Unraveling

by Sara Ella

  Ky is in danger. And there is not a single thing I can do to stop it.

  I bolt upright in bed, the clothes I’ve worn for the past day damp with sweat. It’s still night, the darkness casting an eerie quiet over every rug and drape. My room is static, the earthquake ceased. Moonlight no longer spills into the room. When I slide out of bed and move to the window, I can no longer spy Dawn Lake or its contents. Clouds fill the skies, making it too dark to tell how much water remains in the Threshold below.

  I rub my jaw from ear to chin. The pain I felt that day was so real. Too real, making the ache in my knee a mere bruise in comparison. The brain is a funny thing. Dreams are merely devices that allow us to relive memories we don’t want to lose. They’re a way of idealizing relationships, of putting them in our perfect little boxes where no one can touch them. But this dream—this memory—has a dark side. All memories do, if you know where to look. This dream, this memory, always turns nightmarish. Except, instead of waking to find it was just my imagination, I feel as if a bucket of ice has been dumped over my head, reminding me what I must do. I twist Joshua’s ring around my finger and straighten the crown on my head.

  I’ve scoured the library ten times over and have unearthed nothing of consequence. I’m making my way through The Reflection Chronicles, too, though the feat is slow and dull. Reading Mom’s words is one thing, but so far the other journals I’ve perused have been nothing less than the textbook definition of boring. There must be an account with more meat in it, but which one?

  Even though Jasyn destroyed much, hundreds of volumes were still uncovered. The people worked together to stash and stow the accounts passed down to them. Then those accounts were brought here to be archived.

  Problem is, even though each one is dated, they all seem random. I’ve no way of guessing who would know anything about the history of the Void. No starting point. And without a starting point, I’m lost.

  I’ve read Mom’s account of The Reflection Chronicles so many times I have it memorized, along with Queen Ember’s “Mirror Theory.” I could recite the thing word for word and pass with flying colors. Have I missed something? Could there be a clue connecting me to another chronicle? The “Mirror Theory” and information on the Kiss of Infinity are the closest things I have to a beginning. My brain scans the uploaded information. Searching. Skimming. I squeeze my eyes and press my fingers to my temples.

  And there it is, a single snippet of information standing out among the rest. How could I have missed it?

  No time to waste.

  I know where to look.

  It’s time to pay an unscheduled visit to Joshua’s study.

  SIXTEEN

  Joshua

  I’m dry heaving on Nathaniel’s front steps. It is, in a word, humiliating. How can this be? Ky Rhyen, my brother? No, not just my brother. My twin brother. It’s the most impossible, unfathomable thing.

  And yet it makes more sense than anything has in months.

  The front door creaks behind me. I’m aware it’s Wren without so much as a backward glance.

  “How are you doing?”

  I wave her off. “Fine.”

  “You are not fine, David.” She places her hand on my back.

  I flinch and her touch vanishes. “Apologies.” Another dry heave. “I didn’t expect . . .”

  “I get it.” The bitterness in her tone lets on she still hasn’t forgiven me for the past. “I’m not her.”

  I shake my head and then realize she might not understand the reason behind my reaction. “It isn’t that. I’m just unaccustomed to being touched when I’m . . . weak.” I despise the taste of the word.

  “No.” Wren’s hand returns. This time I don’t jerk away. “You’re not used to needing someone.” And she leaves it at that. I know she understands. Wren is a lot like me. Independent. Self-sufficient.

  A loner.

  I take another minute before I straighten and head inside, Wren beside me. Nathaniel waits in his chair and gazes at the dying fire. We linger a good while. When at last he rests his elbow on the arm of his chair, head propped by his thumb and index finger, I know he’s about to relay a story. I sit on the floor and motion for Wren to do the same.

  “The night of your birth,” Nathaniel begins, “your mother was at perfect peace. I had never seen Ember so calm in all the years I’d known her. It was as if she knew it was her final night and she’d accepted it.”

  This is a tale I’ve heard a thousand times over. It always opens this way, with my mother. But this time will be different. Because this time the story will be complete.

