Wings of Tavea (23 page)

Alcander leaned his head against the rock wall behind him, closing his eyes. “Their eyes were gleaming red and their hair was changing. The ends were still white, but at the top it was nearly black. As a child I didn’t understand what had happened. I asked my mother but she didn’t have a chance to explain. The door flew open and magic started flying. I was the youngest, and heir to the throne, so my mother pushed me under the bed.”

Kiora knew where this was going. She wanted to both put her arms around him and ask him to stop.

“I saw my sisters fall, one by one, and felt their threads go quiet.”

“Alcander,” she whispered. The pain in her own voice was so apparent she hoped it would make him stop. It didn’t.

“My mother fell last. She fell with her face looking under the bed. Her eyes locked with mine, and she used the last of her magic to put a concealment spell on me. She must have anchored it with my own magic, so it wouldn’t fade when she died.” His teeth gritted and his fists balled. “They took their time killing her. I could tell she was trying not to scream for my sake. But I watched,” his voice shook, “I watched every disgusting and horrible thing they did to her. When they finally let her die, I felt her thread go quiet too. And I knew they were all gone, my entire family snuffed out.”

“Alcander.” Her voice cracked. “I am so sorry.”

Slowly opening his eyes, he turned to look at her. “So you tell me. Is what you feel a thousand times worse than the worst day of my life?” His face was softer than usual, his eyes open windows, his pain apparent.

Kiora looked away. She knew the answer. Maybe it was because she could feel some of his pain. Which was strange, because she had only been able to feel pain like that from one other. Weakly she answered, “Maybe just a hundred times worse, but . . .” A tear slid down her cheek. “Yes.” She was scared to look at him, but after a moment’s silence she had to look up.

His posture had softened even further. “If that’s true, then I am truly sorry for you.” He nonchalantly brushed a stray piece of hair out of her face. It was so natural she barely noticed it.

* * *

THAT NIGHT KIORA TOSSED and turned, her dreams running wildly
. There was a group of men she had never seen before sitting in a room with giant marble pillars. Each sat in a high-back chair that resembled a throne. They were talking amongst themselves in subdued voices. Each face looked so angelic. They were glowing even brighter than Eleana, and their presence exuded calmness.

One of the men strode to the window, looking at a land that was stunningly beautiful, just like she had seen in the Wings. The land of fairy tales and royalty, the one the Shadow had stolen the jewel from. The man looking out the window spoke, “It is the only way. We must give it up for them.”

The dream switched and she saw Dralazar standing over Emane, his hand oozing from two snake bites as the head to Emane’s snake bit back down on its tail, becoming still again. “Fix it!” Dralazar screamed over Emane. “Fix it!”

Kiora woke with a start and stifled a scream as a shape loomed over her bed. She raised her hand for protection. The shape pounced on her, pinning her arm at her side.

“Kiora!” the voice gasped. “You’ll kill someone if you’re not careful.”

“Alcander?”

He released her hand slowly. “Yes.”

She wiggled out from under him, pushing him back. “What are you doing?” she yelled.

“I came to check on you.”

“
This
is checking on me?”

“No,” he said, standing. “
This
is me trying to protect myself. I have seen what you can do. I would rather not feel it.”

“What is wrong with you?” she said, pushing her back into the headboard. “Who stands over someone’s bed in the middle of night? I thought you were trying to kill me.”

“If you would have just taken the time to feel my thread—”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she interrupted. “I didn’t have much time between opening my eyes and seeing someone standing over the top of me.”

“Fine.” Alcander’s posture jerked straight as he turned on his heel.

Her anger immediately fled. She didn’t want to be alone. “Stop. Don’t go.”

He stopped. “What?” he asked without turning.

“Don’t go.” She chewed on her bottom lip. “Why are you here?”

He turned slowly, and she could tell he was genuinely surprised she wanted to him to stay. She found it strange somehow; she was sure not many girls would tell him to leave. “I could hear you screaming from my bed.”

She gulped, her cheeks flushing. “I was screaming?”

“Yes.” He looked at the floor. “Dreams?”

