“As I got older, Amell came more often. He’d bring me books, teach me languages, math, and history. He brought me around Otaxis so the other Dark Fae would get used to having a human in their midst, and he put the word out that I was never to be harmed. He gave me small jobs to complete and paid me tokens so I could buy things just for myself, because the couple I lived with gave me nothing but the clothes on my back. Amell eventually took me flying, and it was the first time in my life I had ever laughed. I remember how odd the sound was, but it felt good to me.”
Tears spring to my eyes, but I blink them back, forcing a steady voice. “You were lucky to have him.”
“Was I?” she asks, but I don’t dare roll my head to see her. I’m afraid she might clam up. “Amell is the one who put me in the care of those awful fae, knowing I was mistreated. Amell took me once a month to the palace where they’d perform the ceremony to pump magic into me. He shackled me behind Kymaris’ static body and stared at me with a locked jaw while Pyke pressed a staff to my spine and forced fae magic into me without my consent. Amell stood by and watched as I cried from the pain of it, and then when the dark priests came in to take the magic I’d just received and turn it dark, he stood by while I screamed in agony because that hurt far worse.”
“Fucking hell,” I growl, not able to hold it in as I sit up once again and toss my legs over the edge. “I’m going to fucking kill him, Zora. I swear it.”
Zora merely turns her head my way, staring at me through sun-dappled eyes. “Amell’s also the one who took away my pain as soon as the ceremony was over. He taught me and moved me into my own place. He also gave me protection so I could walk the streets of Otaxis with immunity.”
None of that lessens my anger.
“Amell is the one who took me flying,” Zora says softly, and there’s no mistaking the fondness there. “The joy he gave me made up for a lot of the bad.”
“I’m still going to kill him,” I vow, but I know I can’t. That would sadden Zora despite the horrible things he’d done.
“It’s complicated,” Zora replies sadly. “You had asked me once what I feel for Amell, and there are a million different memories of him that provoke contradictory feelings. If I ever tried to really boil it down, I’d probably make myself crazy.”
I try to see it from Amell’s point of view. He was carrying out his queen’s orders. He never expected to start caring for the human. He had to have been greatly conflicted.
I ponder that for a moment.
Nope. Doesn’t change how I feel. I hate the Dark Fae for causing her pain and agony, no matter if he healed her from it.
“He told me I was an orphan,” Zora says, and that jolts me right out of the plans I had started to formulate on how I might cause his demise.
“What?” I whisper.
“I told Carrick when we danced at the wedding,” Zora says quietly. “It’s funny… because I’ve forgiven Amell for so many things that were done to me in the Underworld, but that’s the one lie that I don’t think I can. Up until you contacted me and told me you were my sister, I believed I was plucked off the streets in the Earth realm. That was I nothing more than abandoned trash who would have died, and that I should be grateful to be in the Underworld and have the honor of serving as Kymaris’ vessel. I understand he told me this to save me the pain of wondering about a better life, but still…”
Her words trail off, a clear indication she’s not sure how this makes her feel. I imagine the barrage of emotions that come when she thinks about it must be suffocating.
I decide it’s time to stop this talk. Zora probably has hundreds of horror stories she could tell me, and I want to hear them all. I need to help her bear her pain.
But it’s enough for right now.
On my hit list, right beside Kymaris, I add Amell’s name. I want to make sure Carrick and the crew understand that when the final battle comes, he’s mine to deal with. I don’t know if I can kill him because I’m not sure if Zora would let me, but I do want to cause him pain in some way.
With a clap of my hands, I brighten my voice. “Enough serious talk. Let’s discuss all the things you still have to see and experience. We need to make a bucket list of items to do. We can probably knock a few things off before the ritual, what with Kymaris lying super low until the new moon.”
Smiling, Zora settles back into her chaise. Eyes closing once again, she says, “Do you think we can fly in an actual plane soon?”
CHAPTER 16
Finley
We don’t go back to the Academy this morning to work on Zora’s magical powers, but rather set up in Titus and Priya’s front yard where we first stepped foot from Seattle. The weather is glorious, there’s plenty of room, and the scenery is unparalleled.
Caiden isn’t joining us, so we’ve decided Carrick will be the one to help Zora tap into her powers. Titus, Priya, and I are taking a backseat.
Rather, we are sitting on the steps of their front porch while Carrick takes a moment to explain a few things to Zora out in the middle of the yard.
“We don’t know what you have inside of you,” Carrick says, pointing out our biggest hurdle. “We know it’s born of light magic, and then turned dark. We know Amell taught you how to hold some back, but we don’t know exactly what you have and how much. It’s entirely possible you’ve been able to segregate out some of the light before it got twisted, but it’s just as likely you only have dark magic.”
“Which is a liability,” Zora says with disappointment.
“Not necessarily,” Carrick replies with a shake of his head. “You have a choice in how to wield that magic. For example, you’ve chosen wings and the ability to fly. That doesn’t seem all that dark to me.”
“So you’re saying intention has something to do with it?” Zora asks with a frown.
“Intention is part of it,” he says carefully. “But so is your inherent nature. You were raised in an environment stripped of humanity. You’re human, but you didn’t live in a human society.”
