Emery turned, trying to see the others, but the door slammed shut, blocking his view. And worst of all, a familiar presence hovered, smothering him like a thick, wool cloak. He trembled as the memories surged over him. Every seduction. Every murder. Every birth of a Dor’Jan. Truth spiked in his thoughts, buried behind the overwhelming fear. He shook his head. The emotions weren’t his. The fear wasn’t his. They always came from elsewhere. Emery’s blood ran cold.
“Impressive, Emery.”
King Alcandor stepped from behind a pillar; the purple light in his eyes faded to frosty blue. Dressed in a black doublet and floor-length purple cape, Alcandor pushed the cape off one shoulder as he stepped toward Emery.
“You have blocked me. You’ve improved your skills, yet again,” Alcandor said. “I’m not surprised you’re behind the reappearance of the stones. You always were … resourceful. However, I am curious how you discovered their true purpose.”
The doors opened, and Kael appeared, followed by two soldiers dragging Maska into the room. Maska’s head drooped, and his black hair clung to his face. They threw him to the ground—harder than necessary—turned, and left, one knocking into Maska’s leg on the way out, causing him to writhe on the floor.
“The Talasian we told you about,” Kael said.
“Bring me the ‘light’ shackles,” Alcandor said.
Kael disappeared and returned with thick, silver shackles in hand. Alcandor took them and circled Maska in slow, even steps. He knelt and fastened the shackles to Maska’s wrists.
“I didn’t realize the gift reached your land.” The king placed his hand under Maska’s chin and pulled his face up. “What is your name, Talasian?”
Maska glared in reply.
The king’s eyes glowed with the light of Healing. Maska threw his head back, clenched his teeth, and growled as bones cracked and bent limbs straightened. Alcandor maintained his contact, not flinching or showing any sign of absorbing Maska’s injuries. When he finished, Alcandor released his hold and studied Maska with amused interest. The king was more powerful than Emery remembered.
Maska shook his head, disoriented. When his eyes fell on the king, he jumped to his hands and knees like a wild cat, the chains clanging against the stone floor.
“Ah!” the king said. “That is more like a Talasian.” Alcandor grabbed Maska by the throat, pulled him to standing, and pushed Maska across the throne room until he slammed against the wall. Alcandor reached for a collar attached to the wall and locked it across Maska’s neck. Maska’s Strength flared, but his efforts were pointless against the king.
“Just so you know, you won’t break these bonds. They are made with a special metal unlike any you’ve ever known.” Alcandor touched Maska’s cheek, and his struggles abruptly stopped. A vacant expression fell over Maska’s face.
“The interesting thing about Talasians,” Alcandor said, “is they pretend to have no emotions, but they hide intense passion.” He turned a side-glance toward Emery. “But you already know this, don’t you, Emery?”
Alcandor turned to Maska again. “What is your name, my warrior?”
“Maska.”
“Maska?” Alcandor smiled. “I have heard of you. However, they told me Maska died. But now you stand before me, blazing with the Shay of Strength. How extraordinary. I can see how your sweet princess would risk everything for you … her inheritance … her life.”
Maska’s eyes jerked toward Alcandor; the control of the king no longer overpowered him. He glared with a smoldering anger Emery had never seen from him before.
“Oh, don’t worry; she is alive and well. Her father brought her to me. A peace offering, he called it. However, I sensed he wanted to rid himself of her, once and for all.”
“What have you done with her?” Maska growled.
“Ah, see there, Emery? It just takes the right kind of motivation.” King Alcandor’s hand trailed across Maska’s cheek. “I can help you rid yourself of those binding, Talasian chains. Like Princess Mikayla. She is free.”
The anger smoothed in Maska’s face as he yielded to the king’s powers. His chin raised, his lips parted, and his eyes closed. Emery resisted the urge to panic. He summoned his Shay and searched Maska, feeling the passion begin to take hold. He wouldn’t allow it. Emery reached deeper and concentrated on the lust, pushing it from Maska’s mind.
