by Devri Walls
PRAISE FOR DEVRI WALLS
“If you have not yet read Wings of Arian....WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? This is a series that is not to be missed by any fantasy/adventure lover! Devri has yet again proved herself to be an amazing writer. Overall this was an amazing sequel to what is so far an amazing series. What I really love about the Solus Series is while the romance does play a big part in the story, I always feel at the end of the book the main focus was on good conquering evil, and THAT is what is important. Wings of Tavea is an adventure fantasy that I believe will leave its readers on the edge of their seat and then dying for book three.”
-Haley, Ya-aholic
“Wings of Nestor is an exciting fantasy adventure with fantastic characters and a fast-paced plot. You don’t want to miss it!
–Ellie Ann, author of the Silver Sickle
“In Wings of Tavea, you will laugh, you will yell, you will cheer, and you will cry—there was this moment when I cursed Devri Walls for breaking my heart as silent tears fell down my face, but most of all you will be taken on a magical journey through unknown worlds with characters you will want to get to know. So if you haven’t already started this fabulous series, then you should do it now!”
-Danielle Young, Consuming Worlds
“Wings of Tavea is an equally stunning sequel to Wings of Arian. I adore the world the author has created: the characters, the species, the creatures, the places, the prophecy—just everything!”
-Melanie, Book Passion for Life
ALSO BY DEVRI WALLS
Wings of Arian (Solus Series, Book One)
Wings of Tavea (Solus Series, Book Two)
Wings of Nestor (Solus Series, Book Three)
Monster Security Service (Children’s book)
CHAPTER ONE
New Arrivals
KIORA LEANED BACK IN her chair, propping her feet up on the balcony railing and staring up at the blackened enclosure overhead. This had been her favorite place in the city—sitting here, looking up at the lake. The gentle swimming of the fish and the rhythmic waving of plant life could always lull her worries.
But now, the dead bodies of the Shifters and Taveans she had drowned to save Emane, Alcander, and herself filled the lake. Seeing her sins displayed above her was difficult to ignore, and Lomay had darkened the window for her own sanity.
Sighing, she wrapped her arms around herself. The blackness spoke volumes, an ever-present reminder that Kiora could have prevented it all. Instead, she had tried to avoid what had to be done—tried to avoid the scenes in the caves, the prophesies. Now every time she looked up, Lomay’s words came back to her. He told her that every step off the path would put the rebels in danger. She hadn’t listened, he had let her make her own choices, and rebels died because of it.
She shifted, the scratch of the chair legs unnaturally loud against the floor in the silence of the dreaming city. Lately, she’d been unable to sleep. Hiding her pain during the day had become easier. But when the night came, the events of the last few months haunted her.
A memory flashed—the moment when the last thread in the city silenced under Jasmine’s attack. She ground the palms of her hands into her eyes, taking a stuttering breath as she reached out for threads, trying to find comfort in those that occupied the city now.
Drustan brought the Taveans they had rescued from the Tavean jail to the city. Having them here was the only thing that eased the terror. The disastrous attack on Tavea had yielded good as well—she tried to hold on to that. But the waves of anguish for the massacre continually pounded below the surface, no matter what she did.
She shook her head vehemently, trying to clear her mind. She had surrendered to despair after the attack, and almost lost Emane and Alcander because of it. She could not go there again. No matter what.
A thread moved down the hallway, letting her know not everyone was asleep. Alcander rapped softly on the outer door. She was tempted to mentally tell him to come in, but didn’t—it made him so uncomfortable to speak to her like that. She hoped that would eventually change. Padding across the bedroom, she swung the door open.
Alcander stood in front of her, his nightshirt unbuttoned—exposing his muscular chest, his long white hair falling forward over his skin. Kiora’s breath caught in her throat.
“You’re awake,” he said.
She forced her eyes back to his face, swallowing. “So are you.”
He raised an eyebrow, looking over her shoulder. “May I come in, or have I been relegated to standing in hallways?”
Smiling, Kiora stepped back.
Alcander strode in, brushing his fingers across the top of her hand with a familiarity that Kiora had come to treasure. He sat on the bed and motioned for her to join him. “I came to apologize.”
“Apologize?” Kiora looked at him suspiciously. “Who are you?”
“I’m serious.”
Kiora sat down next to him. “For what?”
“I’ve noticed you’re not sleeping.”
“That’s not your fault.”
“We never talked about what happened. I . . .” He exhaled heavily, placing his hand over hers. “Talking things over is still strange to me, but I can see that it is something you need. As my . . .” He hesitated, looking immensely uncomfortable. “As someone who is bonded to me, I need to be more respectful of your needs.”
His gesture touched her heart more than he knew, and she threw her arms around his neck. “Thank you,” she whispered in his ear. She took his hand, running her thumb over the back. Although grateful, she worried that if she accepted his offer, she would dissolve into a sniveling pile of goo, or disappear so far into her own head that no one would be able to pull her out this time. “I don’t know if I want to talk about it.”
Alcander looked baffled. “Why not?”
“Because I am trying to be strong,” she said.
