Milo looked around and saw posters and flyers attached to the sides of various restaurants. Now that he was looking for them, they seemed to be everywhere.
“We can worry about that later, right? We should eat.”
Emma slumped over her meal. “I kinda lost my appetite after I saw this.”
She dug a folded paper out of a tiny purse on her lap—purchased at Visigo’s, no doubt—and shook it open before handing it to Milo. It was a WANTED flyer showing a sketch of the kidnapper.
“Do you notice something strange about the dates these people went missing?”
Milo studied the list. Suddenly he understood why Emma had lost her appetite.
“They all happened in the past three months.”
“Since Kovax became emperor,” she finished for him, looking slightly ill. “The first victim was kidnapped exactly a week after he took the throne.”
“Do you really think he has something to do with it?”
“It can’t be coincidence. And if it has something to do with Kovax, then it has something to do with us.”
“But maybe…” Milo licked his lips, eyes lost in thought. “Maybe it makes sense that after he comes to power, terrible things like this start happening everywhere. He’s an evil man, right? And now other evil men are being influenced.”
“Maybe.” Emma picked at her food but looked far from ready to eat anything. Her fork clicked noisily against her plate.
Milo put a hand on her arm to still the clicking noise. “Emma, did you see something? Like you did back on the ranch when you saw Iolus?”
She shook her head, frowning. “Not yet. But I know it’s going to happen soon. I feel it, like… like hornets flying around inside my stomach.”
Milo patted her arm. “It’ll be okay. We’ll figure it all out together.”
She smiled weakly. “Thanks.”
Milo picked at his food, hoping his appetite would come back. It’ll be okay, he told himself. We’re safe here.
CHAPTER 14
“P apa?” the voice said.
Kovax turned away from Sightwielder, searching the darkness where the voice had originated.
It had sounded like a child’s voice—a familiar one. His eyes took a moment to adjust as he gazed into the darkness. There was nothing there, just the faint wisp of a bladespider’s web. The voice had sounded so much like Kofi, his deceased son.
Maybe it was just stress, or wooziness brought on by blood loss. He turned back to Sightwielder, shaking his head at himself.
The vision was clearer than ever. Sightwielder was improving, growing smarter. It had adapted to Milo’s constant blinking and the unsteadiness of his gaze as he walked, making the experience smoother and less nauseating than before.
Through Milo’s eyes, he watched Emmanuel lead the children into that preposterous new floating mall above the mountains. Milo was obviously distracted by more than just the stores, however. He kept glancing at another member of his party, a pretty girl with auburn hair and eyes the color of cinnamon. She was none other than Liliara Breezewater, summoner and quarter demigoddess—a dangerous girl who had already proven herself against Basher and Iolus once.
The thought of the two of them pairing up at school made him nervous. Sorcerer and magician, both of demigod stock, trained by a man like Emmanuel…
He would have to stop that right quick.
“Papa? What are you doing?”
Kovax spun around, eyes darting from corner to corner. Someone had spoken this time—someone with a voice exactly like Kofi’s. It must have come from behind the machines.
“Who’s there?” he hissed.
“You look sick,” the boy said.
Kofi appeared from behind one of the machine towers. In the red-tinged darkness, he resembled a ghost who had wandered out of some hellish underworld into the realm of the living.
And he couldn’t have picked a worse time.
“Kofi,” Kovax said, his mouth agape. “Wh-where did you come from?”
“I wasn’t ready to leave you,” the boy answered simply.
“Oh gods.” Kovax backed away from the boy, stepping right into Sightwielder. The sensation of passing through the globe was like having a bucket of ants poured on top of him. He staggered forward with a shiver, then refocused his attention on Kofi. “Boy, this isn’t your place.”
“I’ll just sit here and watch. You won’t even know I’m here.”
Kofi walked over to a bare spot against the wall. He backed into it and slid down, hugging his knees the way he used to do when Kovax would banish him to “time out.”
