Wings of Tavea (35 page)

“Emane, are you okay?”

“How do you think I am?” he said, his voice wavering. Layla surely attributed the waver to pain and exhaustion. It was partly that, but more from a raging anger that she and Dralazar, in hurting him, had also hurt Kiora. But that was something Layla could never know. If Dralazar realized . . . Emane shuddered. It would be horrible for both of them.

“Is the pain gone?”

Emane finally looked over. Layla was kneeling at the bars, her face looking genuinely concerned. She had been different lately, at least when Dralazar was absent.

His insides were shaking and shuddering at the trauma of being burned and healed, over and over again. “Yes,” he lied. “It’s gone.”

Layla jerked up suddenly, scrambling to her feet. Emane didn’t need to feel threads to know what was happening. Dralazar. Closing his eyes, he dropped his head back onto his bloodied wrist.

Dralazar came and sat in one of the armchairs. Layla moved to the other, shifting nervously from side to side while Dralazar kept his eyes locked on Emane, spinning the large silver ring on his finger.

“You have seen what happens when I lose my temper,” Dralazar finally said. “I would hate for it to happen again.”

Emane didn’t bother to uncurl from his ball.

“Dralazar, please,” Layla said, so quietly Emane had to strain to hear. “You are going to kill him.”

Dralazar turned his head to the side. “I think he would like that, wouldn’t you, Emane?”

“It seems like a viable option,” he muttered between clenched teeth.

“One you will not get, I am afraid.” He stood, stalking towards the crackling bars. “Do you have any idea how long a person can live under torture?”

Emane stared at Dralazar’s shoes.

“As long as I pace myself, you’ll live a very long time. Eventually, you will be so incoherent with pain and exhaustion, you will give in.”

“I won’t help you.”

“You will.” Dralazar crouched down, trying to force Emane to look at him. “Because I am going to let you in on a little secret. When Kiora comes for you, which I am sure she will, I will kill her. But not you. You will continue to live a long and torturous existence because
you
have something I need. There is no escaping me, Emane. Not until you give me what I want.”

Emane snorted. “And then what will you do after I heal you? Will you kill me then?”

Dralazar’s mouth formed a long, lazy smile as he stood. Waving his hand, a small section of bars flickered out, and he strode in.

Emane scrambled halfway up, pushing himself backwards across the floor. “What are you doing?”

Another flick of Dralazar’s hand and the bars returned behind him. “I am tired of waiting. I will have your cooperation, and I will have it today.” He rubbed his hands together. “Because today there will be no blacking out. If you do, I will heal you. Not enough to stop the pain, mind you, just enough to keep you conscious for as long as it takes for you to give me what I want.”

Emane tried to stand, but Dralazar knocked his feet out from under him with a burst of magic, slamming him to the ground. The fire came next, licking new areas across his legs and back.

Again, as he writhed on the floor, his pain returned doubled. He would have gladly endured it had it been taking away Kiora’s pain. But it wasn’t. Wherever she was, he knew she was feeling every bit of the attack.

Emane!
Kiora’s thoughts were strained, both a cry for help and a cry for his pain.

Dralazar focused his attack around Emane’s armband, super-heating the metal. Throwing his head back he screamed, feeling Kiora’s simultaneous scream rattle through his bones.

Even as Dralazar’s fire ceased, the armband continued to sear and burn into his flesh. His hand automatically moved to claw at it, burning the tips of his fingers before he jerked his hand back.

“Please,” Emane gasped. “Stop.” He looked over at the armchair, expecting to see Layla ready to help Dralazar with the torture. But she was gone.

Dralazar’s eyes followed Emane’s. “It’s just you and me, Emane. Layla seems to have had an attack of conscience. I will deal with her later.” Dralazar’s hands flew out again, the magic burning as it pushed him backwards.

He clawed at the floor, trying to prevent himself from slamming into the bars again. He slowed himself down, but the back of one leg slid across three of the bars. Yelling, he pulled himself forward, panting and gasping while trying not to vomit from the smell of his own charred flesh. The blackness came rushing in from all sides, and Emane tried to surrender quickly to allow Kiora a rest. But Dralazar was at his side a moment later, healing his wounds just enough to pull him back to reality.