She nodded. “I was dreaming about Dralazar . . . and Emane.”

“You love him?” Alcander asked abruptly.

Kiora’s eyes flew open. “I . . . I . . . that’s personal.”

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looking very much like he wanted to ask her something.

“What?” She turned her head to the side with a bit of amusement. Alcander actually looked uncomfortable. She had never seen that emotion cross his haughty face.

“The accident you had the other day with Emane.”

Her cheeks flushed again, her smile fading. “What about it?”

“I heard rumors about Witows’ sensitivity to magic. Is it true?”

“Sensitivity?”

“You can’t pass magic through them?”

“Pass through them? What are you talking about?”

Alcander shook his head and sat on the edge of the bed, pushing some stray hair back over his shoulder. “You really don’t know much, do you?”

“Look, if you want to mock me, I am sure there are more reasonable times to do it than in the middle of the night,” she snapped.

“I am not mocking. I just forget how little you know.” His tone was gentler than she had ever heard it. “Normally, someone as powerful as you would be very knowledgeable, with probably a lifetime of training. It is strange to me.”

She twisted the edge of her blanket around her fingers. “What did you mean about magic not passing through Witows?”

“If I were to pass, or release, some of my magic while in contact with another magical creature, they would be unharmed. Sometimes you can feel the magic passing, sometimes not. But it is rarely ever painful or dangerous. On the other hand, I have seen people in the heat of battle pass magic through a non-magical horse and . . . well, the horses never fare well.”

Kiora was thoroughly uncomfortable. She didn’t want to be having this conversation with Alcander of all people, but she needed to know. “So if a magical being were to kiss a non-magical being it might—” Alcander smirked. She slammed her hand onto the bed. “I knew it! I knew you were mocking me, just—get out!”

“I’m sorry. I was thinking about something else.” He cleared his throat, wiping the smile neatly away. “If the magical person were to lose control of the magic, it would flow into the other person, yes. In the magical community passing magic while kissing is actually very pleasant.” He smirked again, looking straight at her. “Part of the
experience,
you would say.”

Her heart fluttered, although she wasn’t sure why. Sure Alcander was gorgeous. All right, he was stunningly gorgeous.

Stop,
Kiora told herself.
Emane is probably going out of his mind and you are noticing how attractive the man on your bed is.
“I see,” was all she managed to say.

“The magical energy released in that . . . situation,” Alcander danced around the topic, “is different than most because of the emotion that released it. It is definitely felt by the other party.”

“Great,” she muttered.

“So it’s true then,” Alcander said, raising one eyebrow. “The Witow doesn’t handle it well.”

“Don’t call him that. He has a name. And if ‘doesn’t handle it well’ means I threw him into a wall and knocked him out, then yes. He doesn’t handle it well.”

Alcander looked at her with the same look she had seen earlier, like he wanted to say something.

“What?” she asked again, her eyes rolling to the ceiling.

This time though, he did not open up. Instead Kiora saw the walls slam shut behind his eyes and all emotion was gone. The same cold, hard eyes she was familiar with returned. “Nothing. Did you see anything else in your dreams?”

“Nothing.” She sighed. “Nothing more than you already know. I saw the Creators talking about giving up their immortality.”

“That’s too bad.” Alcander stood abruptly. “ I will see you in the morning.”

She marveled that she couldn’t even hear his feet touching the floor as he walked out. His white hair was a few shades darker than the white shirt he wore. If it were not for the loose-fitting grey pants, he would have looked like a ghost, gliding silently out of the room.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Not a Shifter

EMANE GROANED, FLOPPING BACK in the rocking chair. His dagger lay on the table across the room. He had been staring at it for hours, and that was just today. Yesterday he had alternated between trying to move the dagger, testing his abilities with the elements, and anticipating magical attacks.  The dagger had wiggled twice. But that was hardly the progress he expected.

“You are not doing it right,” Drem said, sitting calmly at the table, the dagger near his elbow. “You are still trying to do it the way Eleana showed you.”

Emane shook his head. “I don’t know what else to do.”

