Dry laughter filled the hallway as Cesan turned, his dark eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Roque, I thought this is the very thing we are trained to do when someone threatens our children and our home.”
Spittle and blood flew from the man’s mouth as he barked out a choked laugh. “Threaten? I didn’t know that stepping foot inside your precious Academy was a threat. We were here to talk when your son threatened us.”
Lies.
Adair stood, forcing his shaking legs forward. His dad had to believe that he wouldn’t use his ability for anything but self-defense. He had to see reason.
Cesan grabbed the man’s jaw, forcing him to look at him. “I’m glad my son threatened you. I only wish he had finished the job.”
“Cesan!” Roque roared and shoved him back hard with a pointed looked.
The two men stood in a silent battle before Cesan shook his head. “You will condemn us all, Roque. This is my line. You can’t possibly expect me to sit back while you reason with these people!”
“That is exactly what I expect you to do.”
Cesan’s skin flushed, his clenched hands shaking. It was a moment suspended in air, the defiance and betrayal plain in his father’s features. Adair’s heart stuttered as Cesan bared his teeth and turned away, his anger a wild and tangible thing. He didn’t look back at his wife, son, or best friends. It was like a cord snapping; the frayed edges that had held on for so long were no longer able to bear the weight.
Dread spread with a fury through Adair, cold and numbing, and he did nothing but watch. Roque sighed and turned his attention on the group who were still pinned to the wall and looking at them with curious interest.
“Bresslin, if you could...”
Adair’s mother snapped her frost-bitten fingertips, and the deadly spears turned to water, crashing down on their guests. Sputtering, their leader recovered first, appraising not Roque but Nei.
“Why are you here?” Roque’s voice rang with authority, and the man flickered his attention back to him.
Adair felt Emory brush up beside him, tugging his fingers gently, but Adair was entranced, watching as the man gave Roque a bloody smile, chips of broken teeth and bruised skin making his skin look distorted. He bowed mockingly, and rising, his voice rang clear, cutting into Adair’s heart. “I am Tadeas Maher of the Shattered Isles. My companions and I have traveled a great distance, Roque Fae, to come deliver news to you all, but specifically to your wife.”
Tadeas shrugged past Roque, a menacing glint in his eye. “Your father has been killed, Nei, and usurped. The Shattered Isles no longer recognize the peace agreement that was made with Kiero, nor do we answer to this pitiful fabrication of a government.” He paused. “Most importantly, you all have terrible manners. Don’t you know you should bow before the new King, which I am pleased to inform you, is me.”
Nei’s skin paled of all color, her mouth hanging ajar. Tadeas’s companions drew their weapons, steel hissing with freedom from the scabbards. Flanking their King, Tadeas spat blood and saliva at Nei’s feet, musing aloud, “We have a lot to talk about, but I must say we are famished. Perhaps dinner and some wine are in order?”
Adair wanted to melt into nothing, to disappear in the shadows. Emory gripped his hand hard, yanking him back and forcing his body to walk with her, fleeing from the scene.
They couldn’t get away fast enough before Nei’s shaky voice chased at their heels. “Of course.”
Chapter Three
Memphis
The voices were consuming and suffocating. Roaring and crashing, they took up all that he was and left a trembling boy in its wake. Memphis Carter sat on the edge of his bed, clutching his temples, willing that blissful wall of reprieve back. He had no such luck today.
He had lost control coming back from class, and he was now drowning beneath the beating waves of the collective conscious that was the Academy. Sitting up too fast to pace around his simple room, Memphis’s world tilted. His stomach turned, bile threatening to claw its way back up.
Taking a deep breath, Memphis forced his pained features into a smooth compliance as he paced his room. His body knew the drill: breathe, walk, breathe, walk. Around the two bunkers were the desks and the bookcases. He had been lucky enough to land a suite this year, and the simple cavern-like walls provided more space than previous years, and it was pure bliss.
Another wave of white noise crashed down on him, and he cringed, picking up his pace. Snippets of conversation wove tightly around his mind, piling up thicker and thicker. It wasn’t coherent sentences when it was this intense, but overall feelings: snippets of words, of internal battles.