“What did I tell you?” Dralazar said, his fingers digging painfully into Emane’s shoulder. “There will be no escape this time. Are you ready to heal me?”

He shuddered. “I—I can’t,” he wheezed, slumping forward.

Dralazar squeezed his shoulder again, sending currents of magic jolting through him. He couldn’t hear Kiora’s scream, but he could feel it, running through his body just as the current was. His teeth ground together as his back arched, his muscles contracting with the pulsing magic.

He was supposed to protect Kiora, to keep her from harm. There was only one way. “All right!” he screamed. “I’ll do it!”

Dralazar released Emane’s shoulder as he stood. Emane collapsed to the floor.

“That didn’t take as long as I anticipated,” Dralazar said, sounding pleased. “I must say, I am disappointed in your stamina, Prince Emane.”

“Heal me first,” he gasped.

Dralazar’s face darkened. “What?” he barked.

“Heal me first, or I won’t heal you. That is the deal.”

“You are in no position to negotiate.”

Emane looked up at him from beneath lanky sections of sweat-soaked hair, trembling from the raw pain he was still passing onto Kiora. “Yes, I am. I have what you want, and I have agreed. I can heal it now, or we can see how many more days I can take this.”

Dralazar’s eyes narrowed.

“I’m done!” Emane shouted. “I can’t do this anymore! Heal me, or get out!” He hoped the lie was not apparent in his eyes.

Dralazar took two quick steps towards him. Kneeling down, he gripped his shoulder again. “Healed or not, you are no match for me.”

Emane looked Dralazar in the eye. “I know.”

The healing spread out from Dralazar’s hand, soothing every inch of his body. Emane sighed, not with his own relief, but with Kiora’s.

“Now,” Dralazar said. “Heal it.” He extended his hand.

I’m sorry, Kiora,
Emane thought as a hopelessness spread through him.
It was the only way.

* * *

ALCANDER HAD CARRIED KIORA to the enclosure so he could release the bubble concealing them. He sat against a tree, holding her tightly. The last scream had been worse than the first, and he stared at the setting sun. He couldn’t look at her, not like this. Not when there was nothing he could do. She went limp suddenly, like a rag doll, collapsing in his arms. He looked down, squeezing her tighter to his chest with relief.

“Is it over?” Drustan asked.

“Kiora?” Alcander shook her lightly. “Are you okay?” Her dark hair was caught beneath his arm; only her white streak had escaped and was blowing in the wind.

She moved, burying her face in his chest. He rested his chin against the top of her head. “Does it still hurt?”

“Alcander,” she whimpered, “it was horrible. They are going to kill him. ”

Kiora’s body returned to normal as soon as Emane healed himself—at least she assumed that was what happened. The pain stopped too abruptly for it to be anything else. Pushing herself off Alcander’s lap, she looked to Drustan. “We have to get Emane out,” she whispered.

Drustan’s eyes flicked to Alcander.

“What?” she asked, looking between the two.

“We have to sever your attachment first,” Alcander replied.

Her eyes narrowed. “Sever my . . . no!”

“Kiora—”

“No!” she cut him off, pushing herself to her feet. “How am I supposed to know what’s happening with him when it’s gone? He is my protector, we
need
that connection.”

“You’re being foolish,” Alcander snapped, rising to his feet. “You can’t fight a battle when you suffer from each other’s wounds.”

“He’s right,” Drustan said.

Kiora shot Drustan a murderous glare.

“This connection will get you both killed.” Alcander gripped her hand, reminding her of their connection as magic coursed through her, leaving her weak in the knees. “Kiora, please. You cannot allow yourself to be this susceptible to attacks. It is a weakness you are choosing.”

She bit her lip, neatly extracting her hands from his grasp.

“Kiora.” Drustan walked over, his voice soft and understanding as he took her by the shoulders and looked her in the eye. “You are not betraying Emane.”

It was like he had heard her thoughts. After everything that had happened on the island, after everything Emane had been through, how would she tell him she had severed their connection as well?

“Alcander is right,” Drustan continued. “If you don’t do this, you will both die. Think of what Dralazar could do—torturing both of you by laying hands on just one. What would you both do to save the other from the pain?”

