Wings of Nestor (Solus Series Book Three)

by Devri Walls

  The magic grabbed her, holding her in place. Kiora had expected pain, but it did not come. What came instead were fingers prying into her mind and heart, peeling her open as they looked into her soul. She could feel whatever it was flipping through her memories, easily pushing aside Alcander’s presence to access everything.

  Kiora gasped. The sheet of magic ran into her, filling her. She wanted to turn away, to spit, gag, gasp. But it held her perfectly still. She had never felt so exposed and vulnerable. And then it withdrew, the sheet of rain pulling itself up. Kiora fell to her knees upon its release, gasping for breath. Rolling into a ball, she wrapped her arms around her stomach, her muscles quivering.

  “My exception,” breathed a voice Kiora knew from visions.

  Pulling her head up, she blinked. She was in a room, a circular one made of the same stone from which the arch had been fashioned. The grass, the beetles, the sea—everything was gone. The room was empty except for her and a simple wooden box sitting in the middle of the floor.

  Crawling forward, she knelt in front of the box. She reached out with trembling fingers and flipped open the elegant brass clasp that held the lid to the base. The hinges creaked as she pushed the lid up.

  A bright light spilled out. Dropping it all the way back, Kiora stared into the box. There were two items inside. One looked like a fine mesh net made of gold tied tightly over something. Next to that lay what resembled a glowing pearl the size of a baby’s fist. The netted item sparked her curiosity, but something about the pearl caught her attention and she gravitated toward it almost unconsciously. Her fingers slid across the surface.

  She didn’t have time to pull her hand away before a wave of thoughts and memories washed over her. Some of the memories were familiar—she had seen them in her visions. Only this time, instead of viewing them as an outsider, she looked through Nestor’s eyes.

  Kiora watched the years go by in an instant. Jasmine grew from an infant to a toddler to an angry young woman whose immortal glow had been inadvertently taken. And then Kiora saw the plans Nestor had so carefully laid for her, the plans to stop his only daughter whom he loved more than anything.

  Kiora saw the talisman Belen had made for the Solus and watched him carefully wrap it in the enchanted gold mesh to keep its powers neatly tucked away so Jasmine would never be alerted to its presence. She saw Nestor finalize plans of monstrous proportions, and then she watched as he used his daughter’s final betrayal to seal his magic.

  Jasmine’s voice—the voice of the Shadow—echoed through her mind. “Make no mistake, I will live forever. But it is more than that now. I will make it my life’s work to punish every one of those pathetic creatures you loved more than your own daughter. I will destroy all the good you have worked so hard to create. You are blind to them. They take your gift and squander it. They’re ungrateful little ticks and you smile down at them as if they are amusing pets.”

  And then Nestor’s voice. “I will always provide for an exception, Jasmine. If you do what you have come to do, things will be set into motion that you will not be able to stop. And in the end, it will be your undoing.”

  Then Kiora was back in the stone room. She picked up the pearl. As she watched, it began melting before her eyes. The pearl grew smaller and thinner, but was not dripping over the side of her hand—it was melting into her, seeping through her skin. Kiora pulled in a deep breath as the knowledge contained within the pearl became her own. She could recall everything. The memories Nestor had encased within the pearl were now hers, as if she had performed the acts herself.

  Nestor had put everything she would ever need to know inside the pearl and instructed Belen to bring it here after his death. The Creator had allowed his daughter to murder him. He held the pearl in his hands as his heart stopped beating to allow his memories to empty into it—all his plans, his hopes, and his utter belief that his exception would be able to stop Jasmine.

  She moved to the box and gingerly picked up the talisman Belen had wrapped in gold mesh. A delicate chain unfolded, dangling down. From what she’d just learned from the pearl, she knew the mesh kept its powers contained. And she also knew that once she put it around her neck, it could not be summoned. The only way it could be removed was if Kiora removed it. The only way to destroy it was to reunite it with its other half, thus breaking any magical properties it had.