Drem stood and made his way over. “Right now you are trying to get your magic to move from here.” He tapped the snake. “To here.” He tapped Emane’s fingers. “It needs to start in here.” Drem put his hands over Emane’s chest. “It is a desire. The desire pulls from your magic. It should move from the band, back to your heart, and then outwards. You are bypassing the desire and trying to force your magic into submission. It doesn’t work like that.”

“But it moved,” Emane objected. “It still worked.”

“Yes, it moved. But what good is that? It needs to move into your hand,” Drem said, wiggling five spindly fingers before dropping back into his chair. “In a fight, those with magic will be able to strip you of your weapons. You need to be able to call them back. And a twitch of your dagger on the other side of the battlefield will be of little use to you. Try again.”

Emane leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, staring at the dagger and trying to do as Drem had suggested. The dagger wiggled before jerking wildly to the side, slicing a gash up the side of Drem’s arm.

Drem leaped to his feet, swearing, clutching his bleeding arm to his chest.

“I’m sorry!” Emane darted across the room, placing his hand over Drem’s forearm and healing the cut.

Drem pulled his fingers back, eyeing the healed wound. “Impressive. I am envious.”

Emane shrugged. “At least I can do something right.” He ran his fingers though his hair. “I think I need a break, and some breakfast.”

“Of course,” Drem said, making his way into the kitchen. He pulled out bread and butter, along with some red fruit with yellow spots that was new to Emane.

“May I ask you a question?” Emane asked as Drem placed the food on the table.

“You might as well. We will be spending a lot of time together.”

Emane picked up the fruit and eyed it, before taking a bite. It was nice—sweet and a little tart. “You said Lomay showed up before your mother could drown you. Did you mean that?”

Drem settled across the table from Emane, his large ears swiveling again. “I did.”

Emane swallowed. “That’s horrible.”

Drem shrugged. “It is what it is. My people have been hunted to near extinction. I suppose I should be grateful I am alive.”

“What? Why?”

“My species, the Domat, have a unique gift. While all magical creatures can feel threads, the Domat can feel magic.”

Emane waited for an explanation. None came. Drem instead pulled off some bread for himself.

“Why is that important?” he finally asked.

Drem smiled. “Because when the lights were taken, no one could find them. But magic always leaves traces. Although they were hidden well, the trails were still alive. Traces of magic where the lights had passed over on their way to new hiding places. The Domats were hired by the thousands to track them down, and subsequently began to die by the thousands. There is a death warrant out now, though the trails have long since grown cold. Any Domat is to be killed on sight. The few that survived are under Lomay’s watch.

“Well then.” Drem reached up, clapping Emane on the shoulder.  “We need to train you, to teach you. So you can survive this world. Because I would very much like to see
your
world.”

Emane looked down at the grey stone wrapped around Drem’s forearm. For the first time in a long time, a tiny bud of hope blossomed in his chest. “How well do you think my magic will work?”

“You won’t be the Solus.” He patted his back twice before pulling the dagger from the sheath at Emane’s waist. “But we can at least give you a fighting chance.”

“That’s better than nothing,” Emane muttered as Drem walked the dagger across the room and placed it on the table.

“It is. And we might do better than that. Let’s see how much power you have wrapped up in that armband of yours.”

He pursed his lips before rocking back on his heels with a deep breath. “Where do we start?”

“First, you have to get this dagger back.”

Emane took a step forward.

Drem held up his hand. “Stop. You have to get the dagger back from where you are standing. We are working magic after all, not testing you ability to walk.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Jasmine

KIORA STOOD IN THE second to the smallest circle, facing Alcander, still sore from yesterday. “I hope Emane is all right,” she said.

“What exactly do you think will happen to him?” Alcander asked dryly.

“I don’t know. This whole situation makes me nervous.”

“We don’t have time for you to be nervous. He is focusing on what he needs to

learn, and you should focus on what you need to learn. Which, if we are honest, is a lot on both accounts.”

She pursed her lips, and because she was feeling spiteful, took a page out Alcander’s rulebook—an early shot with no warning. To her dismay, he leapt neatly into the air, executed a perfect backflip, and landed almost exactly where he had left.