“I’ll be quiet,” Kofi said. “I’ll just watch, okay?”
Kovax found himself breathing with enormous effort. His thoughts spun. Blood loss was the cause of this. It was the only rational explanation for the sudden appearance of a dead boy.
“You just stay there, then,” Kovax said, turning toward the globe, not wanting to miss a beat. The delusion would go away eventually. And yet, something turned him around again. Maybe it was the feel of the boy’s dead gaze chilling his back. “Listen, Kofi. About the day you died…”
But his son had vanished. Kovax searched the empty spaces around the machines. This was a bad sign. He was working too hard, seeing things, unable now to trust his own judgment. And what good was Sightwielder if he couldn’t even trust his own sight?
With a sigh, he turned his attention back to the events taking place across the ocean. Something was happening, a storm of curiosity and dread—felt by both observer and observed—had filled the mind of his young host. In some mall cafeteria, Milo was watching the Acolyte girl with the golden wings—his twin sister, Emma—dig a sheet of paper out of her purse and shake it open, a look of utter dismay on her pretty young face.
Kovax caught a glimpse of the words WANTED running across the flyer’s surface, splashed above a drawing of a face covered by a black mask. Only a pair of sinister, orange eyes were visible between the folds of fabric.
The girl asked a question: Do you notice something strange about the dates these people went missing?
Milo studied the small print. The connection wasn’t sharp enough for Kovax to read the words, but Milo’s reply was interesting enough.
They all happened in the past three months.
“Smart kids,” Kovax said.
With a suddenness that shook him, the vision imploded into a speck of light that quickly disappeared into the core of the floating orb. The room went dark. Kovax reeled at the change, clutching his nauseated stomach.
“Curse the gods!.”
He yanked the needle from his arm—almost too late, almost—and collapsed onto the cold stone floor. His vision doubled, and he saw, or thought he saw, twin versions of his dead son standing over him, pale as two tiny statues carved from stone, the eyes just as dead. They were watching him, judging him as he passed out on the floor, the taste of bile in his mouth.
When he awoke, the boy was gone.
CHAPTER 15
T he weird thing with Milo’s vision didn’t happen again that night or the following morning as he and the other orphans took turns using the hotel’s misty bathhouses. Breakfast was simple but satisfying, an assortment of fruits, pastries, and folded pancakes with fruit jam in the middle. Everything was covered in either butter or sugar or both. By the end of breakfast, Milo was groggy from all he had eaten.
Next, they strolled through the academy’s village area. It was six o’clock and the sun had barely peeked above the mountains to the east, but despite the early hour, the campus was in a state of boisterous activity. There were uniformed cadets everywhere. Cheerful voices filled the streets.
Milo’s chest swelled pleasantly as he watched cadets gather at outdoor café tables for early morning study sessions. Here, unlike at Dearborn High, being smart and studious was nothing to be ashamed of.
Some of the better-groomed cadets, particularly the ones who carried an air of family wealth, wore thin metal circlets around th
eir foreheads with pale crystals embedded in the front. Milo saw at least five during the walk. A new fashion in Theus, maybe?
At one point, he watched a cadet tap the crystal, which caused a spark to leap out and hang in front of him. Milo saw only part of what happened next. The spark began to transform into a three-dimensional display, but the student entered a carriage pulled by levathons before Milo could catch the rest of what happened.
Their last stop was the bank.
“You’ll each have a savings account,” his uncle explained as they approached a white building with pillars supporting a stately facade, “but you won’t be able to touch it until you graduate.” The orphans’ smiles flipped into frowns. No spending money for them, apparently. But this was military school, after all. “Until then, your allowance will come in the form of accruals in interest that will automatically be transferred to your spending accounts twice a month. In addition to meal plans and dormitory stays I’ve already paid for, this meager amount of cash—and I want to emphasize the word meager—should be enough for anything else you might need. Remember, you’re in military school now, not some posh university like the God’s Crown or Saint Moonbeam’s out on the East Coast.”