“So I’m evil?” Zora asks with a frown.
I wince, because that’s not what he’s saying, but I hate that’s where her head went.
Carrick smiles gently. “On the contrary, I think you’re as human as Finley with an identical conscience to hers. All I’m saying is that dark magic can inflame passions or anger. When Finley somehow drew on it in Faere, had she not been stopped, I’m fairly sure she would have tried to kill Deandra. So that is an example of how good you can be, but how dark magic can overtake your sensibilities. That is where you need to be strong.”
Zora takes in a deep breath before letting it out with a firm nod of her head. “I understand.”
Carrick looks my way, and I give him a quick thumbs-up. He’s handling her beautifully.
When his attention is back on my sister, he says, “You learned how to use your magic to give yourself wings. How did you do that the first time?”
“First, I envisioned it. It was really the only thing I longed for in the Underworld. To be able to fly, which was the only way to be free.”
“That longing for it,” Carrick says, urging her to focus. “Did you use it to pull forth your power?”
Zora’s eyebrows knit in thought and she even closes her eyes, as if she’s thinking back to that moment. When they pop open, she exclaims, “Yes. I was just imagining what it would be like, then very desperately wanting it, and boom… the wings popped out.”
Carrick nods, snapping his fingers, then pointing the index one. “Exactly. You can’t just envision it. The end product of your magic has to be something you want. Something you need. It has to be born of confidence that you’ll get it. At least that’s what you need to focus on to be able to freely tap the powers. It gets much easier over time.”
“Okay,” Zora says, blowing up a breath of air that lifts some of her hair away from her forehead. “So how do we test this?”
Carrick takes a step back from her. “Simply, at first. Conjure a chair for me t
o sit in. My back is hurting.”
I snicker because demi-gods don’t get backaches.
Taking in a deep breath, Zora closes her eyes. Her arms are hanging loosely by her side, but her hands open and close several times. She lets her breath out in a controlled, long exhale and when she opens her eyes, she lasers them onto an area of grass to the side of Carrick. I can see it in her eyes—the entire posture of her body—as she wishes desperately for a chair for him.
Nothing happens.
Zora curses—something she definitely learned from me and not in the Underworld—and spins away from Carrick. Her hands fist, and she lets out a tiny scream of frustration.
Whipping back to Carrick, she says, “I can’t do it.”
“Nonsense,” he says with a wave of his hand. “If you can sprout wings, you can conjure a chair.”
“I really, really wanted those wings. I had to fly to have some happiness. I don’t really care if you need a chair or not.”
Carrick shakes his head, stepping up to her until he has her full attention. “You’re taking what I said too literally. It’s not about you wanting or needing what I want or need. It’s about you wanting or needing to be able to accomplish the task. And in accomplishing it, your confidence will grow. So try again.”
He takes a few steps back.
Zora tries to conjure the chair.
Nothing happens.
She tries three more times, and then takes several seconds to stomp around the yard cursing up a storm. Carrick patiently waits her out. My heart clenches with sadness over her struggles, and I remember mine all too well.
“Zora,” Carrick snaps, and she turns toward him. Her face is red with anger and frustration. “Let me see your wings.”
Without hesitation, they unfurl. I gasp at their beauty despite having seen them a few times before. They look so soft and I long to run my fingers through them, but I’m fairly sure that would freak Zora out and send her scampering back to the Underworld.
“Go take a flight,” Carrick orders her. “Once around the island to clear your head.”
Zora doesn’t wait for further instruction, but lifts off the ground with a monstrous flap of her wings. She dives down the slope of the mountain toward the bay, where she evens out and glides above the water. When she banks left, we lose sight of her behind the mountain’s west side.
Carrick walks toward us on the porch, but he doesn’t say a word.
He doesn’t need to. I know exactly what’s going on. “She’s just like I was when trying to conjure my powers. Absolutely no confidence.”
Carrick nods. “And as much as I’d love to turn her over to Deandra and let her scare the magic out of her the way she did with you, I can’t trust what might come out of Zora. Her powers are dark, which means they could come out with deadly force that I doubt she could control. We have to coax it out.”
I have to agree with that. While Deandra’s methods were crude, they worked on me because I have the harness of a caring conscience. But with Zora’s upbringing—her lack of knowledge of humanity and empathy—there’s no telling what could come out in a moment of fear or great emotion.
“So what do we do?” I ask, but no one has an exact answer.
“Just keep trying,” Carrick finally says. “I’ll probably push her a little harder.”
This last statement was said only to me, his eyes boring into mine. A warning that I might not like his methods.
I don’t dare ask him to be gentle with her. We can’t afford those things right now, and as much as it pains me for Zora to struggle, I know some tough love might help her break through without pushing her over the edge.
* * *
It’s exhausting work, mostly on Carrick and Zora.
Hours are spent trying to elicit just the tiniest spark of magic out of my sister, and there is some success.
After three breaks where Zora took flights around the island, Carrick finally managed to get her to conjure a croissant—her favorite food since coming to the Earth realm. His praise was immediate and overly effusive, but he spent time talking to her about trusting her abilities. That seemed to give her some confidence.