  Still, knowing that Jasmine couldn’t summon it didn’t make Kiora in any more of a hurry to announce she had it. There were cards that needed to be played in the right order, and she wasn’t sure where this card fell. Reverently, Kiora slid the chain around her neck, placing the talisman under her shirt. It fell just above the blue sapphire the Guardians had given her.

  Its contents removed, the box turned to powder. The stone walls and floor also dissolved, billowing around her like wisps of a lingering dream. All that remained was the heaviness under her shirt and a simple stone arch.

  Pushing herself to her feet, Kiora realized she could feel magic flowing to her in the land of no magic.

  Drustan came walking through the trees, grinning. “What did you do?”

  “I found what we came for.”

  “And the magic?” he asked, holding out his hands. “It has returned.”

  Kiora smiled as the answer came to her from Nestor’s memories. “The magic never left. It was just being used to protect the only hope we have against Jasmine.”

  “And now what? Where do we go from here?”

  “I know how to get to the Wings of Nestor. I want to find the Lights.”

  Drustan’s eyes flared. “Kiora, you can’t.”

  “Why not? Drustan, do you have any idea how many lives this could save?”

  “And do you have any idea the magnitude of the consequences you are playing with?” His voice rose, harsh and cold.

  “Drustan—”

  “No, Kiora. Do you know how many lives have been lost by those trying to avoid the parts they are meant to play? Fate is complicated. When you try to sidestep around it, there are consequences.”

  “I am not trying to get around it, Drustan. The prophecy said I would return the Lights—that is what I am doing.”

  “It also said you would defeat the Shadow. You are forgetting that part!”

  “I am not forgetting that part.”

  “Yes, you are. What do you think, Kiora? That while you attempt to retrieve the Lights Jasmine has managed to hide from everyone for a few thousand years, she is going to sit back and let you? The price will be high—higher than you are willing to pay. And that is just Jasmine’s price. The price fate will lay down to put you back on the proper path will be much higher.”

  “Drustan!” Kiora yelled in frustration. “Fate is not a person! It can’t punish me for making my own choices!”

  Drustan’s nostrils flared. “Get on.” He morphed back into the creature she had arrived upon. “I already gave you my opinion when you first mentioned this madness, and had I known this crazy idea was still rolling around in that head of yours, I would have made sure someone knocked it out before I brought you here.”

  “Drustan!”

  “You are playing with fire, Kiora. You are going to tell Lomay exactly what it is you are planning.”

  Kiora lurched as Drustan took the sky.

  “We can talk to Eleana—we are already here.”

  “Oh, Eleana is the last person you need to be talking to. She has played with fire and lost more times than she will admit.”

  Kiora frowned as Drustan’s wings grew larger, pushing them forward faster. After the pass of Meros was long behind them, Kiora asked, “Are we not talking for the next couple of days?”

  “Why bother? You ignore every sensible thing I say.”

  “I do not! Drustan, I have always listened to your advice. I am the one who is always telling Emane he should listen to you as well. This is the only thing I have ever—”

  “And it is the most foolish thing you have ever done. You cannot avoid your destiny,
Kiora.”

  “But what if it’s not my destiny?” she shouted over the wind. “What if I am supposed to get the Lights back before the battle? What if getting the Lights back stops the battle? We don’t know.”

  Drustan shook his head. “And what? You think you can take the Lights back and Jasmine will just sink into the recesses and die quietly? Anyone who seeks power like she has will never let it go. It has become part of her, Kiora. She has to be stopped.”

  “I will stop her! What happened to trusting me?” she demanded. “You and Emane are always saying to trust me. Why not now?”

  Drustan’s head swiveled back to look at her. “Because you have always been on the right path. And when you are on the right path, help will be afforded in unexpected and even unexplained ways. But you are veering from the path, Kiora. You must feel that.”