Maska shook his head, snapping out of the desire so abruptly even the king recoiled. King Alcandor’s brows furrowed with confusion, then anger, and then his fury locked on Emery.
The king appeared with Speed, his hand on Emery’s throat. Emery clawed at his neck, though it was pointless. As the darkness closed in, King Alcandor released him. Emery fell to the ground, gasping for breath, allowing the world to come into focus.
“As proficient as your mind has become,” Alcandor breathed in Emery’s ear, “keep it restrained. I could snap your neck with no effort at all.”
“That … would … be … a loss … for you.” Emery rubbed his neck.
“True,” the king said casually, cocking his head. “Killing you quickly would be quite a waste of your Shay. Why, to absorb a full Shay … I haven’t done that in a very long time.” He yanked Emery to his feet, removed his jeweled dagger, and pressed the blade to Emery’s throat. “And of course, there is still much to learn.”
“I’ll tell you nothing.”
King Alcandor pulled back his blade slightly. “Emery, I would be disappointed if you gave in so easily. But there are other ways to convince you.”
Alcandor smiled in a way that made Emery’s stomach drop. With a snap of the king’s fingers, the door opened. Megan, Garrick, and Hakan were forced inside.
“Welcome!” the king said, as if old friends had stopped by to visit. “Please join us. We were having a pleasant chat, weren’t we, Emery?”
Swollen and bleeding sores covered Hakan’s and Garrick’s faces. The sleeve of Megan’s dress had been ripped away, and a tear hung in the bodice of her dress. If she had been hurt, she had already healed herself.
“Garrick,” Alcandor said. “It’s good to see you.”
“To the Darkness with you,” Garrick said.
King Alcandor laughed, and then his expression turned sour. “Is that a threat? I made the Darkness!” He swung his hand back and smashed it into Garrick’s cheek.
Garrick would have fallen if the soldiers hadn’t held him. His cheek split open, and a line of blood oozed down his face.
Alcandor turned from Garrick, now giving his attention to the other two. He examined Hakan, an amused expression on his face, and then his eyes flared with Empathy. “Perception, eh? You are harmless for the ox you are.”
Hakan opened his mouth to speak but froze with a wave of the king’s hand.
“Pathetically weak.” Alcandor motioned, and one of the Rol’dan led Hakan away, securing him to another wall.
Alcandor studied Megan next. He closed the distance between them, grabbed her head, and kissed her.
She struggled at first, and then her arms dropped to her side. She drew into his kiss, pulling him close. When they separated, Megan clung to him longingly. All the while, the king’s eyes glowed with Empathy.
As hard as Emery tried to clear his mind, he couldn’t. His anger roared.
Alcandor broke away from Megan to smirk at Emery, then he led her by the hand. She stared off vacantly, her expression pleasant but empty. The king had won. He’d found Emery’s weakness. Emery would do anything, he’d say anything, for Megan.
“Where did you find the stones?” Alcandor said sweetly.
Emery shook with rage. “Alec Deverell found the first. The others found us.”
“Alec Deverell? Ah, you mean the young swordsman. Where is he now?”
“Why don’t you ask your general, considering he’s the one who shoved a sword in his chest.”
The king’s eyes shifted toward Kael, and the king said, “I sent a group of soldiers to retrieve the other stones, but instead heard a curi
ous tale. The few survivors told me one man killed them all. I, of course, punished them for their failure. But I can’t help wondering what they saw. Might you give me some insight, Emery? I find the idea of a single man killing a group of thirty Speed Rol’dan pretty fantastical.”
Nolan. It had to be Nolan. He was certain. Alcandor pressed his thoughts, but Emery shielded his mind. “Not as fantastical as you might think.”
King Alcandor sucked a breath through his teeth. “You are blocking me again. Why must you make this so difficult? I will have to get more … persuasive.” He kissed Megan’s cheek and then whispered in her ear.
Her eyes locked on Emery. And before he could protest, she crossed the floor to him and pressed her lips against his. They were so soft, and her familiar scent surrounded him. As he kissed her, his head swam.