  “It was as if her deepest desire was to truly experience her last moments, bringing her boys into this world.”

  And there it is, the slightest alteration. Not boy, but boys. Oh, what a difference the change makes.

  “I offered to put her under, to ease her pain. Against Aidan’s and my wishes, Ember refused.” Agony fortifies his voice. My mother was his student, yes, but in the end became more like a sister to him. “She was in labor for hours. Kyaphus, as it so happens, came first.”

  I work my jaw. It shouldn’t bother me he’s older.

  But it does.

  “Ky was effortless and did not struggle against the inevitable. You, however, were quite the task.” Eyes narrowed, Nathaniel goes on. “You held on as long as you could, unwilling to adapt to the change without a battle. When you finally arrived it was mere moments before your mother inhaled her final breath. She never even got a chance to hold you.”

  My chest tightens and a lump lodges in my throat. I have forever felt at fault for the deaths of my parents. It was their soul bond that killed my father. I used to wonder if the birthing process had been easier for my mother, would she have survived, saving them both?

  I suppose I’ll never know.

  The light in the room dims as the sun sets beyond the window behind us. Nathaniel leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Upon Aidan’s dying breath, I speculated which soul the Verity would choose—which son contained the purest heart. You or Kyaphus?”

  He rises and crosses to the grandfather clock in the room’s southeast corner. The clock has long since stopped ticking. I don’t believe it ever worked, come to think of it. Nathaniel opens the clock’s face and reaches inside. Next he withdraws something small and square. A photograph?

  “I watched you both for signs.” Out of breath, he hobbles back to his chair and sits. “You see, the Verity changes you, and sometimes that change manifests physically. For Kyaphus it was his eyes, turning one green and one brown. For you the alteration was much more understated—nearly unnoticeable—but a difference nonetheless.” He passes me the square.

  I turn it over in my hand. The photo is old, the quality horrid, but there, sitting side by side, are two boys. They couldn’t be more opposite. One with brown hair, one with blond. One with blue eyes, one with green and brown.

  And yet I notice similarities too. My thumb smooths over their—our—faces. We share wavy locks, and our smiles are crooked. I mourn inwardly for the brother I never knew, and now don’t care to know. Blood or not, he’s a traitor. No one takes what belongs to me.

  No one.

  Nathaniel retrieves the photo, looks at it over his spectacles, and sighs. “As I was saying, the Verity altered your voice. The moment it inhabited you I could discern the variance in your cry. To this day I cannot describe it in words—it was almost like a song.” The corner of his mouth twitches.

  I scratch the back of my head, casting a side glance at Wren. I am generally a private person and not at all inclined to have my personal history laid out for another to hear. But Wren won’t judge me. I needn’t even ask. She’ll never speak of this to another soul.

  I return my regard to Nathaniel. “So the Verity split and inhabited us both.” This explains much.

  “Indeed.” He leans back and the chair’s springs whine. “Which brings us to your current situation with the Void.”

  “The Void.
” My brows turn down. “Could there be some sort of . . . connection . . . between me and my . . . brother?” The last word tastes wrong. It’s like an admission, concrete and final.

  Kyaphus is my brother.

  “My thoughts precisely,” he says.

  My brain works, its gears grinding. My connection to El from childhood, my strong feelings toward her. Could this be why Kyaphus holds feelings for her as well? Perhaps he only thinks he loves her. Because as my twin he is connected to me and I am connected to El. But . . .

  “It was I who gave El a Kiss of Infinity as a baby, correct? Not Kyaphus?”

  Nathaniel nods. “Yes. You won’t remember my youngest son, Tiernan, but he kidnapped Kyaphus a mere month prior to Elizabeth’s appearance on my doorstep. I never saw Tiernan again after that. He raised your brother as his own. When Ky and Eliyana came to me last autumn, I recognized him straightaway. It was his eyes, you see. I saw the way he looked at her, and”—Nathaniel pinches the bridge of his nose—“the way she looked at him. I was concerned they had become close. Despite the fact you both housed the Verity, it was you, Joshua, who I raised to become king. You who were trained and prepared and honed for the task of defeating Jasyn and imprisoning the Void within a vessel you could control. I worried Tiernan had corrupted Kyaphus, and he in turn would corrupt Eliyana. And now we see I was, to our dire misfortune, correct.”