And he knew one thing without a doubt—the Academy was at a huge unrest.
Memphis groaned aloud and sat back down, shutting his eyes. He hadn’t slipped this bad in a long time.
The chaos blanketed him, and his stomach lurched violently again. He really might be sick. Spreading his knees wide, he gripped his thighs and lowered his head below his heart. A sharp ringing pierced his ears as he breathed deeply, rooting himself to this moment.
His ability was strong, but he had learned to be stronger. Thanks to the Academy and his private tutor, Professor Ida, Memphis had learned one thing that he could not have learned otherwise—not to give in to his fear.
It had taken years of getting through episodes like this, of grueling private lessons, of learning he was more, that he could have a life worth living. That a title like freak could be turned into strength. That he could show the outside world who had preconceived fear about people like him, that they weren’t so different.
Curling into himself, Memphis did what he knew and turned the crippling pain into fuel, letting his anger guide him. Memories dropped into his mind like stones into a lake, disturbing the thick layer of assault that blanketed him.
His parents, his childhood home—Sarthaven. It was picture perfect, a small cottage by the coast, hours away from the capital. Breathing in, he could practically remember how the salt crusted air tasted on his lips, the roaring waves, the endlessness of the horizon. How the clouds churned and consumed the sky or how they dissipated and nestled far above the stars that winked down at him like gems.
The comfort of the memory vanished, and Memphis saw himself at the age of six, curled in a ball in their living room, knives and dishware levitating around him in a flurry. His parents screaming at him to stop, to calm down. He remembered that day like it was yesterday. He remembered the tears, the anger, the names.
Freak. Monster. Uncontrolled.
His emotions were unhinged, and he didn’t know, didn’t understand what was happening. His ability had been quietly building inside of him until a fissure was exposed, and it overtook him.
Memphis cringed as he remembered the glint of steel, the cry of pain. The knife lodged in his mother’s shoulder and her blood trickling down her blouse; her shocked expression. The blame in her icy eyes. His parents were desolates, which had never bothered Memphis because he was told he was exactly like them. Unchosen and without ability but living a peaceful life without fear.
Until everything changed.
He remembered his apologies, his raking sobs as his father yelled at him to get out, to get help. That he wasn’t safe to be around, they didn’t want him to stay. How could they have a son like him?
That they couldn’t help him, wouldn’t help him.
The weight of his backpack, his meager clothing sticking out from the top, was the indication of what his parents wanted: him gone. Memphis remembered, the ushering of strong hands, the snap of the door. His panicked pleas swallowed up against the crashing of waves. His fists beating, bloodied against the door, his raking sobs. Then darkness.
The memory stretched too thin, dissolving like smoke. But Memphis, despite his grief, would never forget that day. He had left his home, alone and scared. Traveling away from the coastline of the Black Sea and further into unknown woods, he had wandered aimlessly for hours, young and helpless, trees bowing in
his wake, pebbles floating after him in a trail as he walked.
It was two men ferrying goods by carriage into Sarthaven that had found him, bringing him to the capital. The rest was history. Roque and Nei had eyes everywhere, looking for people who needed refuge, and he was brought to the Academy.
Memphis sat up straight, taking a deep breath. The pain of that memory had always worked to ground him; why he had come here forced the chaos of his mind to a quiet purr. He knew he wasn’t defined by his ability, and his dream was to go back to his parents and show them he wasn’t dangerous, that he had control.
He stood, brushing away his tears. Right then, his door exploded open, and his best friend stalked in, his anger etched into his features.
“Memph, you look like your day has gone like mine has.” Brokk smirked, but it faded fast as he took in Memphis’s ashen complexion. Sighing, Brokk ran a hand through his unruly golden hair. “How bad is it, Memph?”
“Bad,” Memphis whispered, resuming his grounding walk.
Brokk was basically bouncing at his heels as he gushed, “Well guess who was taken in to see Roque with the lingering threat of expulsion?”