For an hour, he’d name benign objects and ask her to conjure them. She made the chair that he’d originally requested appear. Butter for her croissant and a knife to spread it with. A bottle of water. And when she had a smile on her face and her shoulders were thrown back in confidence, he asked a little bit more of her.
He carried the chair she’d brought forth into the middle of the yard and said, “Set fire to it.”
There was hesitation. “I’m not sure how.”
“How did you conjure the other things?” Carrick asks.
“Envisioned and desired an end result,” she replies succinctly, like a student reciting text from a book.
“Then do the same,” he suggests.
“Yes,” she says with frustration. “I get the process. But do I just stare at the chair and hope it ignites?”
Carrick doesn’t answer her, but turns to me instead. “Finley… show her what you do.”
This catches me by surprise, because he’s left me out of this completely, which has been fine by me.
Carrick glances back at Zora and explains. “Finley has a flourish with her magic that is meant to be offensive.”
He’s right about that. I step out onto the grass, then move to my sister’s side. “You haven’t seen the movie Frozen yet. I’ll show it to you sometime because it’s amazing, but Elsa has magical powers where she can project ice and snow. She throws her hand out toward her target, and well… I sort of took that on.”
Carrick tips his head with an amused expression. “I never knew you were copying Elsa.”
“And I’m stunned you know who Elsa is,” I quip back before giving my attention to my sister. “Watch me.”
I turn toward the chair with no intention of setting it on fire. That’s Zora’s job, but I do need to demonstrate how to focus and funnel my magic toward something.
Bringing forth the image of Elsa in my mind, I thrust my hand out, palm facing the chair, and I blast it with a stream of ice. Zora actually steps to my side and studies my hand as I’m casting the magic. When the chair is completely frozen, I cut it off.
“It didn’t actually come out of your hand,” she observes, taking it in her own to examine my palm. “It’s like it started out of thin air just a few inches from your hand.”
“Right,” I say. “That ice wasn’t inside of me, only my imagination. I only use my hand to thrust as it helps me focus where I want my magic to go. I’m sure I could just do it with my mind, but it’s sort of become a habit with me now.”
“Okay, let me try that,” Zora says with determination.
I move back to the steps and sit beside Priya. Zora screws up her face in concentration, stares at the chair with laser-like focus, and then thrusts her hand out toward it. The expected jet of fire that would melt the ice around it doesn’t come out.
Not even a sizzle or a wisp of smoke.
Zora frowns, thrusting her hand out again.
Nothing.
She takes off across the yard, ranting and cursing. When she looks at Carrick, he merely points to the sky—a silent command to take a flight around the island. When she lifts off, we’re left alone.
Carrick glances over. “Can I go hard on her?”
I hate to do it, but I nod. I just hope we don’t traumatize her.
“I’m going to need you to assist me,” he drawls with a knowing look.
“Are you going to put me in danger?” I ask, but I already know the answer.
He doesn’t respond because Zora’s form comes into view as she lands with a light touch before folding her wings back as they disappear.
She doesn’t appear relaxed.
She looks incredibly frustrated. I’m almost ready to ask Carrick to just call it a day, but we’re short on time. If we don’t break through to her powers today, she’s not going to have the time to d
evelop them. Once they are set free, it still takes a lot of practice to control the magic.
“Want me to try the chair again?” Zora asks grumpily.
“No,” Carrick says softly as he waves a hand at the chair and it disappears. “I want to try something a bit more radical.”
“Radical?” Zora asks, but before I know what’s happening, I’m being pulled off the stairs by an invisible force that has me cocooned in a gentle grip—Carrick’s grip, I realize—and I’m lifted high into the air above them.
Zora gasps as I rise ten, twenty, thirty feet up before Carrick stops my ascent.
I hover as Carrick turns to Zora. “I’m going to drop your sister. It’s up to you to ensure she doesn’t get hurt.”
I have to admit… it was smart of Carrick to couch it in those terms. He’s only offering Zora the consequence of me getting hurt—most likely in a grave manner. She’d never buy that the consequence could be death because she’d never buy that Carrick would let me die.
She might just think he’s crazy enough to let me get hurt, though, because she also knows he can heal me.
“And to make it interesting,” Carrick says slyly, giving a wave of his hand toward the ground.
Deadened rose vines push up from the ground, slithering and writhing over one another. The thorns are long, and the vines wind around each other until they make a thick copse of bushes that cover the entire ground above which I hover. I grimace, knowing that dropping onto those is going to hurt like a bitch.
Hell, I might poke an eye out.
“Those will help break her fall,” Carrick says nonchalantly.
“I can’t,” Zora says with a shake of her head, taking a step back.
“You can,” Carrick replies easily. “Imagine the vines disappearing and a huge air mattress appearing, or merely grab her out of the air before she hits. You have options.”
“But what if it doesn’t work?” Zora whispers, her expression somewhat terrified.
“Only one way to find out,” Carrick says. With that, he releases his magical hold on me.
The Rise of Fortune and Fury Page 16