  She bit her lip, looking away. His concern nagged at her. What if her plan backfired? But what if it didn’t? It was a gamble—one she couldn’t afford not to take.

  ***

  EMANE STRIPPED OFF HIS shirt with some effort. The tight material stuck to his sweaty chest like a second skin.

  Alcander scowled at him. “That is meant for protection.”

  “Oh, is that so?” Emane held the shirt in the air with one hand while placing his sword in the neck and slitting it right down the middle. “It doesn’t do a whole lot of good against a sword.”

  Alcander processed this for a minute before burying his sword into the ground and stripping off his shirt as well.

  Emane positioned his sword out in front, his body turned at an angle. “Ready to go again?”

  Alcander faced him and Emane attacked, striking with as much energy as his exhausted arms could manage. He wasn’t about to let Alcander know he was tired.

  Alcander stepped in for his own attack but Emane easily countered, swatting him on the back with his sword. “Dead.”

  Alcander growled, whirling to face him. “I have been at this for days—I should have it by now.”

  “Witows train for years,” Emane said, circling him. “Maybe if you could let go of the idea that you are inherently better than me, it would be less aggravating to you.”

  Alcander lunged. The swords shrieked as metal slid against metal. He leaned in, pushing the flat edge of his blade against Emane’s, trying to drive him into submission by sheer force. Emane left one hand on his sword to keep Alcander at bay while he slipped the other hand to his belt. In one quick movement, Emane had his dagger pressed into the skin under Alcander’s chin.

  “Dead again,” Emane said. “You shouldn’t get so close to your opponent—it opens you up to a host of other moves.”

  Alcander jerked back, fire blazing in his eyes.

  “Maybe we should take a break?”

  Alcander slumped before flopping to the ground in such disregard for his normally stiff posture that it was almost comical. “Fighting like a Witow,” he breathed, his eyes closed, “is exhausting.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Emane said dryly. “My magic only aids my fighting. I can’t use it to blow someone off their feet with a flick of my little finger.”

  “That is a shame. Much easier, and faster.” He looked up at Emane through one eye. “Aren’t you tired?”

  Emane contemplated lying, but instead chose avoidance. “You’re getting better.”

  Alcander grunted.

  Emane grinned. “Was that a thank you?”

  “No.”

  “Of course it wasn’t. In that case, let’s go again. You can’t train others if you can’t do it yourself.”

  Alcander looked at his sword with clear distaste before grabbing it. Emane lunged at him and Alcander moved to the side, leaving his arm wide open. Emane took the window and caught him with the face of his blade again.

  “Diagonal, Alcander! Not to the side. I know that is how you are used to avoiding magical attacks, but when avoiding attacks from a sword, you have to keep yourself covered—with your sword. It is both your defense and your protection. Watch. When I move to the side, my body is vulnerable. If I move diagonally, I can keep my sword between you and me. Look, you have a natural fighting ability—we just have to adapt it to a new style.”

  “You certainly have gotten complimentary,” Alcander said dryly.

  “Fine.” Emane held his sword at the ready. “You are the worst fighter I have ever seen. I would rather train a pig. Surely they can wield those tusks better than any sword I could put in your incapable hands.” Emane swung his sword, catching the underside of Alcander’s blade and disarming him with a twist of his wrist.

  Alcander snorted and then started laughing. Emane grinned. He was growing more accustomed to Alcander’s laughter. These last few days, it had made an occasional appearance.

  As his laughter subsided, Alcander grew serious. “How are we going to do this, Emane—train all the rebels? It is taking forever to teach me.”

  “We will need to train a select group first, as I am training you. Then we can send them out to teach the others. They can practice stances and moves in large groups before sparring. I would like you to decide who we should train as captains.”

  Alcander jerked his head in indication that Emane should follow. He walked out to the edge of the cliff.

  “I find the waves calming,” Alcander said in explanation to Emane’s quizzical look as he turned his face to the wind. The breeze blew the long hair back off his shoulders.

