The Prophecy

by Erin Rhew

  Except for Mars’ voice and their footsteps, Layla noted no other sounds as they stepped into the castle. An unusual silence permeated it. Layla’s muscles tensed, her body ready to fight should Jesper appear.

  Mars’ unhurried walked matched his cadence as he continued his story. “Other men, fed up with the sect’s rules and fanaticism, joined him. This group became the first of the Volton. Today, our size rivals that of the Ecclesiastics. We all live together in the Borderlands, but our peace is quite tentative. I believe the Ecclesiastics are still angry over the original Volton’s defection.” A thoughtful look crossed his face.

  Layla knew if she were a man faced with the choice of life as a Volton or an Ecclesiastic, she would choose to become a Volton. Mars, so gentle and kind, highlighted Elder Werrick’s horrible, underhanded ways. Her lip curled up in disgust just thinking about him.

  Volton Mars cleared his throat, returning from wherever his mind had taken him. “As for how I came to Etherea…The Volton Council selected me to serve here. Some Voltons are sent to Etherea, some to Vanguard, and others remain in the Borderlands to study or teach new Voltons. Like the Ecclesiastics, we are neutral and serve both kingdoms, as well as the Outlanders. I arrived a week before Nash was born, and I helped deliver all three of Queen Sansolena’s children. From the moment they were born, I loved each of them like my own children. I am supposed to maintain a distance, but I can’t seem to foster the appropriate level of remoteness with those three.”

  Layla never doubted the Volton’s sincerity. She remembered the worry in his soft brown eyes as he tended to Wil’s wound tirelessly after the attack at the West Wall. In their tutoring sessions, she noted the pride on the Volton’s face when Nash, Wil, or Vespa grasped a particularly difficult concept.

  “Since your people originated with the Ecclesiastics, do you believe in the Prophecy and the Fulfillment?”

  “I believe in the things I can see and prove, Layla. If you are able to bring about peace between the Ethereals and the Vanguards, then I will believe in the Prophecy and the Fulfillment.” He smiled at her.

  Layla paused, recalling her conversation with Queen Sansolena. “The queen mentioned you have been helping her research the Prophecy. Why would you do that if you don’t believe?”

  “The queen believes, and I am here to assist her in her pursuit of knowledge. Even though I don’t believe in the Prophecy as the Ecclesiastics do, I still hope for peace. Your presence here breathed new life into this family. I think we all have hope for the first time in years.”

  “I haven’t brought anything but pain to this family,” she said, eyes downcast. The Volton just continued to smile at her, his silence compelling her to speak again. “I’m sure Wil told you?” What started as a statement came out as a question.

  “He did.”

  “Do you think he will ever forgive me? Or Nash? They were so close. I hate to think I’ve come between them.”

  “Wil has great capacity for forgiveness; he is not at all like his father. And Nash, poor Nash…when he arrived into the world with black hair, I knew his life would be tough, and I knew it would one day lead him away from this family. Wil and Nash will always be brothers—nothing and no one will ever change that—but they are also on separate paths now. Nash had to leave to find his true self, and Wil had to stay here to rise into the position he is meant to hold.”

  “Do you think Nash is alive?” Layla’s voice hitched as she asked one of the many questions burdening her.

  “I do. Nash received the best traits of both of the Ethereals and the Vanguards. He has always been strategic and strong. I believe he will succeed in finding Rex.”

  As they approached the meeting room door, Layla tensed even more. She tightened her grip on the Volton’s arm. The idea of seeing Wil again, of seeing the pain in his eyes, saddened her.

  “Will you come in with me, Volton?”

  “Of course.” He patted her hand.

  The moment the Volton opened the door, Layla spotted Elder Werrick. Volton Mars stiffen beside her as she fought against her competing desires—to run or rip the Elder to shreds. Watching the two men, Layla recalled the first meeting she witnessed between Mars and Werrick and how Mars described the “tentative” peace between the Ecclesiastics and the Voltons.

