“What I did! The monarchy was built to ensure peace to protect this land. It’s Adair that changed everything!” He gritted his teeth.
Peyton didn’t hesitate; her hand was cold and strong as it struck across his face. His blood pounded up to his skin.
“You stupid boy! Haven’t you realized by now that what is happening is because of mistakes made from the past? Roque was never destined to have access to the power he did, and it is the same with Adair. Emory was never supposed to leave, and you were never supposed to be born. But alas, the world is a fickle place. The fates have been changed. The entire balance of Kiero is about to tip over, and it is entirely based on you.”
She sucked in a breath before continuing. “You see, when your father stole the Book of Old from me, he had no idea the consequences of that. It was never mine to keep but only to be delivered back to its rightful owner. Morgan and I were promised a life of riches, and she tossed that away for love. I am now bound to a lifetime of servitude until the wrongs have been set right. You are not the only group fighting for the power to rule Kiero, and you will not succeed without our help.”
Another giggle erupted behind Brokk.
Peyton dipped her head and, locking eyes with him, said, “Adair has the Book of Old which contains dark magic that would make your head spin. He made a deal with my masters’. You see, they enjoy these games. For taking the Faes lives, he would have access to its knowledge for a limited time. But he didn’t listen to them and stashed himself away, trying to build his strength, justifying to himself that by being high of birth, it was his to keep. That it was his right to become King. And so, they waited for someone to help them achieve what they wanted. And, here we are. “
“I won’t be your pawn.”
“Would you rather die?”
The question hung heavily in the air, and Brokk stalled, reflecting on it.
“Brokk Foster, you are the most influential person in this game right now, and upon agreeing, I can answer any question you have. All I need is for you to say yes. Otherwise, I will torture you, and eventually, you will break anyway.”
Peyton was inches away from his face, her rancid breath filling his senses. He didn’t trust a single word, but what were his options? Say no and be tortured and tested on?
He stared into her eyes, searching for his answer. “If I say yes, will my friends... If they aren’t already ...” He couldn’t finish the sentence.
Peyton’s mouth quirked, finding his pain funny. She sighed dramatically. “If you say yes, we will ensure you rule, and yes, your friends, if they are alive, will be safe. “
“Who do you serve?”
Peyton clucked her tongue disapprovingly. “Is that a yes?”
Brokk was numb as he nodded once.
Peyton shrieked in response, and a dark green flame erupted from the eight stones, dancing around their edges. Before his eyes, four ghostly figures emerged from the flames, jet black hair clinging to their shoulders, and where the eyes should have been, two gaping holes replaced them. They all wore the same simple white dress, their lips peeled back from their teeth, frozen in a permanent grimace. Their bare feet slapped the floor as they stalked toward him in unison.
It was as if he had entered his nightmare. Heart pounding against his rib cage, Brokk was helpless as they advanced on him.
What had he done?
The one closest to his left giggled again as they formed a semi-circle around him. Their voices were like scraping nails, and he cringed.
One spoke, “Brokk Foster, it is our pleasure to finally meet you. As our lovely Peyton has already explained, we have wanted you on our side for some time. Despite Peyton’s certain...vengeances plotted against you, we are not involved in such trivialities. We have one ambition, and we grow tired of not being able to have full control of our actions. We are trapped here, in this room, in those stones. Our world is much different than yours, much wiser. Our knowledge was not supposed to be known here. Curiosity has always gotten the best of us. Connecting our two worlds has had dire consequences, one being losing the Book of Old. You see, some power is not to be dappled in.”
Their pointed looks chilled him.
“To acquire this book would mean we would be able to go back, having the right power to do so. You see, fey rings are quite peculiar things, and it is quite a sensitive process. We are fortunate enough that your world is filled with unique magic and have been able to survive decades without any dire consequences. Which brings us to you.”
They exchanged glances before another said, “You are another puzzle entirely. We have watched your progress since birth, and though, yes, you come from impressive lineage, one could say you are much more unique than that. One who can bend the laws of time. What an extraordinary gift to have at your disposal. But it would very much seem a lot of it is untapped, perhaps even suppressed.”
“I never asked to be different. I have barely used it!”
“Exactly.” They spoke in unison; their voices overlapping and creating a sick melody.
One sighed then said, “You don’t crave to use it for power. In fact, if we have a firm understanding, you wouldn’t want this power at all if you had the choice. But what if we could give you that option?”
They had his attention. Staring into their lifeless faces, their white smirking demeanors, he treaded lightly. “And what would you propose exactly?”
“You bring back the book from Adair, and we will free you. Not only that, but we will help you kill the Mad King.”
Nothing is that simple.
“You’re telling me that you can end what we have been fighting for years if I say yes— guaranteed?”
They all nodded their head simultaneously.
His heart ached. Uncertainty was the only thing he had known in his life, of his past, present, and future. To perhaps allow the sliver of hope that things could be different was poison.
Faces flooded his mind: Memphis, Alby, Bryd, Nyx...Emory. His family. Wasn’t he prepared to go to whatever ends it took to allow a promise of a life worth living? One without death, fear, and loss. Isn’t that what he had always wanted? This was his only solution. However uneasy he felt about this situation, Brokk couldn’t say no.