Tell me what I need to know, a voice said. Though she is under my control, she doesn’t have to be. You have the power to control her. Make her desire you, then I can increase the experience. You can hold her and touch her and make love to her. I know you want her. Just tell me who killed my men, and she will be yours.
Megan kissed him deeper, more passionately. She clung to him, leaning her body hard against his, silently begging for more. Emery groaned and pulled her against him. His hands touched her neck, her back, and her hips. She wrapped a leg around him, pressing into him. She felt so good.
With a jolt, Emery pried Megan away and drove his Shay into her mind.
She gasped and her eyes cleared, staring dumbstruck at Emery as a blush rose in her cheeks. Both of their hearts still thundered. Emery breathed, trying to calm the reactions of his body. She stepped away, a shy expression on her face.
“So this is the way we must play?” the king said. “So be it, Cadogan. I give you pleasure and you choose death instead.” In a few quick strides, he crossed the room, seized Garrick, and plunged a dagger into his chest.
“No!” Emery cried.
Garrick gasped, shock on his face.
Alcandor twisted the blade, all the while glaring at Emery. “Why must you force me to do such things?”
“Force you, Alcandor?” Emery said, his voice shaking. “You planned to kill us anyway.”
The king’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Alcandor, is it now? If you tell me what I want to know, perhaps I might let your little minx heal him before he dies.” He shoved the blade in deeper to add emphasis.
“All right,” Emery said. “Let him go.”
King Alcandor yanked the blade free, and Garrick fell to his knees.
Megan stepped toward Garrick, and then froze, staring off in a daze. Alcandor controlled her again.
“I-I don’t know for sure,” Emery said, “but I believe Nolan Trividar killed your Rol’dan.”
Kael—still standing off to the side—burst into laughter. “Your Majesty, he’s playing you for a fool. Nolan is my brother. He is nothing, Your Majesty.”
The king’s Empathy searched Emery. Emery shifted uncomfortably, letting him sense truth from his words. The puddle of blood under Garrick’s body grew.
“He is telling the truth,” Alcandor said, amused interest on his emotions. “Now I really must meet your brother, General. He’s become quite an extraordinary young man.”
“But it’s impossible,” Kael stammered.
Alcandor smiled. “Of course you would think such things. You didn’t even know he had Accuracy until he hit you with a jar of ink. Your little brother hides many secrets, it would seem.”
Alcandor wiped his dagger across Kael’s sleeve and shoved it into his leg holster. “How did he do it, Emery? How can one Accuracy user kill thirty Speed Rol’dan?”
“Your Majesty,” Emery said, the words bitter on his tongue. “I will happily give you more details, but—”
“Garrick?”
“Yes,” Emery hissed.
Alcandor circled the dying man, trying to find a spot clean of blood on the floor. Finally, he placed his feet and kneeled. He sighed melodramatically. “It’s unfortunate he betrayed me.”
Emery lunged toward them but stopped at the end of Kael’s sword. “Please. Let him die.”
“And waste his power?”
Emery shook with frustration, his eyes connected with Kael’s.
Kael looked away.
Emery reached with his Shay, trying to will Alcandor to stop, but he couldn’t get even a meager hold on his mind.
King Alcandor lowered his lips to Garrick’s as a final shudder went through him. Pure blue light streamed from Garrick’s mouth to the king’s. Alcandor leaned back, savoring his newly acquired power, while Garrick lay still and lifeless on the ground.
“General, we must dispose of the body before nightfall.”
Emery met Kael’s eyes briefly, and sadness emanated from Kael. Emery hadn’t expected that.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Kael said. “Shall we have the robes brought in?”
“No. Leave him as he is,” King Alcandor said. “I had almost forgotten the difference between a full Shay and those pathetic half-Shays. Perhaps I may have them step under the light before I take them from now on.”
A Strength Rol’dan entered, picked up Garrick’s limp body, and tossed him over his shoulder. He walked from the room, leaving a trail of blood as it dripped from Garrick’s fingertips.