  “Welcome, my dear.” Elder Werrick smiled with feigned enthusiasm. His smile fell as soon as his gaze landed upon the Volton. “Mars, since you did your duty and brought the Fulfillment, you may leave now.”

  Layla faced the Elder. Drawing upon her Vanguard nature for courage, she said, “I asked him to stay.”

  Mars patted her hand, still looped through his arm. “And so I shall.” His warmth and kindness, in such abundance for Wil and Layla, dissipated in Werrick’s presence.

  “Wil.” Layla found the prince standing in the corner. “What is the Elder doing here? I had hoped you and I could speak privately.”

  Wil pushed off the wall with his elbows, positioning himself between Layla and the Elder. She frowned at his careful avoidance of her. Her frown deepening, she glanced at Volton Mars. He shrugged his shoulders and smiled.

  “I called everyone here today because I need something done,” Wil said.

  “I’m not quite sure how I can be of service, my prince.” Elder Werrick teetered from side to side.

  “Elder, is it true that you bound Layla to me in a carriage on the way here against her will?” Wil focused his withering gaze upon Werrick.

  “Well…my prince…I….I simply…” Layla smiled as the Elder floundered. “I simply performed the binding which is called for by the Prophecy. Her consent was not required, and her feelings on the matter are irrelevant.”

  “Her feelings are not irrelevant to me,” Wil said. His gaze, tight with resolve, met hers, and for just a moment, he softened. Her anxiety lightened. Maybe he didn’t hate her. “Elder, the Prophecy never called for a binding.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand.” Werrick’s mouth turned up into what started as a smile but ended more like a grimace.

  “Then let me be clear. I want you to remove your self-appointed binding.”

  “Wil.” Layla stepped toward the prince.

  Elder Werrick’s face drained of all color, stricken. “My prince, I most certainly cannot do that. This girl is to bring about peace by marrying a royal—you—on her opposite side. She is the Vanguard Fulfillment, you are the Ethereal prince. She must marry you or all is lost.”

  “Wil, what are you doing?” Layla appreciated Wil’s defense, but she didn’t understand his ultimate goal.

  Leaving the flustered Elder to stew, the prince crossed to her. Volton Mars slipped back to give them privacy. Wil stopped a few inches from her, his eyes full of mixed emotions.

  “I won’t force you to marry me, Layla, especially when you are in love with someone else.” He spoke slowly, as if the words were difficult to get out. “I want you to be free to choose what you want…whom you want.”

  Layla stared at him, speechless. Wil offered her the one thing she’d been secretly longing for—her freedom—but she wished it didn’t come at his expense. Despite her feelings for Nash, Layla cared for Wil too. She’d never been so conflicted.

  She whispered to him to avoid being overheard by the Elder. “But what about the Prophecy, Wil? What about the promised peace?”

  “It will happen if it’s meant to happen.” His face set with certainty.

  Layla lowered her head to hide her flushed cheeks and peered at him from beneath her eyelashes. “What about you?”

  “If by some miracle you ever did choose to be with me, I want to know it’s because you want to and not because you’re bound to me.” He moved away from her and turned to the Elder. “Do it, Elder Werrick. Remove the binding.”

  “I will not, Prince Wil. The whole Prophecy depends on the two of you marrying and ruling in a time of peace. I refuse.”

  Mars, who had been standing in the corner, thrust himself into the fray. “Tell me,
Elder, when you performed the binding, did you bind her specifically to Wil or to the Prince of Etherea?” Layla recognized this voice from their studies—his thoughtful voice.

  “I don’t recall nor does it matter,” the Elder scoffed, though his teetering increased. “Why do you ask?” Layla swung her head between the two men, searching the faces of each for an answer. What did Mars mean?

  “Because if you bound her to the Prince of Etherea, there are two of them…”

  The Volton’s words hung in the air. For a moment, Layla couldn’t breathe. She remembered. Elder Werrick had said “Prince of Etherea” in the binding ceremony. Were her feelings for Nash a product of a mistake in the binding? Is that why they had been inexplicably drawn to one another? She wanted to believe in the strength of their love, yet Volton Mars’ question planted a seed of doubt.