Memphis felt the corners of his mouth pull upward. “Well that would make sense, seeing as you punched a teacher.”
He could practically hear the words before Brokk said them, “Memph, come on. You’re not telling me you agree with them?”
“Brokk, how many times have we already talked about this? The Academy and the teachers here aren’t the enemies. The people who abuse their gifts, the people who prey on the desolates, the people who threaten the peace of our country are the enemies.”
Brokk huffed, cutting off Memphis’s speech, forcing him to stop. “I’m telling you, Memph, there is something more going on here. I can feel it. When I was brought in, Cesan was there, and I interrupted something big.”
“Did your heightened sense tell you as much?”
Brokk cuffed the back of his head. “Can’t you be serious for once? There is tension between the Faes and the Strattons, and that doesn’t concern you one bit?”
“No, it doesn’t. Friends fight, Brokk. It doesn’t mean it’s a threat to us.”
Brokk poked him in the chest. “Well, I’m going to find out exactly what is. I’m tired of being told what I should and shouldn’t know.”
For the second time, the door exploded open, making them both jump. Memphis turned around, and instantly, everything else was whisked away. Emory stood in the doorway, her face flushed as she supported Adair, who looked half dead, his nails cracked and dried blood smearing his hands. Dread filled Memphis’s core as he saw dried blood smeared on her cheek as well.
“Emory,” Memphis breathed her name, his heart practically jumping out of his chest.
“Can I get a little help here?” she snapped, focusing on them. Memphis leaped forward, wrapping one arm around Adair’s waist, shifting his weight to him.
Adair looked up to him, murmuring, “Thank you, Carter.”
“Let’s just get you to the bed, Stratton. You look like you’ve seen better days too.”
Adair chuckled darkly as they shuffled to the bunker. Memphis swallowed hard as the edges of his mind pushed and pulled, and he shut down his wall, hard. He would not slip, not when his friends needed him.
Brokk cut past them, his low voice rumbling, “What happened?”
Emory slammed the door shut behind her, her shaking hands lingering on the handle. “My grandfather is dead. The new King of the Shattered Isles is here.”
Lowering Adair onto his bed, he immediately covered his face with his hands. Brokk glared, mistrust filling his golden eyes while Memphis stood between them and whispered, “Em, I’m sorry.”
She turned to face them. “I never even got to meet him. My parents thought it best. They told me the Shattered Isles are dangerous, the treaty in a precarious position with them. They always talk to me in riddles, yet they expect us to uphold the Academy. To uphold the future.” Her voice cracked as she continued, “I’m tired of it. Who else wants to find out why the new King of the Shattered Isle is here?”
Brokk lit up, his grin sharp and wicked. Groaning, Memphis murmured, “You can’t be serious?”
Emory sauntered up to him, patting his cheek. “I’m very serious. Besides, I will need your help, Carter. If you’re up to it.”
Memphis flushed deeply. “Fine.”
Brokk clapped him on the back. “Excellent. Stratton, can you stand?”
Adair uncovered his face. “Oh, don’t feign you care. I’m coming whether you like it or not.”
Waggling her eyebrows, Emory threw the door open. “Well, there isn’t a moment to waste.”
Filing out, Adair shuffled out last. The door clicked closed, and the hallways were deserted, luckily. Emory set the pace, and they all moved fast and silent as shadows. Memphis already knew she had a plan; she always did. Memphis threw a sideways glance to Brokk, who was warily watching Adair.
Sighing, Memphis pushed forward. It was a wonder Brokk hadn’t tried to rip Adair’s throat out, but the two tolerated each other. And so, their mismatched group was formed—the two royals and the two lost boys.
They veered left, and Emory slipped into an unoccupied classroom, waving them in.
The room was filled with long desks and various hanging herbs covering the walls and the ceiling. Round basins filled the back wall, notes and articles of the properties of different natural healing techniques still on the chalkboard. Memphis briefly took it all in before a cool hand wrapped around his own, and he twisted to see Emory smirking at him. “Sorry. Time is of the essence.”