Alcander tilted his head to the side. His eyes ran over her face and he tucked her hair behind her ear. “You are strong.”
Kiora snorted. “How many times have you had to jump in when I was falling apart and pull me back together? We don’t have time for that anymore. Dwelling on the women and children we lost . . .” Her lip quivered and she blinked furiously. “. . . on how helpless I felt, the despair that almost drowned me—it only leads to this.” She jabbed, pointing at her own tears.
Alcander slid both hands under her jaw, lovingly wiping away the tears that trailed down her cheeks.
Kiora placed her hands over his, pressing her cheek against his palm, grateful for his silent, but clear, support. “I love you.”
“I will never tire of hearing you saying that,” he said. “I love you too.”
She leaned forward, giving him a small kiss. “We haven’t talked about how you are doing either, King Alcander.”
He cleared his throat as he pulled back, his hands falling to his knees. “It’s strange.”
She searched his face, trying to discern the emotions.
His mouth quirked to the side. Here, he thought, opening his mind to her. Be gentle.
Kiora felt his pride for claiming his rightful title of king. But the betrayal of his family, and Tavea, had been orchestrated by his own blood—that knowledge had reopened childhood wounds. He was grieving the loss of his family all over again, and around that mourning simmered a righteous fury toward his dead uncle, Aimon. There was also sadness for his kingdom, his people, and he wondered, what was there to rule over? He had his title, his staff—but no kingdom, no castle, and only a handful of subjects.
She respectfully pulled out of his mind, biting her lip and attempting to hide her smile.
“What?” he asked, frowning.
&
nbsp; “Remember when I told you that you felt too much?”
Alcander laughed out loud. “And now you would like me to admit that you were right?”
She giggled, nudging him with her shoulder. “That would be nice.”
“I can’t. It’s a Tavean thing.” He tried to keep a straight face, but his eyes danced with laughter.
Her mouth fell open in mock horror. “You’re lying to me! It is not a Tavean thing.”
He smirked. “Prove it.”
“Do you remember after . . .” She hesitated. “. . . after we lost so many. You told me that I could never go away again, that you never wanted to see that look in my eyes.”
“I remember.”
“I don’t want you to go away either. That cold, hard Alcander I first met was not nearly as attractive.”
His eyes narrowed mischievously. “Are you sure you didn’t find me attractive? Because there were multiple instances when I would argue that you definitely—” “You know what I meant!” Kiora laughed, turning bright red.
He leaned down and kissed her. “I know what you meant.”
***
KIORA JERKED AWAKE. SHE’D fallen asleep in the chair. Her neck was stiff and she rubbed it, looking around with bleary eyes. She had promised to get some sleep after Alcander left, but sleep had continued to evade her. Eventually she’d returned to her usual spot on the balcony, where she’d nodded off.
The sounds of life floated up as the city woke. Kiora leaned forward on her elbows, looking over the edge of the balcony. Their numbers were not many. At the moment, there were one hundred and twenty-six Taveans. Adding in herself, Emane, Drustan, and Lomay, it brought the count up to one hundred and thirty.
The Taveans milled about, collecting their breakfast from the kitchens, talking, and waiting for a turn to speak with their king. Alcander moved quietly through them, as he did every morning, asking each how they were. As he finished his rounds, he looked up, catching her eye before making his way into the main house.
Kiora crossed the room, waiting for his thread before opening the door. Alcander stood in the doorframe. He evaluated her, then slid his hand behind her neck, giving her a gentle kiss that clearly spoke to what he was holding back.
Currents ran from her lips to the tips of her toes as his magic whispered through her. Kiora trembled. “Good morning.”
He pulled back. “You still didn’t sleep.”
“I slept.”
“The black under your eyes says otherwise.”
She wearily trudged to the bed, plopping on the edge. “I try to sleep. My mind just has other plans.”
“I wish I could shield you from that.”
She scrubbed her hands over her face. “That would be nice.”
“The first group of rebels should be arriving today,” he told her. “Are you sure we made the right choice?”
They had decided to bring all the rebels into the city, and although there were concerns, she didn’t see any other options. “Despite its weaknesses, the city is still the safest place. If Jasmine goes after the rebels where they are now, every barrier will fail. They won’t have a chance.” She looked up at Alcander. “Has Lomay figured out how to strengthen the barrier yet? The thought of losing anymore . . . like that . . .” She trailed off. “I just . . .”
“I know,” Alcander said, sitting down next to her. “Don’t worry—Lomay will figure it out. If he says he can, then he will.”
Kiora sat straighter, determined to put her brave words into practice. “Is someone at the entrance to let the rebels in?”
“I assigned two, yes.”
“Good.”
Emane stopped at the open door, quickly looking away. He cleared his throat and casually leaned against the doorframe, shoving his hands in his pockets—it was too casual, too forced, and although she appreciated his efforts, she noticed.
“Still not sleeping?” Emane asked.
Kiora rolled her eyes and threw her hands in the air. “Thank you for the observation. You are not the first.”
Emane grinned, looking at the floor. “Are we still meeting after breakfast?”
“If I can rouse Drustan by then,” Alcander said.