“I saw a spell in the book Epona sent with me,” she admitted. “Will it sever
all
connections?” She glanced at Alcander. Her hope was all too apparent in her eyes, and he read it like a book.

His face hardened, and he stepped back as if she had slapped him across the face. “No. It severs connections like yours and Emane’s. There is, unfortunately for you, no spell to undo the transfer of magic between you and I. Unless you can manage to change your feelings.” Kiora was used to seeing anger under those furrowed brows of his, but now there was only poorly disguised pain.

“Where is the book, Kiora?” Drustan asked gently.

She hesitated. “Buried in the canyon with everything else.”

He looked to Alcander. “Can she summon it?”

She could see Alcander locking down his emotions before he answered. “I see no problem with it. They will not be looking underneath the rock. Even if they did, they wouldn’t know what had gone missing.”

Kiora wasn’t sure if she was angry at the situation or just devastated. But either way, it was as she said: she hurt everyone she loved. Closing her eyes for a moment, she summoned Eleana’s book.

Alcander leapt back, looking at the book like it was about to bite. “Where did you get that?”

“I told you, from the canyon.”

He took a step towards Kiora, as if he wanted to grab her and shake her. “Are you sure?” he demanded.

“Alcander,” Drustan asked. “What is the problem?”

He was breathing heavily. “If it came from the canyon, then that . . . ” he moved over to her, falling to his knees in one fluid movement and holding out his hands reverently. “May I?” She handed the book to him. Quickly he opened to the back, running his finger down the spine. “This one is missing the same page.”

“Alcander, what is it?” she asked.

He closed his eyes. “Each of the Creators passed down a book. All of them had been lost, except one.” Reverently shutting the book, he handed it to Kiora. “This is one of the lost copies, I am sure of it.”

“This book is from the Creators?” she asked incredulously, running her fingers over the nondescript leather cover.

“It has some of the most powerful magic we know of within its pages. We have long suspected the missing page may hold the secret to dealing with the Shadow. We have been looking for the lost copies in hopes they would contain the missing page.”

Alcander’s shoulders slumped, his blond hair hanging forward as he knelt before her. He looked so . . . lost. Hesitantly, she placed her hand on his shoulder, allowing magic to flow between them. “It’s all right,” she said. “One step at a time.” He pushed into her hand ever so slightly, increasing their connection. She shuddered as she slid her fingers down, her hand falling back to her side. Blinking back a tear, she looked to the sky before thumbing through the book. “Is this what we need?” she asked.

Alcander stood, gently taking the book from her and scanning the page. “It is.”

“Is this going to hurt?”

“You act as if you have had bad experiences with magic,” Drustan said, glancing at her white hair. When she didn’t smile, he cleared his throat. “I have no idea. I have never known anyone who has done it.”

“It shouldn’t,” Alcander said.

She sighed. “Somehow that isn’t very comforting.”

“Are you ready?”

Closing her eyes, she steeled herself. “I’m ready.”

Holding the book out, Alcander began repeating the incantation to the spell. It was different than anything she had heard or used. The incantation repeated itself over and over again, like a chant. She worried it wasn’t working until her skin began to glow an eerie green, intensifying with each pass of the incantation until she was glowing a bright emerald green. Every bit of her emanated light, casting green shadows over their enclosure.

His chanting stopped.

Spreading her fingers, she studied the green glow. “What is it?”

“The manifestation of your connection. Your feelings and Emane’s,” Alcander answered.

“But . . . ” She frowned. “Is that it? Is it done?”

“Almost.” He turned his attention back to the book, starting another chant only slightly different from the first. The green light shimmered, undulating around her. She sucked in her breath as a horrible tearing separated the green into yellow and blue. The blue layer rolled and twisted over her skin, the yellow sitting on top of it. As Alcander said the final word, the colors stopped undulating for a brief second before the yellow peeled itself off with a squealing sound that sent her hands flying to her ears. The yellow detached itself, floating in front of her before dissipating into nothingness. Holding her hands out, she watched with wide eyes as the blue sank back into her skin.

Alcander shut the book, handing it to Kiora. Closing her eyes, she sent the book back to the rubble in the canyon. It was probably the safest place for it now.