“When you say ‘meager,’” Barrel began, lifting an inquisitive finger, “what exactly do you mean, quantitatively speaking?”
It was a question they all had on their minds. Emmanuel wagged his eyebrows in a coy manner before leading them up the front steps.
“I guess we’re lucky to get anything at all,” Emma said. Looking at Barrel and Lily, she added, “Probably won’t be many shopping sprees in our future.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Emmanuel said. “Two-point-five percent on five hundred million thessels isn’t pocket change.”
The orphans bumped into each other as they came to a sudden halt at the top of the stairwell.
“Five hundred mill—million…” Owen said, swaying like he might faint.
“That’s enough to buy a mansion,” Gunner said, clutching handfuls of his own hair in excitement. “We’re each getting that?”
Always cautious, Milo asked, “Where did that money come from?”
“It comes from my personal fortune.” Emmanuel opened a heavy wooden door, releasing a gust of stale air that smelled like coins. “I own portions of several businesses in Theus that have thrived over my years of absence. More than a few have market values of a billion thessels or more. Last night, I sold my stake in one particularly lucrative chain of ladies’ fashion accessory stores to be able to fund your accounts.”
“Wow,” Milo said. “Thanks, Uncle Manny.”
“Ladies’ fashion?” Sevarin said with a skewed glance. “Never thought you had it in you, Uncle.” He, like the others, had begun to use that term of endearment with the magician. “Computers or rocket ships, maybe, but ladies’ underwear?”
“Fashion accessories,’” Emmanuel corrected, shutting the massive doors behind them. “I got out of the underwear business long ago.”
When everyone had a bank token linked to their own private account, Emmanuel gave the orphans his most-thrilling piece of news yet.
“Take the rest of the weekend to get settled in. Trust me, you’ll want to relax while you still can. Class starts on Risenday morning, and you’ll all be a half a semester behind everyone else. I expect you to work extra hard to catch up.”
Milo studied the bank token and dreamed of the possibilities—of mastering magic, hanging out with his friends, and maybe even using his allowance to take Lily out for a nice dinner… assuming he finally worked up the nerve to ask her out, and that she said yes to his invitation.
He flipped over the token and saw the Archon’s face stamped on the other side, his expression grim. Milo stuffed it into his pocket.
CHAPTER 16
T he breeze felt pleasant against Emma’s wings. She couldn’t have asked for a nicer day. Sevarin walked alongside her, intent on explaining how the Dreadnought application process worked, and how he planned to work his butt off to be accepted. Without thinking, Emma nudged her hand against his. He took it, gingerly, as if afraid he might crush her finger bones.
He looked down at her. (He was so tall!) “Um…”
“Oh,” Emma said, and pulled her hand away. “Sorry.”
He looked like he wanted to say something more, but then Emmanuel appeared at Emma’s other side. Her uncle’s face looked taut with concern, his eyes narrowed behind his sunglasses.
“Sevarin, do you mind if I speak with Emma alone for a minute?”
Sevarin shrugged, but the look he gave Emma was a protective one.
“Sure. Whatever.”
He jogged over to Gunner and Owen, leaving Emma to wonder why the situation suddenly seemed so awkward. She looked at her uncle.
“What’s wrong, Uncle Manny?”
“I need your help with something,” Emmanuel said.
“Of course. What is it?”
“Try and develop your gift while we’re here. Your Sight, I mean. We’re all going to need it someday. Maybe sooner than we all think.”
A shiver ran down Emma’s spine. He was hiding something.
“That’s not what you really want to ask me,” she said.
Her uncle’s brow shot up in surprise. “Your empathic abilities are impressive.”
“My—what?”
“You can tell when someone’s lying to you. And much more, can’t you.”
It didn’t sound like a question, nor did his words make Emma feel like anything other than a freak.
“I guess you’re right,” she said, looking glumly down at the sidewalk. “What do you need me to do?”