They knew this.
Taking a steadying breath, he set his jaw stubbornly. “You give me your word that you will follow through with your promise.”
He couldn’t give up hope. Not yet.
“Then it will be done.”
The one closest to him pulled out a long-curved silver knife, its teeth glinting before Brokk. Stepping forward, she unbound his hands and, in one motion, grabbed his wrist and slicing the blade across his palm. Warmth spread throughout his arm, and blood pooled, dripping loudly on the floor.
Uninterested in him, the group sped over to the grouping of stones once more, flicking his blood onto them. A gentle hiss sounded, accompanied by their whispers, their foreign language taking over the silence.
He took it all in, frozen in place. For what felt like an eternity, he watched, then they finally slowed as the emerald blaze returned, crackling happily. The flame died as quickly as it came, sending them into darkness once more.
His breath hitched. He couldn’t see a thing.
Breath lightly tickled the side of his face, his skin instantly crawling in reaction. They had surrounded him once more.
“We forgot to mention one tiny...little...detail.”
He flinched back, bellowing, “Face me!”
He was met with silence. Suddenly, one candle was lit, and he was almost nose-to-nose with their leader. They all circled around him, breathing heavily. He couldn’t look away from their eyes and undiluted fear laced through him.
His stomach dropped. “Who are you?” The fear in his voice was hard to mask.
“We are the Oilean, or maybe you will understand the term, fey. We were once wish granters, tricksters. But that’s in the past. We serve a higher purpose now, and we are here to set the course right. It
all begins and ends with you, Brokk Foster.”
The room filled with whispers.
“We came to your world out of curiosity. There were whispers of two children being born from royalty who would destroy everything we knew and loved. We watched and saw the course set from your father. He should have known that our magic would not resonate with your world. And Adair... There is a darkness in him that cannot be undone. Now, I’m sure you are thinking that we promised. We promised to help you end this rebellion if you returned the book, yes. We personally will not harm your friends.” A pause, then, “But I cannot speak for your actions.”
What?
A fistful of hair was ripped from his head, and he yelped; tears pooled in his eyes. The candle was extinguished, and a metallic glow pulsed from the stones.
Blood now trickled down his cheek as well, and he heaved against an empty stomach. His arms shook when he came back to a seated position. His world spun on its axis, feeling lightheaded; he had to hold on.
They had gathered around the stones once more, throwing his hair in, and the once sickish green glow turned a burning red.
What had he done?
They swayed around the flame, holding hands and chanting in a language foreign to his ears. Their leader tossed one more unseen item into the flame, and with a gust of energy, an inferno rose toward the ceiling. Reds, oranges and golds twisted in the light.
“It is done,” she whispered.
They all lowered their hands and gently whistled a soft, low key. The fire settled into embers, and Brokk gaped.
Movement was sifting the coals to their sides, sparks exploding as they rolled onto the floor. Slowly, human hands grasped the siding of a stone and then another. A chilled breeze rolled through the room, and in smoke and ash, his full form rose.
Brokk couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move.
He was staring right at himself.
Golden eyes to golden eyes, the likeliness was uncanny. The Oilean erupted in a fit of laughter, admiring their job. Their leader stepped forward once again, kneeling in front of him.
He hadn’t realized a steady stream of tears ran down his bruised face this entire time until a skeletal hand of one of the Oilean brushed against his cheek, wiping them away.
“The one thing we forgot to mention is that you, yourself, will not be leaving here. Ever. Your doppelganger over there has a much better understanding of our needs. Anyone who gets in his way will be killed.” It shrugged. “Emory and you cannot live, which will become clear in time. How do we demolish this monarch and the rebellion while still harnessing our power? Destroy the kings and queens that started it all.”
Every hope he had been clinging on to was whisked away in that moment. His head hung heavy against his chest, his hate for Nyx, for the Oilean, for Roque, for his mother, for this rebellion grew into a cold numbness that overtook every thought and feeling in his body.
They whispered something to his doppelganger and, nodding his head once, one of the Oilean pressed on the wall - a door appeared, and he left.
“Make sure he is well nourished sisters; we are far from done yet.”
He begged his body to pass out in order to grant him some blissful nothingness as they enclosed on him. Unfortunately, he never did have much luck. His screams were never heard, lost in the coldness beneath the ground.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Emory
The pounding of her feet echoed deep within the tunnel. Her hair came undone around her as she plummeted down the dimly lit hallway. She could hear heckles and yells of the soldiers behind her.
They were catching up.
She didn’t know how long she had stood on that step, paralyzed with fear. Hoping that Memphis would come back. That someone would come back. Adair’s soldiers were smarter than they looked to have found her hiding place. Or they tortured Memphis until he showed them.
She couldn’t think like that. She had to hope Memphis and the others made it out.
Her lungs brought her back to reality, screaming for her to stop.
Pushing harder, a thousand scenarios ran through her mind, but Memphis’s voice kept her going.
Find Brokk. Don’t get caught.