  Wil turned to her, his face as white as she imagined hers to be. He must be thinking the same thing. He rushed to stand in front of her, obscuring her from the Elder’s sight, close enough to touch though his hands remained clinched by his side.

  “Do you remember what he said, Layla?”

  “He said ‘Prince of Etherea.’”

  Wil nodded, put a hand over his face, and rubbed his eyes. “What does that mean then?”

  “I don’t know. I guess it could mean that what Nash and I feel is a product of the binding, but it might not be. Wil, I just don’t know.”

  The flicker of hope in his eyes shattered her. “When I called the Elder here, I just wanted to free you, but now I need to know. If you are bound to Nash instead of me, do you even want the binding undone?”

  She didn’t hesitate. “Yes.” Elder Werrick, the Prophecy, the binding…she needed to be free of it all, even if it meant losing Nash.

  “Undo the binding,” Wil commanded the Elder again.

  “I will not.” The Elder collected his pudgy body to its full height, which still paled in comparison to Wil’s looming stature.

  In response, Wil stood taller, dwarfing Werrick. “You know I can make you do it, Elder Werrick. Wouldn’t you rather unbind Layla of your own free will, with your wits still intact? If I enter your mind, I can’t promise you’ll be the same person when I come back out. You know we Ethereals have trouble controlling ourselves when we’re angry.”

  Layla shuddered. Though the Alteration Wil performed on her had been pleasant and beautiful, she could only imagine the horrors he could also create. The screams of those Vanguard soldiers by the river echoed in her mind. One glance at Wil told her how much he hated threatening an Alteration; yet there he stood, doing what he hated—for her.

  With pure hatred in his eyes, Elder Werrick removed the locket from inside his robe. He held it high in the air as he had done in the carriage. Layla held her breath. The heaviness that befell her in the carriage reappeared, forcing her to her knees. She grunted, fighting against the Elder’s bizarre power. Wil knelt beside her, panic on his face, but she waved him off.

  “With this locket, I unbind Layla Givens, the Fulfillment, from the Prince of the Ethereals, and I unbind the Prince of the Ethereals from Layla Givens, the Fulfillment.” The Elder dropped the locket on the floor and stomped on it with his foot. The jewelry shattered into pieces.

  “Do you notice any difference?” Wil offered his hand to help her rise.

  “No.” She stood without his assistance, struggling to regain her footing. He dropped his hand back down by his side and sighed.

  “I have done what you requested, Prince Wilhelm, but know that peace is in jeopardy now.”

  Wil set his jaw. “It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

  “What you say is blasphemous. You, and everyone in this room, will pay for what you’ve done here this day.” With that, Elder Werrick stalked out of the door, his black cloak billowing behind him.

  “Thank you,” Layla said unable to convey the depths of her appreciation.

  Wil exhaled slowly. “You’re welcome.” He motioned for Volton Mars to join them. “Volton, please escort Layla back to the tunnels for now. My father’s temper has not yet abated.”

  Layla reached up to touch his arm but changed her mind, not wanting to give the wrong impression. “What about you, Wil?”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “I want to talk about everything.”

  He nodded. “We will. I’ll meet you in the tunnels soon. I promise. Now, please go before my father realizes you’re here.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Nash

  Nash watched his father amble to a sitting position. Even in the low light, he saw they shared many of the same features just as Layla said. In Etherea, Nash had been an outsider his whole life. To share features with someone else infused him with a sense of belonging, an unfamiliar sensation.

  “You are my son with Sansolena, huh?” Rex rasped, hoarse.

  “Yes,” Nash replied. To his surprise, a tremor ran through his words. He hadn’t fully grasped, until this moment, what it would be like to speak to his father. A familiar twisting started in his stomach. The word “father” held such a negative association.