  Emane understood. There was something hypnotic about the constant motion of the water.

  “How many captains will we need?”Alcander asked.

  “I suggest one captain to every fifty, for now.”

  Alcander nodded. After a long pause, he added, “You’re a lot smarter than I gave you credit for.”

  “Yes, I am. There are many things you fail to give me credit for. I am good-looking, funny, and I kick your butt in swordplay nine times out of ten.” He ticked them off on his fingers. “I am sure there are more, if you will just give me a minute.”

  “You’re arrogant,” Alcander added to the list.

  “Arrogant?” Emane scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. I am simply very aware of my skills.”

  “Isn’t that by definition arrogance?”

  “Hmm, no.” Emane shook his head before something on the horizon caught his eye. “What is that?”

  Alcander scanned, focusing in on the black spots standing out against the setting sun before glancing back over his shoulder. Emane followed his gaze to the old man making his way toward them. Threads—why couldn’t his armband help him feel threads?

  “The Shadow is calling her forces,” Lomay announced. “Those are warships.”

  “Warships?” Emane asked. “Whose?”

  “Ultimately, they are the Shadow’s,” Alcander said. “But they have been called in by my uncle.” The word “uncle” was laced with animosity.

  Lomay joined them. The three stood staring at the incoming ships, an ominous silence settling between them.

  “You were right, Alcander. Kiora has gained the Shadow’s full attention,” Lomay said. “A war is on the horizon.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Deviation

  DRUSTAN STORMED THROUGH THE house, Kiora at his heels. He threw open the doors and yelled to Lomay, who was staring out to sea with Emane and Alcander. “Lomay! We need to speak with you immediately.”

  Kiora tried not to feel like a child who had just been tattled on. She squared her shoulders, strengthening her resolve. This was the right thing to do and she would not apologize for her choice.

  At the sight of Kiora, Alcander and Emane jogged ahead of Lomay’s trudging steps. Emane, smiling from ear to ear. Alcander, a solemn mix of both relief and worry.

  “Were we right?” Emane asked anxiously. “Was it there?”

  Kiora nodded, grinning, as she pulled the gold-mesh-covered talisman from beneath her shirt.

  Emane whooped and Alcander sagged with relief.

  “That is wonde
rful…” Lomay trailed off as he looked the agitated Shifter up and down. “What is the problem, Drustan?”

  “We need to talk. Now.”

  Everyone was clearly puzzled by Drustan’s mood, given what appeared to be a moment to celebrate. “Come on,” Alcander said, moving toward the door. “We can talk inside.”

  “No,” Drustan said. “Not you. Just Lomay.”

  “We have to start planning,” Emane objected.

  “No!” Drustan shouted. “Lomay, please.”

  Lomay evaluated Drustan with careful eyes before turning to Alcander. “Why don’t you and Emane head into the study and continue your planning? The three of us will join you shortly.”

  It was apparent neither of them liked the idea, but they both made their way inside. Kiora noticed with some curiosity that they walked closer together than they normally did, and spoke to each other in civilized tones. What happened while she had been gone?

  Lomay waited until the doors to the study clicked shut before asking, “What is it?”

  Drustan shoved his hands in his pockets. “I will let Kiora tell you what she has been scheming.”

  “Scheming!”

  “Yes, Kiora, scheming. Now tell him,” Drustan ordered.

  Kiora pursed her lips, glaring at Drustan. “I can get to the Wings of Nestor. I think we should retrieve the Lights first.”

  Lomay’s eyes burrowed into her. “Why?”

  “If we can get the Lights, maybe we can avoid a war. And ultimately, it’s the only way to stop her. As long as she has the Lights, she remains immortal.”

  “You have put a lot of thought into this. Come with me.” Lomay made his way back to the edge of the cliff. “See what’s out there?”

  Kiora looked out at the two large ships sailing across the ocean.