After all the years of knowing her, Memphis would never get used to this feeling. It was like being winded, and he froze as he felt his ability drain from him, flowing into Emory. Being a leech, she couldn’t break the connection as she absorbed his ability.
With furrowed brows, Emory concentrated at the far corner of the room where screws started to twist and turn, floating down to them. The panel loosened and floated down to them as well. Behind it was a tunnel big enough for them to fit, if they crawled.
Loosening a breath, she let go of his hand, and Memphis’s power snapped back into him with a startling fierceness.
“Quick. Help me with this,” she said.
Brokk quickly grabbed the other end of the desk, and they slid it underneath the opening.
Memphis muttered to Emory under his breath. “Not your first eavesdropping session, is it?”
Hopping up on the table, she raised an eyebrow at him. “When it comes to my parents, I always find a way to figure out what they are hiding from me.”
With that, she lunged forward, hands gripping the ledge and pulled herself into the darkness. Brokk shook his head, smiling, and followed, not looking back.
“Memphis.” Adair’s voice was small as he sidled up beside him. “Can you help me?”
“Of course. Come on. I will give you a leg up.”
They moved slowly, Memphis taking in the angry welt on Adair’s wrist. Adair’s jaw worked silently back and forth, but he pulled himself up on the desk. His movements were slow and deliberate; Memphis could tell he was swallowing his pain. Silently, he crouched down, cupping his hands. Adair stepped into them, and standing, he boosted him up.
Cursing under his breath, Adair slid into the panel, and with ease, Memphis followed, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness. On their hands and knees, they could easily maneuver, and they shuffled forward.
“Stratton, watch where you’re crawling there, will you?” Brokk said when Adair got too close.
They all moved as fast as they could, following Emory’s lead. The air was cool in the vent, the metal slick underneath their palms. The space curved upward, and after several minutes, Emory stopped and whispered, “Memphis, they are down there.”
Nodding, he knew what to do. Closing his eyes, he dipped into his consciousness, meeting his iron wall... and stripped it down.
Voices
barreled into him, but concentrating, he maneuvered, weaving through the web until he found the voice he was looking for.
“Please sit while you inform us on the manner of your declaration, Tadeas.”
Roque’s voice was weary, and Memphis gritted his teeth, holding on to the connection as he pushed the wave of other voices back. He flinched, but his hold held true. Taking a deep breath, he wrapped his wall protectively around the room below them and was transported.
Tadeas chuckled darkly. “This place isn’t a school as you say it is. Anyone can see the power at your disposal here. Besides, while you have been making no progress with your project, rumors have been coming back to me. Sailing, a man can hear many rumors, some false, but some hidden gems that ring of only the truth.”
Nei stated sharply, “Be careful of what you are saying.”
“Ah, now that is the Nei Runnard I was told about. I know exactly what I am saying. Your Academy has only created more unrest, more resentment, and more fear. How can the people of Kiero have their freedom when you are grooming the most powerful people for them to answer to if they step out of line?”
“The students here are to help protect the borders from threats, not become them,” Nei retorted.
Tadeas laughed. “You are blind if you actually think that.”
Roque slammed his fist down on the table. “We are not blind. Don’t you remember what happened before we had a peace treaty with the Shattered Isles? When my father was King? We were at constant war and enslaved your people, and your warriors pillaged and stripped our towns. I refuse to recess back to that after we have built what fragile peace we have. It’s not perfect, but I promise you that this is a safe place, for both the exceedingly gifted as well as desolates. Why throw away the peace you have achieved for your people as well?”
A ripple of unrest flickered through Tadeas’s men as he said indignantly, “Peace? What do you know of our peace? The treaty has isolated us, and while you flourished here, we have been left barren.” He looked to Nei. “Your father ruled with an iron fist, limited our sailing routes, our raiding routes, and absolutely under no circumstances were we allowed to trade with Kiero. Now I wonder how this came about because it was not always like this. Maybe you can enlighten us?”
Heir of Lies (Black Dawn Series Book 1) Page 4