  The king scrutinized him. “You look like me. How did they do that?”

  “Do what?”

  Rex scratched his stubble. “Don’t pretend you don’t know. Montessa and Vance. How did they find someone who looked so much like me?”

  Nash shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

  “Clearly they want to expose me as a traitor, but how did they know about Sansolena? I never told anyone…” The king spoke more to himself than to Nash.

  “I’m not here to frame you. I’m here to free you.”

  Rex laughed, a harsh bitter sound. “I’m sure that’s what they want me to believe. If I’m caught escaping with my ‘Ethereal son,’ they would be able to hang me for sure, with the support of the people.” His green eyes glittered with anger. “Fine, I’ll play this game, Nash, but you make sure Vance and Montessa know I won’t die quietly. If they didn’t want a fight, they should’ve killed me when they had the chance. Now, I’m angry, and I’m most dangerous when I’m angry.”

  Nash grappled with his father’s odd behavior. “I’m not lying. I am your son.”

  “Okay.” Rex let out another harsh laugh.

  Nash’s fears—that his father wouldn’t believe him—unfolded before his eyes. He ground his teeth in frustration. “If I succeed in freeing you from this prison, will you at least consider the possibility that I’m telling the truth?”

  “Sure, sure.” Nash’s Vanguard ire rose in response to Rex’s mocking.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Layla

  Layla lay down upon the little cot wedged in the corner of the tunnels. Her mind wandered back to her kiss with Nash, how they’d fallen back upon this very bed. She sighed. Was it real? Was anything she felt toward Nash from her own heart, or had it been placed there by the awful Elder Werrick and his Ecclesiastical spells? Though their connection had been instantaneous, their feelings had definitely grown during her time in Etherea. She had come to love him of her own choosing, hadn’t she? Layla wished she knew.

  “This binding is as bad as Ethereal mind control,” she said to the wall.

  Paradoxically, she stayed in the tunnels to avoid Jesper and his mind controls, yet just being here, plagued by her own thoughts, put her at risk of losing her mind without his interference. Layla had too much to think about and too much time to think about it. When a knock sounded at her door, a welcomed relief, Layla sprang up to answer it.

  “Wil.” She breathed his name, pleasantly surprised to find him standing before her. Her palms, slick with nervous sweat, almost slipped off the handle.

  “May I come in?” he asked, strained and formal.

  “Of course.” She stepped back to clear the way for him. Her heart pumped three times in quick succession, slowed, and then completed another round of erratic beats. She didn’t understand the reaction. Nerves?

  He entered the room, and th
ey stared at one another. She tried to catch his gaze, to gain insight into his reason for coming. While she’d been preparing for this moment for a while, she found herself anxious now that it had finally arrived.

  “Would you like to sit down?” Layla gestured to the table behind him.

  “I’ll stand. I won’t be here long.”

  She nodded. Layla preferred to sit, but she stood along with him. The longer they waited in silence, each trying to observe the other without being caught, the more uncomfortable she grew.

  “I’m sorry,” he blurted out the words like they’d been collecting inside him for so long he could no longer contain them.

  “You’re sorry?” What did he have to be sorry about?

  “I was hurt and angry. Because of that, I didn’t handle myself well. I didn’t come and talk to you before now because I’m still hurt and angry.”

  She softened. “You have every right to feel that way.”

  “I guess I just thought we had something, and I made the mistake of assuming you felt the same way. Honestly, Layla, I just feel stupid. I put myself out there, and the whole time, I never even had a chance.”

  “Wil.” His confession and raw pain pierced her. He deserved better than what she had given. She knew that. “I should be the one to say I’m sorry. I should have told you about Nash, but I never believed it would grow into anything substantial. We fought it for your sake…because we both care so much about you.”

  “Please stop.” He held up a shaking hand that matched his ragged words.

  Silence stretched between them again. Ironically, Layla longed to be alone in the tunnel again. That torment couldn’t compare to this one, to seeing him exposed and aching in front of her.