Wings of Lomay (Solus Series Book Four)

by Devri Walls

  The wave she had pulled in was hundreds of feet high and getting taller as she continued to feed it water. It reached up as if it had fingers, slamming into the Winged people and dragging them in. Having finished what she came to do, Kiora pushed the wave down. The full force slammed into the base of the cliff. Spray plumed into the air, drenching her and Arturo with freezing salt water.

  A swirling liquid torrent of death spun in the ocean beneath her. Pieces of broken warships stabbed upwards before being sucked underneath. Kiora continued to pull the water in all directions, ensuring there would be no escape from the thrashing sea.

  The threads were silencing rapidly and the anguish she felt was at bitter odds with the rush of magic igniting every part of her. As the final threads faded, the sound of laughter rose above the sounds of destruction. Kiora whirled, her chest heaving and her cheeks flushed.

  Jasmine floated a few feet above the ground. She looked into the waters below. Her white dress twisted around her body in the wind like a blood-stained cocoon. She looked triumphant as she inclined her chin, her eyes glittering above a self-satisfied smirk. Kiora released the waves, and they fell back into their normal cadence. Jasmine laughed again and then vanished.

  Kiora stared at the empty air. That look of self-satisfaction should have been the last thing on Jasmine’s face. Every look Jasmine wore tonight was not what it should have been. Nothing made sense. She could have killed me, she thought to Arturo as she put up a bubble. So why didn’t she?

  I don’t know.

  Arturo turned, heading toward Lomay’s. As they crossed the barrier, Kiora saw through the window that the center foyer was filled with slaves. Some were celebrating; others had their faces pressed against the pane, looking at her in awe. She couldn’t go in, not right now. Not when the sudden void of threads around her was still in stark contrast to the numbers that had been here mere minutes before. Evil or not, they were dead at her hand.

  “Take me to my balcony, please.”

  Arturo obliged. He hugged the outside of the house as he flew to prevent them from getting caught up in the magic and transported to the other side. He then hovered above the balcony. She slipped off his back.

  You did a good thing, Arturo thought.

  I know that. It had to be done. I just . . .

  Wish it was not you who had to do it, he finished her thought for her.

  She nodded.

  The slaves whose lives you saved will forever be grateful.

  And I will forever be grateful I did, Kiora thought. That is my solace.

  Try to get some sleep. Those you saved will be anxious to speak with you.

  Good night, Arturo. Kiora gently ran her finger over his nose, offering a weak smile. She made her way stiffly inside and lowered herself to the edge of her bed. She didn’t want to think. She didn’t want to do anything. Reaching out a shaking hand, she started a fire in the fireplace and stared numbly at the hypnotic flames.

  ***

  ALCANDER PUSHED HIS WAY through the celebrations of freedom—the joy at seeing their Solus stand against the undefeatable foe. He stopped next to Emane, who anxiously watched the door for Kiora’s return.

  “She’s upstairs.”

  “Thanks,” Emane said. “Did she tell you what she planned to do?”

  “No.”

  “You should probably go check on her,” Emane’s hand ran repeatedly over the hilt of his sword. “I am going to go stand by the back doors to make sure no one goes outside and upsets the foxes.”

  “They can feel the foxes’ threads, you know,” Alcander said. “You don’t need to warn them.”

  Emane clenched his jaw before leveling his gaze with Alcander’s. “Yes, I know. But I can’t go comfort the woman I love and am sending you instead. As much as I am trying to be gracious, it’s at times like this . . .” He ground his teeth. “She is hurting, Alcander—just go.” He jerked awkwardly forward as if being tugged by some imaginary string, and then made his way through the rebels.

  Alcander watched him go before heading up the stairs. He knocked gently on Kiora’s door, but got no response. He pushed it open. She sat on the edge of the bed, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, staring into the fireplace. The light from the fire played off the white streak in her dark hair, making it look even brighter than usual.

  She was delicate. Her frame, her face—her heart. And yet, so strong. It never ceased to amaze him how the two could live in one person. He crossed the room. Sitting next to her, he placed his hands over hers.

  She didn’t move. Her face was abnormally impassive as she stared forward.

  “Kiora?” he whispered, trying to gain some response. There was none. “Kiora, you promised never to do this to me again.”

  She turned her head toward him but would not meet his gaze, her eyes fixed on his chest. He put his finger beneath her chin, pulling it up. Her eyes looked darker—haunted.

  Sighing, Alcander pulled her onto his lap. She resisted at first, but then threw her arms around his neck, sobbing into his shoulder. He held her tight, not saying anything as she cried, letting her release the anguish that colored her sobs. He held her, his heart hurting at her pain, until she fell asleep.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Motivations Revealed

  KIORA WOKE TO MOVEMENT. She was still in Alcander’s lap with his arms wrapped around her. She lifted her head from his shoulder.

  Alcander’s eyes ran over her face, appraising.

  “How long have I been asleep?”

  “A couple of hours.”

  They were still sitting on the edge of the bed, right where she had fallen asleep. She slid off his lap.

  He stood and groaned, rolling his neck.

  “I can’t believe you let me sleep that long,” Kiora said. “Your back must be killing you.”