  I hang my head, rub my right hand down the side of my face. “We share the Void though, just as we shared the Verity. If he is corrupting her, so am I.”

  “Ah, but that is where you are mistaken. The problem lies in the one her soul is fully linked to. The one to whom she gave a Kiss of Infinity.”

  This is the hardest part, and I hate to finally admit it aloud. “I kissed her on her eighteenth birthday. It was a Kiss of Infinity. But for her . . .” I palm the back of my neck and rub hard. “For her the kiss was not as deep. The feeling wasn’t mutual.”

  “And with Kyaphus?”

  “I believe they shared one, yes. From what I saw the night of Crowe’s defeat, their connection . . .” I close my eyes and picture it. Release a sound that’s part exhale, part groan. “Yes. They are intertwined, heart and soul.” The ache in my chest makes it hard to breathe.

  Nathaniel lifts a finger. “And that, my dear boy, is your answer. Never has the Verity been bonded to a soul containing the Void. Because their souls are linked, and the link made complete, the Void within Kyaphus is disturbing her greatly. The contradiction—the light of the Verity within her versus the darkness of the Void within Ky—is too much. Eventually one element or the other will take over. And I’d wager my favorite bathrobe, if her feelings for Ky deepen, the Void will win.

  “Love is powerful. Both you and your brother love Eliyana, which is why the Void is shared between you. But furthermore, it is clear our new queen loves Kyaphus, even if she won’t readily admit it. And if she loves him, by default she loves the Void. And light cannot remain light if in love with darkness. It is impossible.”

  His explanation is a punch to the gut. This explains why the Callings are suffering. Why the Threshold drains.

  “If the bond between your brother and your love is not broken”—he yawns—“before long the Verity will die. Should such a fate come to pass, it will be as if the Callings and the Thresholds never existed.”

  I rise and roll my shoulders. “So their bond can be broken then. How?”

  “I hesitate to offer this information. You are as a son to me, and the risk is weighty.” He adjusts his glasses. “Perhaps we should mull this over. Take some time to research other options besides the sole path of which I am currently aware.”

  Unexpected agitation ramps my pulse, but I contain it. I’ve never been angry at Nathaniel and I am not about to begin now. “We don’t have that kind of luxury. We must act now.”

  “You have never been one to act in haste, Joshua. I wonder if you might need to lie down—”

  “No.” I pivot and pace the room’s length, scratching the scruff at my jaw. When I face my adoptive father once more, I exhale and say, “Please. Just tell me what you know.”

  Nathaniel stares at me a long time. “Does the name Rafaj Niddala ring a bell?”

  I shake my head.

  “He was the Void’s vessel before Jasyn Crowe. An Ever same as you and your father.”

  His suggestive tone ignites a spark. An Ever? “We’re related. Aren’t we?”

  “Indeed. He is your paternal grandfather.”

  “Is? That means he’s still alive.”

  “Quite.” Nathaniel doesn’t miss a beat. “He holds valuable information pertinent to your dilemma.”

  My feet itch to get out the door. “Where can I find him?”

  “I’m surprised you don’t know more about your own castle.”

  I cock my head, but it’s Wren who speaks up. “He’s a prisoner?”

  “Smart girl,” Nathaniel says, twiddling his fingers. “He is, in fact.”

  Before we take our leave I ask my final question. “Exactly what information does he hold?”

  “He discovered something—an unbinding elixir. Potent stuff, its effects are nearly irreversible.” With a sniff, he eyes me. “Are you certain you want to do this? Once the bond is broken, it is difficult to repair. If Eliyana and Kyaphus share true feelings for one another, you may destroy any chance they have of a future together. Are you willing to pay that price?”

  I don’t answer. Instead I ask one last question. “What do you know of the Fairy Queen?”

