Such A Secret Place (Stolen Tears Book 1)

by Cortney Pearson

  Gwynn’s right hand glistens like a violet flame around the Xian. Her head is flown back, mouth gaping as if waiting for a drink. And then her head lobs forward, and she nearly collapses. Tyrus catches her before she hits the floor.

  The claw crashes to the floor as well. It’s gone. Out of me.

  And so is my magic.

  I droop from the white machine on the tray. Fragile. Lifeless. Empty. My limbs are too weak to even tremble. For a moment I wonder if Weston felt this way—if he still does now. Like everything has been stripped out through a hole in my thigh and I’m nothing but flesh. How horrible for him to have it done with our entire student body watching. At least no one was here to watch it happen to me.

  But that’s it, isn’t it? No one knows. No one is coming. Ren can’t help me. Talon has been captured. I’m alone.

  I dangle there, acutely aware of the hole in my leg, the throbbing emptiness coursing through me like wind through a vast cavern.

  “It’s so…intense,” Gwynn says breathlessly, holding her gleaming hand with the other. She admires the aberration like a lost relic.

  “And that was only your first time,” Tyrus says. “It’s a rush. Every time.”

  They don’t even care enough to release me, so I draggle at that same awkward angle, arms secured to the cart while my knees don’t quite reach the floor. The pressure begins to wear at my elbows, my shoulders.

  Ren maintains his post by the door. His face is such a vacant glare I expect him to break any second. But he doesn’t move.

  I delve again—I can’t help it. Maybe there are a few drops left. Maybe I’ve got some dregs of magic I can gather, some few traces Gwynn missed that I can hold onto.

  I tried to fight it. I did all I could. The magic even burbled up for a moment there—I could have fought her. I should have fought harder. Maybe I could have—

  Wait.

  Something prickles at my chest once more, barbing out like a puncture vine. The prickles rotate, snaking against the flesh beneath my shirt. The tears writhe consecutively from a distance.

  The magic. Burbled. Up.

  I activated it, even with the Prone on.

  But how?

  Gwynn continues reveling over her illuminated hand. I concentrate, center all my energy on the teardrop beneath my shirt. I allow it to press into me, to itch and prick until it boils like water on the stove.

  Only, the boiling doesn’t burn me.

  “Ow!” Gwynn cries, staring at her hand like it’s just slapped her of its own accord.

  I clench my fists, concentrating, channeling energy from my veins, energy from the control panel near the window, from the locking mechanism at the door. I feel it surging through the walls, snaking its way into the floor and up the tray supporting me until the energy sifts straight through my fingertips.

  “Give it back,” I mumble, concentrating, conducting the energy up my limbs and into the teardrop. “Give it back!”

  The energy rages, and I tear free of the bands that once held me fast. The control panel crackles and sparks. The buttons pop, emitting tiny flames and a harsh scent of burned plastic.

  Tyrus’s mouth gapes beneath his mustache. Gwynn cowers next to him, her skin blanching. In unison, they back to the door, nearly colliding with Ren, who steps aside just in time. The lights above me flicker and fade with each step I take. Flicker-fade. Flicker-fade. Until I’m standing before my best friend.

  “Give it back,” I tell her, gripping her hand like a vice.

  Gwynn’s expression cracks.

  The teardrop pulses in time with my heartbeat. It gleams, lighting up my shirt and I pull the particles of energy through the air. Zing, zing, zing, one by one they join with me.

  Lights black out completely. The window shatters. Another loud crash sounds from below where we stand. And the magic pools through me, returning home like life streaming back in as the purple from Gwynn’s hand drains away.

  Tyrus grapples for his dazeblade but I reach it first. My magic swells in my bones like a river. It instantly syncs with the weapon, sparking along the blade, and I press it against the Arcaian’s throat.

  “Now Ren’s,” I demand. “Give his back.”

  “It’s not that simple—”

  I choke him off, driving the blade so hard it slices his neck. “I’m making it that simple! Return his magic. And then you can tell me where Talon is.”