“So, Emery,” Alcandor said casually, “you were telling me about this Nolan fellow. How did he kill my men?”
“How in Brim’s light would I know?” Emery spat, his voice shaking.
King Alcandor came at Emery, grabbed him by the throat, and pushed him until he butted against the wall. He drew out a metal collar—like the one Maska wore—and latched it across his throat. The metal was warm, almost hot. It rested against stones. Shouldn’t it be cold?
“You know more than you are telling me.” Alcandor studied him. “You will tell me in time. You have other friends.”
Alcandor untied his cloak and tossed it aside. He unbuttoned his doublet and shrugged it off, throwing it into a servant’s arms. As he pulled the tie on his spotless white tunic, he closed the distance to Megan. She stared into nothing.
Emery laced his fingers around the strap on his neck and yanked. “What are you doing? Keep away from her.”
Alcandor didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. Emery knew exactly what he was doing. As the king led her away, Emery flared his Shay and drove it into Megan’s mind. She stopped and shook her head. Then a flash of pain blinded Emery’s vision. When the haze lifted, Megan was gone.
Kael stood next to him, bringing his fist back to strike him again. “I don’t know how you covered your lie, but there’s no way my brother could kill anyone, let alone a whole platoon of Speed Rol’dan.” Kael sneered, and Emery braced for another blow, but it never came. Instead, Kael turned and walked away.
A subtle grunt caught his attention. Maska struggled against his bonds, his face turning as red as his eyes. The king’s power had left him.
“What are these made of?” Maska said, yanking against the clasp at his throat and then pulling the chains on his wrists taut.
“I don’t know,” Emery said. “But I’ve never seen a Strength user break them.”
“Maska? Emery?” Hakan said. “I can hear you both, but I can’t see a thing. This cursed strap is so tight I can’t turn my head. What happened? How’d I get here?”
“The king put you in a trance,” Emery said.
“Are Garrick and Megan by you?”
“No.” Maska lowered his voice. “Where are they, Emery?”
As if answering his question, a servant walked from the king’s chamber holding Megan’s torn dress. He glanced over at them and then quickened his steps.
“Emery?” Maska said. “Where’s Megan?”
“In that room. With him.”
A flurry of curses erupted from Hakan as he frantically pulled against his bonds. After several minutes, he stopped, heaving. “There must be something we can do.”
“Not
unless you can break free and kill the king,” Emery said.
Maska grew silent, even more so than usual. Emery strained to look at him and saw Maska watching a pair of servants mopping the gore. “What is that, Emery? Where is Garrick?”
Emery’s silence was enough.
“I would avenge him if I could.” Maska’s eyes glowed with both his Shay and an inner fire.
“And if you tried, you’d be dead, too.”
Hakan’s soft sobs echoed through the room, and Maska began to work his Strength at his bindings again. Even with their combined noise, it couldn’t drown out the moans drifting from the king’s chamber. Emery swallowed and closed his eyes.
“Oh, Megan,” Emery said, “may Brim save us all.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
EMERY PRESSED HIS HANDS to his ears in a feeble attempt to muffle the sound. Time passed, though far too slowly. And with each passing hour, Emery surrendered to his memories.
He recalled his first night with the king. He’d only been in the Rol’dan for a few months. Alcandor had summoned him after dinner. Emery had been nervous, for what could the king want with him? All of his speculations hadn’t prepared him. He’d performed his part too well that night, for the king had called him the very next day.
The moments after the king released his hold were always the most difficult. The revelation of what he’d done—and how willingly he’d completed the task—trampled Emery’s spirit. And worst of all, it never left. Emery shook his head, trying to dislodge the vivid memories, yet the images clung like a garish painting in his mind.
Soft sobs echoed from the king’s bedchamber. Megan. Alcandor’s power over her must be gone.
Emery longed to hold her and stroke her hair, to tell her everything would be all right. But it was a lie. Nothing was all right. He didn’t know what would happen to them; Garrick and Alec were proof that things could go terribly wrong.
“Hakan.” Emery’s voice barely croaked through his dry throat.
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