  “No more than the stories let on. She is said to be an immortal soul jaded by heartbreak. A being with the power to grant any wish, except her own. That is a myth, of course. Though I never doubt anything absolutely. Not unless there is certain proof against it.”

  His answer isn’t much to go on, but it’s still more than I arrived with. If the Fairy Queen exists, and she is indeed helping Isabeau, then our problems are grander than we first realized.

  I nod and bid Nathaniel farewell. When I have one foot out the door, he adds, “Son?” I turn my head enough so I can view him through the corner of my vision. “Sometimes the quickest solution ends in the most treacherous outcome.”

  I swallow, step outside, and close the door. He may be correct, but what other option lies before me? This isn’t about doing what is easy or fast. This is about so much more than me or Nathaniel or anyone. This is about everyone.

  Wren has already made her way down the steps and into the snow. Once she’s a griffin again, I mount and we take flight. With the wind cold on my face, I consider Nathaniel’s question. I didn’t voice my response, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have one.

  Whatever it takes to break El’s bond with my brother is what I’ll do. Because I love her. Even if my actions hurt her. Even if they cause her to hate me.

  So be it.

  SEVENTEEN

  Made a Switch

  Locked. Of course it is. And drat, he still has the master key set. But I’ve been in Joshua’s castle study before. Which means I can get in again.

  Phantom pain sharpens my breath. Never have I dreaded mirror walking more. The shot of Illusoden I took before leaving my suite is starting to kick in, but I doubt its effects will extend to this sort of pain. Good for mortal wounds, yet it’s done nothing to abate the ache in my throat. Which probably means it doesn’t work on ailments related to the Verity and Callings.

  A framed mirror hangs ten feet down the hall to my left. This time of night the walkways are deserted. Preacher hasn’t thought to look for me in the most obvious place yet. Or at least I haven’t seen him. My door was unguarded when I slipped out of my suite, and Ebony was long gone, surprise, surprise. With half the Guardians tending to the Threshold and the other half on the hunt for Gage and Isabeau, the castle is pretty empty. I may not have much time, but I have a little.

  Here goes a body full of oh man this is going to sting.

  The trip through the mirror is even more agonizing than
my walk with Ebony. My voice is barely more than a whisper now, and my right arm has begun to go numb. I’ve heard that’s a sign a heart attack is on the horizon. Or is it the left arm? I can never remember. Either way, I’ve already established this must be more than a physical ailment. Each time I attempt to use my Calling, my symptoms grow worse.

  When I land face-first on the rug before Joshua’s desk, it takes a full minute of controlled breaths—pants—before I’m able to move. I want to die so much right now. Like literally, I could just lie here and be content to never get up. But I won’t. Because Joshua has been hiding something. And I’m betting somewhere in this office is the answer I seek. Or at least something to lead me there.

  Once on my feet I switch on Joshua’s desk lamp. It sheds just enough light to provide a good view of the floor-to-ceiling bookcases on the east wall. I cross to them, pressing a finger to my lips as I squint and scan the titles. Which one—?

  Joshua’s desk chair moves, the legs scraping.

  Frozen doesn’t even begin to define my statuesque demeanor. Breath on hold, I turn my head.

  The chair tips, crashes to the floor. I glance between door and desk, desk and door. Slide sideways. Inch, inch, inching toward the door. Reach, reach, reaching for the knob . . .

  Ebony pops her head up over the desktop.

  I lower my arm. Roll eyes.

  She glowers. “For the love of crowe, you scared the living Void out of me.”

  “What are you doing in here, Ebony? How’d you get in?”

  She waves her hand like a homecoming queen on parade, then stands and proceeds to pilfer through Joshua’s desk drawers. “Don’t tell me you don’t know how to pick a lock.” When I refuse to answer she stares at me, mouth agape. “Oh my word, you don’t. Wow. That’s lame, El. Not gonna lie.” She opens one drawer, slams the next. Once she’s done she starts on the filing cabinet beside the desk, taking out folders one by one and thumbing through them.

  “What are you looking for?”