  Fire exhumes the layer between skin and muscle, coursing along my every surface. It oozes through like spilled paint down a slope, rushing, urging until the heat licks every inch of me.

  Fear rides in Tyrus’s eyes, but he gestures in acquiescence. I lower the blade and allow him to face my brother. I’m tempted to stab the Xian into Tyrus’s leg—see how he likes the molestation. But I’m not that low.

  Ren clasps hands with the Office of the Arcaians. I jerk the amulet’s chain free from my neck and press the teardrop against Ren’s bare throat, just below his jaw.

  Ren gasps, no doubt at the prickling sensation also sweltering in my hand. Tyrus lets out a throaty cry, his glowing hand fading—though not completely, the way Gwynn’s did—returning Ren’s magic only. More glass shatters in the chamber below at the energy pulsing through the air. People shout and shriek with the sound. After several moments Tyrus sags against the wall. And Ren punches him in the face.

  The magic dissipates, slipping from me and draining my energy along with it. My limbs grow heavy. I sling the clear teardrop around my neck once more.

  “Now,” I say, but it’s all I get out before my knees quiver, and I fall with exhaustion beside Tyrus.

  “Where,” I stammer, “is Talon?”

  Tyrus doesn’t respond. I try to rise to all-fours, but I tremble so badly, I can’t find the strength. “Where is he?”

  Ren kneels at my side and slips his arms beneath me.

  “He’s being taken to the Triad,” says Gwynn, hugging her arms around her body and backing into the corner. “He’s to be killed for treason.”

  My head rolls. My lids fall and flutter as I fight to stay alert. Treason—what has Talon possibly done that qualifies as treason?

  Ren rises, struggling under my weight. “We need to get out of here,” he mutters, carrying me to the door.

  Arcs begin climbing in through the broken glass of the lower chamber. Several of them drag dazed citizens from the room while others march toward the side door Tyrus lugged me through to get in here.

  Ren pauses and glances down at me before turning back. “Come with us,” he says to Gwynn.

  Gwynn glances down at Tyrus’s still unmoving body on the floor. “Get out of my sight,” she says. “Both of you.”

  “But Gwynn—”

  She snarls and reaches for Ren’s dazeblade. He dodges her grasp, nearly dropping me. “I said get out!” she shrieks, losing her balance and dropping to the floor.

  “Come on,” Ren says again. He kicks open the door. Several soldiers block our way, but Ren barges through them and fumbles down the narrow steps. His boots crunch broken tidbits of glass. Wind whips through the now-exposed chamber, and the last thing I see are soldiers stooping over the captured citizens before my strength gives out completely.

  I blink awake and stare up at the ceiling arching above. Several empty cots lie like bricks along one edge of the long room. Lumpy duffle bags sag open spewing their contents across the floor.

  Ren stands near the window, his hands clasped behind his back. A confident lilt rides along his shoulders as he analyzes whatever is happening outside.

  My heart threatens to burst through my chest. We made it. He’s free.

  At first I worry it was all a dream. That I hadn’t really been stabbed by Gwynn, hadn’t rescued Ren and freed Tyrus’s hold over him. That Talon’s not really gone—he’ll come through that door any second. But I shift to place my feet on the floor and wince at the pain spearing from the exact spot on my thigh where Tyrus’s Xian had gone in.

  It was real.

 
Which means Talon is gone.

  I think of his piercing green eyes and those words he said. I owe you my help, Ambry. And so much more. He came back to help me. And now he’s been caught, about to be killed for treason.

  My brother turns around and hurries to me. “Ambry.” His eyes rake their way from my hairline to my feet and back, assessing, analyzing.

  “Glad you’re awake,” he says. “You’ve been out for several hours.”

  “I have?”

  “All last night and this morning. Are you okay?”

  I scuttle inside, carve in and search. The stream responds, answering his question. Yes, I’ve still got it. Magic turns cold, triggering goose bumps all down my arms.

  “I’m okay,” I tell him. “What about you?”

  Ren joins me on the stiff cot. “Back to normal, thanks to you. What did you do back there? And how did you do it? Tyrus has been building that station for months. And you destroyed it in seconds.”

