they caught sight of the king striding in front of them, his cloak swishing against the marble floors. Two guards marched in front of him, two guards behind.

“Aimon’s time as king has made him paranoid, don’t you agree?” Lomay said. His cane made its distinctive clicking sound against the floor. “Your father never had so much security.”

“And he is dead,” Alcander said, his face cold and hard.

As they neared the throne room, the guard increased, lining the walls. The group slowed, eyeing the display.

“There were not this many in the Wings,” Alcander said. “He must be nervous to let the public in, knowing we are so close.”

“But if they thought we would come here, where is the Shadow?” Emane asked, more to himself than anyone.

“It doesn’t matter how many there are,” Kiora said. “As long as we keep the guards outside, we are fine.”

The door to the throne room opened and the guards lining the hall straightened to attention. The king walked in. As soon as he crossed the threshold, the guards marched to the center of the hall, turning crisply before filing in behind. There were twenty-six guards entering the throne room through this door alone. Kiora offered a silent plea that the other doors did not open to the same amount.

“We are still going through with this, aren’t we?” Drustan said.

“We have Kiora, Lomay, and a Shifter,” Alcander said. “We will be fine.” Marching toward the doors, he added, “and soon we will have the staff.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Birthright

ONCE INSIDE THE THRONE room, Kiora looked around, trying to ignore the grandeur and focus on the enemy. But the room was so distracting. The twenty-six guards who had entered behind the king were stationed around the room. Two were on each side of the six entrances leading in, and the others stood at intervals against the walls. The four guards who had originally flanked the king stood on both sides of the throne.

Kiora’s eyes traveled up the walls. Stone vines, so realistic they looked like they might have actually been vines once, twisted and turned their way around the walls and ceiling. They had been painted green and ran over silver walls. Occasionally the vines left the ceiling to wrap around crystal chandeliers. The effect was spectacular.

Running down the middle of the room was a row of four fountains that stood over ten feet high. A quick glance to the throne confirmed what Alcander had said. The door was well hidden, covered with the same pattern as the floor. But the ring used to pull it up stood taller than the tiles surrounding it, giving away its location.

“We should spread out,” she said. “We need to secure the doors as quickly as possible. I will take Emane. Lomay and Drustan, take this door. Stay together so you are close to the throne. Alcander, take the other side. Drop your bubble as soon as I do. ”

Kiora pulled her bubble in to surround just her and Emane as the others put up their own. They kept close to the wall, moving to the two doors at the opposite end of the room as the king raised his staff.

“Let them in,” he commanded.

Enzo gave a curt bow and moved in the same direction as Kiora and Emane—he was too close. Kiora pushed Emane flat against the wall and pulled the bubble in until it nearly touched their noses. The colors swam in front of her eyes as the Tavean walked past, the tips of his fingers sliding through the edge of her bubble.

Kiora’s heart stuttered in her chest. Emane’s hand moved to his sword. The Tavean paused. A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth, but it was gone again before Kiora could be sure of what she saw. He moved on.

“He felt it,” Emane breathed. “What is he doing?”

“I don’t know. But we can’t let him open that door.” She summoned Emane’s shield into his hand. Enzo yanked open a side door, slipped out, and shut it behind him.

Emane’s eyes darted around the room. “Kiora, something is very wrong here.”

“He probably went for help,” Kiora said, dropping her bubble.

The soldiers cried out in alarm at the sight of them. She wrapped magic cords around the door handles to keep them closed. Alcander and Lomay both secured their doors.

Emane shouted. There was a loud clang of magic against metal as Emane deflected the first attack. The magic impacted the sender and one of the guards flew backwards into the wall. Kiora hurriedly locked the other doors.

The king roared in outrage and the room erupted in an explosion of magic.

Kiora threw a shield for the initial onslaught. There were too many Taveans in the room and the shots were flying from every direction. Red, blue, and green magic lit up the room, sizzling against her shield. Lomay shielded himself and Drustan while Alcander opted for a hand shield and was leaping across the room in an acrobatic show, blocking, firing, and avoiding magical attacks.

They had to reach the throne and get Lomay and Drustan down that tunnel.