Her plan could wait.
It felt like a lifetime, but finally, the hard ground started sloping upward. She was almost there. Another twenty gruelling steps and a small door came into view; she could have cried from relief. Clutching her ripped dress, she raced forward. Panicking, she shoved the door with her shoulder, trying to barrel through. It wouldn’t budge. Her hands felt the creases for some sort of door handle or latch—and found nothing. She was trapped.
She screamed in frustration, “No! Come on!”
She could hear the approaching grunts and complaints of the soldiers. At least she had given them a run for their money. Emory continued to slam her body against the damp wood, and slowly, cracks of light started to dapple her skin. She wasn’t fast enough.
“Well, well, well. Boys, it would seem we have finally caught our prize.”
She faced two soldiers; they were clad in black and looked like brothers, their brown hair buzzed short, red sashes splayed across their chest. Nothing scared her more than the dead expressions in their eyes. She would not let them take her.
The last month rushed up fiercely within her. She had never gotten the privilege to grow old with her parents, but she would without a doubt protect their dream. Which was this world—her world.
She felt the energy surge to the palms of her hands, making her fingers tingle. She balled them into fists.
“Oh-ho. Look here. Do we have another fighter? Your blond boyfriend gave us a good go.”
Stepping toward her and flicking his wrist, flame twisted around his arm and hand. His friend laughed wickedly.
“Now, we are on very strict orders not to hurt you, but if it was instigated on your end, I’m sure our king would see reason. Besides, he is planning on...”
Charging forward with full force, keeping her body low, she slammed her elbow deep in his gut, making him buckle for a second. And a second was all she needed.
Grabbing his wrist tight, her world turned into fire and ash. Pure power flowed through her, and she acted. Shouting, the two guards stumbled back as the fire now roared from her free palm, daring them to come closer. Taken by surprise, the guard screamed against her hold and lunged down to her arm, baring his teeth.
No.
Twisting, she sent a fireball hurtling toward the door and, letting him go, hurled herself forward. She was met with a makeshift ladder about five feet tall. She lunged up and climbed. She heard them yelling and start climbing after her. She couldn’t look back.
Faster. Her limbs felt disconnected from her body, and she screamed in frustration when she fumbled for the next rung.
The soldiers yelled too close behind her, “Get her now!”
No. No.
She had maybe another ten rungs to go before land connected, and she spilled onto the grass. She was almost there...
A cold hand grabbed her ankle and pulled. Hard. She was filled with horrendous electric shocks for a second before her body absorbed the power. The current washed over her, and she felt her hands leave the ladder, gravity working against her body, causing her to free fall back toward the guards.
In a split second, she stopped falling, and Emory felt swirling air tickle her back, arms, calves. She was suspended in the air, floating. Gasping,
“What the...?”
The guard’s confusion matched her own. Suddenly her body lurched forward, Emory, bewildered, shot up from the tunnel. Spinning, she landed hard on the grass, and she stayed there—her limbs shaking.
An impatient male voice snapped at her, yelling, “What are you doing? Get up!” Gruff hands pulled her up and shoved her to get going, and she stumbled forward whipping around and coming face-to-face with Alby.
Hope blossomed deep in her chest as she whispered, “Alby? You’re alive?”
His red ha
ir was dishevelled, green eyes alit. The closer Emory looked, though she didn’t remember Alby being that tall—or bulky for that matter. Taut muscles were exposed from underneath his t-shirt, and she flushed deeply as he caught her staring. Movement caught her eye from behind him—the guards. Looking exasperated, he started rubbing his hands together as if he were cold.
Realizing she was still standing there, he mouthed, “Run,” at her.
Suddenly, a funnel cloud twisted from the now black sky devouring everything as it touched the earth. The man, who she now knew wasn’t Alby, stood taller, and twirling his hands, the twister roared toward the tunnel. He was controlling it. She whipped around and sprinted to the edge of the woods, her heart sounding in her ears.
Not a minute later, screams resonated behind her, and not looking back, she wove around the trees as she broke through the edge of the forest. She spotted a rotting tree trunk tucked away behind some undergrowth. Perfect.
She flung herself over the trunk and rolled her body neatly behind it. Shivering and teeth chattering, the shock was settling in. That was too close. Squeezing her eyes shut, Emory concentrated on her breaths, trying to calm herself. She would not panic.
A branch cracked near her left side.
Eyes flicking open, she came face-to-face with deep green eyes. Emory screeched, “Get away from me!!”
Jumping up, she rolled from her hiding spot, tears threatening to overflow from her eyes. She sprang into a run, the stranger following close at her heels.
“Hey! Wait!”
Catching up to her, he cut off her path, arms folded across his chest. She had to stay focused.
Find Brokk. Don’t get caught.
“Aren’t you at least going to say thank you?”
Sighing, she nodded her head once in his direction. “Thank you.” She tried to move around him, but he caught her arm, tightly.
“Who are you?”
Wrenching from his grip, she looked up at him in confusion now, assuming he was joking. His face was set with a scary determination.
Heir of Lies (Black Dawn Series Book 1) Page 38