  I didn't realize I destroyed the whole building, but I remember how the control panel in that room had fizzled and popped, emitting smoke. Not to mention the resounding crashes that followed from below. I hadn’t seen much of the shattered chamber before I buckled.

  “Where are we?” I ask.

  Ren drums his fingers together. “Black Vault.”

  “What? I thought Tyrus said you gave their location away.”

  He hangs his head and swallows. “I gave one location away. They never stay settled for long, and fortunately, they weren’t all in Jienke when Tyrus sent a brigade after them. I contacted our leader back in my tent, once we escaped, and they brought me here.”

  “They forgave you, just like that?”

  He glances at the window again. “Not exactly.”

  Of course they didn’t forgive him. “So we’re prisoners, basically.”

  “For now we are,” says Ren.

  I stare at my brother, at his familiar features, his tall forehead and straight nose, the way his brows are angled. It’s strange to see his head completely shaved. I have so many things I want to ask. But among all the other questions romping around in there, Talon’s name is forefront on my mind.

  “I had a friend with me. Talon Haraway. You know who he is?”

  Ren purses his lips. “I know of him. Not much more than that.”

  “Do you have any idea where they might have taken him? Was Gwynn right, would he be at the Triad Palace?”

  Ren watches his hands. “I think so. It’s where Tyrus was living. There are dungeons there.”

  Oh angels. Dungeons. I rise to my feet. Pain lances through my leg, crumpling me back down once more.

  “I’d heal you if I could, but they’ve got the room Proned. Just stay down. We aren’t going anywhere, not for a while.”

  I grit my teeth and stand again, hobbling to the door. Locked. I hobble back to the window. The Station stands at a visible distance. Its surface is no longer white but heavily charred. The glass chamber is completely crushed—cracked open like an egg. The control room gapes like a jaw missing its teeth.

  “Where’s Tyrus? And Gwynn?”

  Her name lingers between us. Ren knew Gwynn as well as I did. Maybe better.

  “As far as I know they’re back at the Triad too. And they’ll guard Haraway all the more because you’re at large. Tyrus is fuming that you escaped—it’s all over the news. Gwynn was pretty messed up after you tapped your magic back out from her.”

  “I really did, didn’t I? I’m sorry she’s…” I can’t finish.

  Ren doesn’t look at me. “Yeah. Me too,” he finally says.

  More silence follows until finally Ren goes on. “Tyrus has two separate teams searching for us. One in the city, one outside of it. He’s hovering over Gwynn, doing damage control, calming his soldiers who don’t understand how the Station was attacked by such a powerful unseen force. He doesn’t know where I am, and at this point I’m the least of his worries.”

  “So we’re prisoners here until whoever is in charge decides we can be trusted,” I repeat.

  Ren’s forehead creases. “I wouldn’t say prisoners. These guys are my friends. They just want to be sure I’m not Tyrus’s lackey anymore.”

  “But I can’t wait around. I have to get to Talon. Is there someone I can talk to?”

  My magic dances. Even a locked door and a Prone can’t keep me in here, but I can’t bust out. Solomus told me Black Vault members have feelings, like I do. I need them to trust me so I can rescue Talon.

  Plus, Tyrus won’t stop once he’s done with Valadir. He won’t rest until his Arcs spread through Itharia, trapping magic and obliterating other towns just like they’ve done here. I returned Ren’s magic, but Tyrus still has the other magic he’s taken. He’ll build another station. He’ll wipe us all out. We need as many Itharians with emotions as we can get if we want to go against the Arcaians.

  “They’ll come back once we move to a more discreet location,” Ren says. “They keep checking to see if you’re awake yet.”

  “We can’t request it, somehow? Shout out from the door? I can’t stay here.”

  “The Arcs won’t just kill someone like Talon Haraway,” Ren says. “They’ll want to make a big deal of it. You have some time.”

  “But not much,” I say, staring out the window. “What will happen to us if your friends decide we aren’t trustworthy?”

  Ren pauses, thinking it over. “Things could get ugly,” he says.