Kiora was suddenly nervous for Emane.

“Stay behind me,” she instructed.

“Not a chance, Kiora.” Emane stepped next to her. “Drop the shield—let’s go.” He held his shield up, sword propped against it.

She hesitated, but gave a quick nod.

Drustan began to shift and amazed shouts went up. Kiora took advantage of the distraction, dropping her shield and throwing the nearest Tavean into the wall. Before she took four steps forward, Taveans surrounded them and she was forced to put her shield back up. The Taveans advanced, their hands crackling with condensed magic, stalking them like prey.

“What is
that
supposed to be?” Emane asked.

Kiora looked over to see Drustan stepping out in front of Lomay’s shields. He was—well, she didn’t know what he was. The idea may have started as a dragon, but his body was covered in thick plates that magic was having trouble penetrating. She saw Drustan flinch as multiple shots landed, but it certainly wasn’t having the effect his attackers were hoping for. His head was dragon-like, although when he opened his mouth to snarl, it was obvious he had equipped himself with the flying fox’s teeth and venomous spit. It dripped from his lips, burning the marble. His tail was long and thin with a barbed spike at the end.

A massive ball of blue magic slammed into her shield, jerking her attention forward. From behind her, a Tavean hit her with a shot that sent her stumbling forward—straight through her own shield and into a group of approaching guards. She didn’t know passing through a shield was possible. Her spine felt like it had been hit with a hammer. She struggled to her feet beneath the sickening grin of a Tavean whose eyes shone with bloodlust. He raised his hand, magic crackling like lightning.

Emane’s sword clanged against magic behind her and she knew he was engaged with the Tavean who had made it around her shield. The world slowed, and yet it was not enough time for her to defend herself—just slow enough for her to be excruciatingly aware that she was going to die.

The Tavean jolted, his hand freezing in midair. Kiora blinked, not understanding. He coughed, sending blood spraying over her face before he was lifted off his feet. The sudden upward movement brought Kiora out of her stunned trance and she scrambled backwards, trying to ignore the feeling of hot blood running down her neck. Drustan’s barbed spike was shoved through the Tavean’s back. He gave a quick flick of his tail and dislodged the lifeless body, which crashed at her feet.

Emane,
she called.
Get down.

Emane didn’t question her—he dropped straight to the floor. He flipped his shield over his head to block the next shot from his attacker.

Kiora imagined a sphere like those Alcander made, only this time, she formed it with straight magic. The force ripped out, picking up their attackers and scattering them across the room.

A quick survey of the room showed the king, surrounded by his guards, heading for Alcander. The king’s gaze was cold and hungry. The only thing standing between him and the power of his staff had just waltzed into his throne room, and she could tell he didn’t feel the least bit intimidated by that prospect.

Lomay launched an orange bolt that hit two Taveans. The first Tavean dropped, clutching his chest, gasping for breath as his face began to turn blue. The other took the shot in the arm and yelled out in rage before firing shots in quick succession.

***

ALCANDER DOVE TO AVOID another attack. He had expected Kiora or Lomay to receive the brunt of the attention due to the sheer magnitude of their threads. He should have known better—it was now eight on one. Everyone wanted the glory of taking down the last thing standing between their king and the staff.

Alcander’s gut twisted. The sight of his father’s staff in the hand of his murderer was more than he could stomach. He rolled to his feet, only to be knocked off them again as a wave of residual magic rolled over the room. The ground shook and the far wall cracked under the stress of the magic Kiora had just sent out.

Lomay yelled for her pull it back before she brought the whole room down.

“Leave him to me!” the king roared. “Deal with the others,” he commanded the recovering guards as he stalked across the floor toward Alcander.

Alcander dropped lower, holding his hands in front of him.

Lomay threw a shot at the king’s back, but his bodyguards put up an impressive shield. Lomay’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

Alcander’s anger increased, burning his throat. Aimon’s personal guard had to be channeling from the prisoners below—no Tavean could throw a shield that strong from his own reserve.

“You will pay for your sins against this people,” he said. “I won’t allow your actions to go unpunished any longer!” Alcander threw a crackling shot of blue magic.