  “What is killing me is Drustan.” Alcander grunted, twisting to one side and then the other. “He must have stuck his head in that door fifteen times to tell me that the slaves are requesting your presence.”

  “Fifteen times, you say?”

  “At least.”

  Kiora laughed, running her fingers through her rumpled hair. She took a moment to feel the threads of the slaves. Having them here filled the emptiness with something she desperately needed—joy. It seeped in around her and she let it come, refusing to fight it with guilt, and she smiled.

  Alcander dropped his arms to his side and stood straight, grinning back at her smile. “Are you ready to go meet them?”

  Kiora took a deep breath and pushed off the bed, standing. She reached her hand out to him and he intertwined his fingers with hers. “Ready.”

  The sound of voices carried up from the main foyer and they walked hand in hand down the hall. When they reached the top of the stairs, she looked out over the slaves. They were bruised, battered, and dirty, but they were free.

  At the appearance of her thread, they all turned. Some of their expressions were glittering with excitement and relief, but many of the slaves retained the deadness in their eyes. If she looked closely, she could see a slight glimmer in the back—hope in its infancy.

  They dropped to their knees and bowed their heads

  Kiora’s hand began to rise to ask them to stand, but Alcander caught her by the wrist and pushed her hand back to her side. “Just let them,” he whispered. “It is their way of saying thank you. Don’t take that away from them.”

  She headed toward the stairs, letting her hand slide out of Alcander’s. At the base of the stairs knelt a Winged woman with dingy and bloodstained wings and a jagged scar across her cheek. Kiora bent down, took her hand, and pulled her to her feet. The Winged woman looked nervous and confused. Not knowing how to express everything in her heart, or where to even begin, Kiora smiled and wrapped her arms around her, hugging her tightly.

  The woman gave a sigh of surprise and appreciation. She’d not seen such kindness since being taken. Kiora pulled back, then turned to the others, motioning for them to rise.
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  She took her time, moving amongst them, speaking with each of them—holding their hands, accepting their thanks. But their eyes continued to distract her, revealing souls that were so broken inside, it hurt to look. She could not image what they had been through, but the attempt made her heart ache.

  She came upon the Omelian who had been the first to heed her shouts to keep moving when it looked like there was no hope, spurring the others into action. She shook his hand. “Thank you.”

  “I didn’t do anything,” he said. “I just did as I was told.”

  The Omelian’s feathers had turned gray with age, his skin wrinkled, his voice gruff and low. The years in the camps had not been kind to him. One of his toes was missing and his leathery legs were covered with scars.

  Kiora put her hand on his shoulder. “It was much more than that. You had faith in me when you couldn’t see what I was doing. I couldn’t defend you all from Jasmine while taking time to prove my worth to each of you. Everything could have failed without you encouraging the others.”

  His small gray ostrich wings readjusted at his sides. “I could see it in your eyes, who you were. It didn’t take much faith on my part.”

  ***

  THE NEXT MORNING, KIORA tiptoed down the stairs. Many of the slaves had taken rooms around the house, but there just weren’t enough. The foyer was overflowing with her new rebels, and they stretched out wherever they could find room. Kiora stepped over Omelians and Taveans, trying not to wake them.

  Emane was squatted next to a Winged man, healing him. Kiora approached as the man leaped up, flaring his wings wide behind him. He turned and looked over his shoulder, testing his wings with two slow flaps, amazed at the miracle Emane had just performed.

  “They look good,” Kiora said, smiling at the man’s excitement.

  “Thank you,” the Winged man said. “Both of you.”

  Emane stood up, stretching. “I don’t know how many more people I can heal. I’m almost out.”

  Kiora noticed his haggard appearance. “Did you sleep last night?”

  “No. Too many in need of healing. I would do as much as I could and then wait for my magic to come back.” Emane took her by the arm and steered her toward the hall. Once in the meeting room, he shut the doors behind them.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “They have been through so much,” he said. “Years and years of abuse. Beaten, half starved, forced to endure countless indignities.” He shook his head. “I can’t tell you how many wounds I saw that were pure torture. Slash marks, puncture wounds—they said it was common for the Shifters to grow talons and slash or poke at them if it had been too long since anyone had incurred disciplinary action.”

  Kiora closed her eyes, wishing she could have spared them. “They are free now.”

  “Physically. Mentally, they are a mess. Scared of every movement, every sound. They are traumatized. We can’t involve them in this battle.”

  “I agree.”

  “What are we going to do with them?”

  Kiora took a deep breath in. “We leave them here. They will be safe and protected. We will need to figure out something for food, but I think it’s the best place.”

  Emane dropped into one of the chairs. He leaned his head back, barely able to keep his eyes open. “Now what?”

  “Now you get some sleep. I need some time to think.”

  “Mmm,” was all the response she got.

  “Are you going to sleep in the chair?”

  “Yes,” he murmured. “I think I will.” His head fell further to the side.

  Kiora smiled as she gently closed the doors on the way out.

  After heading across the hall to the library, she pulled books from the shelves, spreading them across the table. She poured over books of incantations, elemental magic, and old magic. She read stories of historic battles, looking for something—anything—that might inspire an idea for how she was going to get everyone through this.