  I turn away and face the line of cots. “Things are already ugly.” All those people losing their magic. Talon. Gwynn. This war. Ugly is an understatement.

  Ren slouches against the wall, propping himself with his feet. “I have to know, Ambry. What happened? Where did you learn magic like that? I’ve never seen anything like that before.”

  “I don’t know, really,” I say, honestly. “It just sort of took over.”

  It’s true—I don’t know exactly how it worked. I feel the teardrop below my shirt, but I can’t explain how I was helped by the combined magic of all the First creatures of Itharia condensed in a single, crystallized amulet. As if the tears hear my thoughts, they nudge my spine, reminding me they’re still at Mt. Rhine. They’re safe. For now.

  I stare out the window on the opposite side of the room. The three spires of the Triad Palace rise up in the distance, across broken homes and destroyed buildings, across the demolished capital.

  Ren joins my side. “Well, however you did it, thank you,” he said. “For getting me out of there.”

  I glance up at my brother and force a smile. “You’d do the same for me.”

  And then I stare back out at the crests across the city.

  Hang in there, Talon. I’ll do the same for you too.

  Thanks for Reading!

  Thank you for reading Such a Secret Place. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I do! I also hope you'll take a few minutes to leave a review. Reviews on retail sites really help authors, especially indie authors like me. They also draw readers to other books they might like! I appreciate all honest reviews, so please be sure to let others know your thoughts about the story.

  Up Next in the Stolen Tears Series:

  Hope fades only if you allow it to...

  Now that Talon Haraway has been taken captive by the Arcaians, Ambry knows it's only a matter of time before he is executed. But to make matters worse, she must go against her once-best-friend, Gwynn Hawkes, to free him. Whether Ambry likes it or not, drinking those tears changed Gwynn. Not only is she subjecting her kinsmen's magic, but with Tyrus preoccupied with his upcoming war, Gwynn is acting more and more in Tyrus's stead, giving commands and leading skirmishes.

  Ambry refuses to believe Gwynn is gone for good, however. Along with juggling with her forbidden feelings for Talon, her desire to free her people's magic, and the ever-growing need to protect the tears from being drunk, the solution to stopping Gwynn means hoping harder than she ever has before. Hope can't undo what magic has already done, but paired with action
--and her newfound magic--Ambry's hope in Gwynn might be just what her friend needs to leave the dark path she's on.

  And don't miss Talon's story before he heard of a magical vial of tears.

  Doing the right thing means turning his back on everything he knows.

  Talon Haraway was born to be a leader. Strong, confident, and skilled, at seventeen he commands the Arcaian army without thought, expecting results and getting them. When a new set of recruits arrives in Valadir, the last thing Talon expects is to have one of them redefine what he always thought he wanted. Now with pressure from his Arcaian leader and surrogate father, Tyrus Blinnsdale, Talon must decide who he wants to be and where his loyalty lies before it's too late.

  This book has been several years in the making and I owe so much gratitude to so many people.

  First of all, to Anne Pfeffer. Anne, I don’t know how many times you’ve read this story, but you gave me such hope with your enthusiasm for Ambry (then Kiana) and her quest. Thank you for believing in me, for long phone calls and heartfelt emails, for open advice and unwavering support.

  To Elizabeth Briggs, my steady, constant friend and voice of reason. Thank you for your honest critique and back-and-forth emails of awesomeness. You’re the best. I honestly wouldn’t be where I am writing-wise without you.

  To Morgan Shamy. You and Liz have probably read this ms as much as Anne has and that alone is reason enough to thank you! But Morg, seriously. Thank you for enthusiastic, never-ending support, for inside jokes, for selfie wars on twitter, for late night texts that make me want to hug you through the phone. Thanks for putting up with me and being my best friend.

  To writer’s conferences, because without you I would never have met the three lovely ladies mentioned above, as well as so many other talented, wonderful friends like Angie Cothran, Ryan Dalton, Emily King. Thanks for reading, you guys! And also to Juliana Brandt and Danette Hansen, for your excellent eye and honest feedback.