“He’s awake,” Emane said. “Passed him on the way up.”
Alcander muttered something about a miracle. The three fell quiet. Alcander finally stood. He walked to the door, clapping Emane on the shoulder. “Let’s get some breakfast.”
Emane met Kiora’s gaze over Alcander’s shoulder before turning to go. “I hate eating breakfast with you. We get mobbed.”
“You like it.”
Their voices carried back to her as they headed down the hall.
“I don’t,” Emane insisted. “If I were . . .” The rest of his sentence was lost as they turned the corner.
Emane had told her he would step back—let her go. But she couldn’t make hide nor hair of the friendship he was developing with Alcander. They were opposites in every way and had spent nearly every moment since they had met either fighting or disagreeing. But now they bantered, asked each other for advice, and near as she could tell, shared a mutual respect. “Boys,” she muttered.
Kiora undressed and slipped into the welcome warmth of a perfectly heated bathtub. She exhaled, leaning against the curved back. She had a little time before the meeting and if she couldn’t sleep, she could try to relax. She smiled and ran her finger around the edge, watching the water drip from her fingers and run down the side. The warmth of the water was doing its job and she sank lower, her weariness melting away.
She must have fallen asleep because she was jerked awake by shouts. Kiora leaped out of the tub. She dried as quickly as she could and stumbled toward the balcony, trying to wiggle into her tan pants as they stuck to her damp skin. She hurriedly buttoned them, pulled on a shirt, and threw open the doors. The courtyard below her was filled with Winged men, Taveans, and a few Omelians. The first rebel group had arrived.
The general mood of the group was somber, with the exception of the Winged man standing behind Lomay. He was yelling. One of the other rebels stepped forward and put his hands on the man’s shoulder, leaning in to whisper in his ear. The Winged man shoved him off.
Kiora raced down the stairs. Once she made it out the front door, she pushed her way through the crowd. Closer now, she could make out some of the words.
“Solus . . . she’s gone . . . my wife . . . where was the Solus?”
Kiora froze. Bile rose in her throat. Compelling her feet forward, she moved toward the dispute. As she came up next to Lomay, the Winged man turned his brown eyes to her. His hair was sandy blond, cut short to his head, his face filled with rage.
“You,” he seethed, pointing his finger at her.
“It was not her fault,” Lomay said. “Kiora nearly sacrificed herself trying to protect your wives and children. Place your anger where it belongs—this was the work of the Shadow.”
The man’s eyes did not waver from Kiora, giving no indication he had heard anything. “You were supposed to protect them.”
“I know,” Kiora said thickly. “I did everything I could.”
“It wasn’t enough,” the man bellowed. His wings flared out behind him.
An Omelian spoke from the side. “We have all lost those we love, Leith. It is not the fault of the Solus.”
Leith whirled on the Omelian who had spoken, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his feathers ruffling on his still-flared wings. “If she can’t protect a handful of women and children, what makes us think she can go up against the Shadow? She’s already lost.” He turned back, and when he spoke again, his voice had dropped an octave. “And now our wives and children are gone.”
Kiora felt his thread altering. The group around him felt it too—they widened their eyes and took apprehensive steps back.
A popping sounded overhead.
Kiora looked up as Leith continued yelling. The barrier, previously black, now rippled with pinks and reds and greens, looking exactly
like the magic that formed the protection in the entrances.
No, no, no! Kiora thought, panic strumming through her. She pushed past Lomay. “Leith, I am so sorry. Please forgive me. I should have stayed with them, been here to protect them. I—”
He stepped toward her, his eyes narrowing further as he glowered down from his substantial height advantage. “What do you mean? You left them?”
Kiora stepped back under his advance, startled. “We went to get the Light from Tavea. Jasmine attacked while we were away. I got here as fast as I could, but—”
Leith closed the distance between them in one rapid step, wrapping his hands around her throat. “My wife was safe for years before you came! Years! How could you leave her?”
Lomay cried out. Alcander’s thread charged through the crowd.
“Please,” Kiora croaked, wrapping her fingers around his hands. “Your thread—the barrier.” She tried to warn him as color rolled above them like strange, unworldly fire. But he didn’t listen, his fingers tightening instead.
She couldn’t breathe. Spots swam around her vision. Kiora shoved magic out, ripping his hands from her throat and pushing him back. Gasping for air, she bent over, her hands on her knees.
Leith recovered and came toward her again.
Kiora held out a hand as she straightened. Magic rippled across her fingers in warning. “Not any closer.”
Leith stopped. His wings flared out like an avenging angel, making him look twice his size. His thread turned darker still. “Are you going to kill me?” he demanded. “Like you killed my wife?”
“No,” Kiora said. She took a deep breath, slowly lowering her hand to her side. “But if you don’t control your thread, you are going to die.” She pointed up to the barrier, which was now a dark magenta.
Leith ignored her warning and charged toward her. His thread turned completely.
Kiora pushed out a burst of magic that knocked him to the ground. He struggled to get up, but she held him there—the fury in his eyes spoke to what would happen if she released him. A tear slipped down her cheek as it began to rain.