  There were many different approaches and strategies recorded, dependent upon which creatures were fighting. There was one particularly fascinating battle that happened before Nestor had given the people the Lights. A group of Shifters had been lured into a steel box. It was small, so small that the Shifters took on harmless insect shapes. Once inside, the box was too strong for them to shift into something larger and they were exterminated. If only she could lock her enemies in a box, that would make things easier.

  Alcander came in a few hours later and pulled up a chair. She drummed her fingers anxiously on the table. “Good morning,” he said.

  Kiora grunted, her attention moving back and forth between three books in front of her. “We have a problem.”

  She shoved one of the books across the table with an irritated huff and leaned back in her chair. “Had Arturo and I not avoided that last shot Jasmine sent out, it probably would have killed me. So, if she is stronger than me—which we know she is because she has the Lights to pull from, and she is the daughter of a Creator—why didn’t she stop me from killing so many of her followers?”

  “Because she wasn’t expecting it.”

  “No. She saw me put my hand on the ground and some of her magic hit where I was working, opening up one of the fissures. She knew exactly what I was doing. And she stood there, letting me finish everyone off while she watched.” Kiora slammed her hand onto the table. “Alcander, she let me! When I retrieved the talisman from Meros, I heard Jasmine’s voice. She said that she would ‘destroy all the good.’ But she also said she would ‘make it her life’s work to destroy every one of those pathetic creatures that Nestor loved more than his own daughter.’ That is what she wants. Complete destruction. She has no love or concern for those who follow her. She kills them without a thought—we have seen that. She is content—thrilled, even—to let us destroy each other.

  “I was so caught up in my magic and what I was doing that I was completely unprotected. It was stupid. But she didn’t attack—she laughed. As long as I continue to do her work for her, she’s not going to stop me. Which means she’s not going to show up at the battles to fight. So how are we going to get her close enough to connect the talismans?”

  “Why do you think she appeared this time?”

  “She was mad.”

  Alcander nodded thoughtfully. “Right. We are going to need to make her very angry.”

  “What would make her that mad?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Kiora dropped back in her chair, crossing her arms. “Me either.”

  “We also have to worry about her followers—they aren’t going to stop. They have to be dealt with.”

  “I know. How many more does she have?”

  Alcander summoned a map, leaning forward. “Most of these villages were likely represented at the solstice celebration last night. The other villages, including Tavea, have surrounded the lake city.” He ran his finger over an area on the far side of Tavea that she had never been to. “I suspect there are more she hasn’t recruited waiting in these villages. They have been excluded from most of the fighting due to their location, and because of that, their ties to Jasmine do not run quite as deep—but they are still on her side and they will come if she calls. It would take them a while to get here from there, but their numbers could be high.”

  “There are so many variables. I just need some more time to figure this out.”

  “You could ask for help, Kiora. You don’t have to do this all yourself.”

  “I know. I just . . . it feels like the answers are floating around in my head somewhere and I can’t grasp them.” She grabbed his hand. “Emane talked to me this morning about the slaves. He doesn’t think we should include them in the battle, and I agree.”

  “Did you want to leave them here?”

  “I do. But we need to figure out how to get some food.”

  “It isn’t safe to summon food—this house isn’t as secure as the city. Especially if you’re not here.”

  “I know. Whi
le I work on this problem, could you talk to the rebels? See if they have any ideas about where to procure enough food?”

  Picking up her hand, he kissed the back of it, sending glorious tingles leaping up her arm. “I will.”

  “Thank you.”

  After Alcander left, Kiora looked through the Book of Creators again. The back page contained the spell Lomay had asked her to read in the city—the spell that gifted another with your magic, the one that had taken Lomay’s life.

  Kiora ran her fingers over the words, awful bitterness twisting inside her. She should be grateful for the sacrifices that had been made on her behalf, but Lomay could have at least given her the respect of asking.

  The nasty voice in the back of her head, which always spoke truth at the most inopportune times, whispered, Why? Would you have agreed with him?

  Of course not.

  After that spell was the beginning of another. The paragraph at the bottom read, “To remove the sealing . . .” and that was it. Whatever had been after that was carried over to the next page. Unfortunately, that page was gone.

  Kiora ran her finger over the frayed edges of the missing page along the back spine. Why would you want to remove a sealing?

  ***

  KIORA PULLED DRUSTAN AND Alcander away from the refugees for another meeting. Linking her arm through Alcander’s, she asked, “Any luck?”

  “I talked to one who said the slave masters stored food at the excavation site,” Drustan said. “There should be enough for a few weeks if the rebels ration properly, and it should be safe to summon—we think.”

  “That inspires confidence,” Kiora said.

  “Jasmine’s army can’t put tracking spells on everything, and as far as they knew, the slave pit was out of range to summon from the rebel camps.”

  Kiora pushed open the door to the meeting room. Emane was in the chair, his feet propped up on the table, fast asleep, his head lolled to the side.

  “I guess it’s the best option we have,” Kiora said. “I will summon it after we’re done here.”

  Drustan walked by Emane, pushing his feet off the table. “Good morning.”