Emmanuel sighed. “I need you to use your Sight to keep an eye on Iolus. Try as best you can to see what he’s up to, especially if it involves substantial amounts of blood crystals.”
“What for?” Emma looked up at him again, wide-eyed. Was he expecting her to spy on one of the most dangerous men in the realm? What if Iolus found out? What if he changed his plans as a result? She could ruin everything.
Emmanuel bit his lower lip. “I’ve been studying him for many years. He’s up to something. Something big. But even my best spies have been unable to decipher what it is. I have an idea, but I need a gift like yours to confirm it. Also…” he sounded deeply uncomfortable now, “to confirm when.”
Emma nodded, though the cryptic nature of his words left her feeling like a tiny pawn on a giant chessboard, governed by a player who cared little about her survival in the end. The least her uncle could do was tell her why.
“What’s he up to, Uncle Manny? And stop being so mysterious, please.”
“All right, I suppose you deserve that much. I think Iolus believes he can resurrect one of the ancient gods.”
Emma stopped suddenly. Emmanuel did the same. He glanced sheepishly back at the other orphans, but they were too absorbed in watching a family of levathons pass overhead to notice Emma and her uncle.
“Xelios,” Emma said, “the god of chaos. That’s the one you mean.”
“Emma,” her uncle said in a cautious whisper. “Whatever you see, communicate it back to me. But keep this between us until I know for sure what’s going on. I’ll help you with it.”
“You’re making it sound like we have time to do this.”
He took off his sunglasses and studied her face. The blue in his corneas reminded her of lightning. He looked defeated. “You know we don’t. I need your help with this as soon as possible.”
“I’ll do my best,” she said. “And I won’t tell the others, not even Milo.”
“Especially not Milo. I need him focused on his training.”
Emma nodded, though in that moment she had trouble meeting her uncle’s eyes. What if she wasn’t up to the task? What if, in the most critical moment, her Sight suddenly gave up and flew away, never to return?
Part of her wished that would happen so she wouldn’t have to bear this burden.
“I’m counting o
n you,” Emmanuel said. “It may seem harsh to say this, but the days of me being your uncle are almost over.”
The words made a chill run down Emma’s entire body. “What do you mean?”
“An uncle would protect his kin from harm, but I’m asking you to stand directly in its path. As your commanding officer, cadet, I’m asking you to get ready for the day when you’ll have to stare death in the face. Because when that moment comes, I want you to see what no one else can—and then I want you to show it to them.”
Emma swallowed a pang of fear, even as her uncle smiled proudly at her.
“And what’s that?” she asked.
He cupped his hand around her arm. “Only that death has wings of its own—and that yours can be faster. When the world sees just how fast, no one—not even Iolus—will have the stones to stand in your way.”
CHAPTER 17
With Calista present, Artemis and his band of soldiers could finally leave Peleros.
The plan was to rejoin active units of the Forge army in the forest outside the Erathian coastal city of Jasparta. There, in a famous coliseum called Great Saranth that sat in its metropolitan heart, Kovax’s latest Tower of Dusk was nearing completion. The low mage had chosen the coliseum for one simple reason, and when Calista heard it, she couldn’t help but shudder. This new tower would be able to draw blood ether not only from victims locked in its belly but also from anyone in the stands. She pictured a coliseum full of Feral slaves, thousands of them, collapsing into screaming piles of ash as a looming black tower sucked brightly lit tendrils of blood ether out of their bodies.
They traveled westward, keeping off the coast and all streets. When they moved in human shells, Artemis and his men discussed the plan. They had gathered enough intelligence regarding the coliseum’s layout, inner passages, and troop movements to feel confident breaking in. The only problem was the man guarding the construction site—a Savant necromancer named Xanthus, who followed Kovax’s every instruction and was, in many ways, more brilliant than the emperor when it came to administrative matters.
Savant & Feral (Digital Boxed Set): Books 1 and 2 of the Epic Luminether Fantasy Series Page 57
