Murmurs spread amongst them, some people lingering by the flames, whispering their goodbyes. Catching Tadeas’s eye, he froze as the king made his way toward him. Chewing his inner cheek, he dipped his head. “Tadeas.”
“Roque. You spoke well. I am grateful for that, for our fallen from the Isles.” Marquis followed them, his eyes casted down as they headed toward the Academy. Tadeas eyed the crowd. “You can rest assured that your secret is safe with me during this uneasy time.” His voice was hushed, and Adair raised a dark eyebrow, feigning innocence. “It will remain safe if you let my son and me return to the Isles. To our home.”
Relief flooded through him, knowing Roque’s reluctance to let them leave. He cleared his voice gruffly, stalling to clasp his forearm. “I will have your passage readied to the port.”
Tadeas blanched, as if not hearing him right. “You’re actually letting us go?”
He nodded. “Go back to the Isles and let our allegiance be known. Your trading routes are free. All I ask, King, is to not leave Kiero in the dark. Go home. Grieve for your losses. We will be in contact, soon.”
Gracefully, he bowed, his pale green hair loosening. “What about Cesan?”
At the mention of his father’s name, he darkened, his ability throttling Roque within his dark rage. “I will deal with Cesan and make him answer for what he has done.” Marquis stalled behind his father, his eyes narrowing, and for a moment, Adair thought he saw a flash of recognition in those emerald eyes.
Just as fast as it had occurred, it vanished, and Tadeas looked to his son. “Well, we will take our leave after the feast then.”
“I will have your horses prepared.” Nodding, they walked back into the Academy. The sun rose higher in the sky, the smoke curling up to meet it.
Delicious scents churned through the air. Honey and dates, sweet tangs of freshly baked fruit and nut bread, the spices of mulled wine. He sat back at the head of the table, taking in the dining hall. Nei had outdone herself. Deep green vines churned along the edge of the headboard of each seat, deep blue blossoms flowering among the vines. The intricate petals curled, flecks of silver catching in the shades. Shimmering above them, a haze of golden mist recreated the look of a sunset twinkling above crystal water. It was flawless, every color deep and rich, as they dove into the celebration planned to last well into the afternoon and night. Chewing on the soft, warm bread, Adair sighed, his gaze briefly drifting above to a small crack barely visible, where his true body lay.
“Dad, can I talk to you for a second?” Startled, he took in Emory, and cleared his throat gruffly, his heart hammering and his mind scrambling. Would she detect the shadows churning within his eyes? Clearing his throat, he nodded, and she said, “Brokk, Memphis, and Adair are all missing. Adair and I... we got into a bad fight last night, and he was heading to talk to you. What happened?” What happened indeed.
“Emory, I wouldn’t be too worried. Adair is feeling a bit... lost. He just came to me seeking council last night. When was the last time you saw Brokk and Memphis?”
She chewed her lip, whispering, “At least a day ago.” His mind spun. Foster and Carter had a bad habit of keeping tabs on him. If they were digging, then they would be following his same path for answers about what exactly the Academy was hiding.
He gently smiled at Emory. “I will make sure to find them.” They were already too late for what they were searching for.
She beamed. “Thank you.”
A velvety voice sounded behind them. “Emory?”
Adair snapped his attention at the sound of his voice. Marquis stood behind them, his emerald hair disheveled, his hands buried in the pockets of his ebony jacket. At the far side of the hall, chairs and tables were screeching back, the pounding of drums beating through the crowd as people gathered. They had started the Kedshima. A traditional respect paid at funerals, was the dance of abilities.
Emory looked at the young prince, tilting her head. “Marquis?” Looking deeply uncomfortable, he fidgeted. “Would you... erm—I mean would you do me the honor of being my partner?”
Her gaze also trailed to the siren call of the pounding drums, of the partners gathering, standing across the room from one another. With a dark spark in her eyes, she dipped her head. “It would be my pleasure.”
Sitting back, he watched as Emory followed Marquis through the throng of people, the drums picking up speed, pounding in double time. Sparks cut through the air, crackling and popping as the embers flared. His nails dug into his palms. He took a deep swig of mulled wine, the taste of crisp berries and taunting spices filling his senses. The world seemed to slow as Marquis bowed low, Emory returning the gesture, and then they walked to opposite sides of the room.
Nei grabbed his hand, squeezing gently. “With those two, it ought to be a show.” The drums stilled, and then he recognized Wyatt as he roared, “Let the Kedshima begin!”
Beautiful, untamable chaos ensued. The drums picked up in an alluring tempo as abilities exploded. The push and pull of energy expanding in such a small space, sent shivers rippling across his body. To the far left, a young student ran toward her partner, dodging the fire that flared and roared from his palms, dropping to her knees as leafy vines exploded from her, meeting the flames, becoming an entanglement of ash that exploded around them. To the right, Wyatt and Jaxson gravitated around each other, grinning wolfishly as Wyatt disappeared and reappeared, Jaxson multiplying himself by the minute. Fire met ice, ice met ash, and stars erupted from the clash of might that shuddered through the room. His pulse thrummed as he watched entranced, yet unable to do anything, as Emory became the predator she was born to be before his eyes. Her dark hair was swept back, and she walked toward Marquis, a slight smile splayed on the corner of her lips. He tilted his hand, mischief etched into his features. He clapped his hands together and it was like they were transported to the heart of the Black Sea.
Thunder rolled as the wind picked up, and water crashed toward her, black and churning, with one promise. To consume. Running full tilt, Emory aimed straight for the middle of the mighty waters spouting from Marquis’s palms. Adair saw her plan unfold before him, but he also knew the prince and his secret. Emory was hoping to reach the prince through the waters, because once she had contact with him, it was game over. She had no idea she was running straight into a giant shield. Emptying his glass, he stood, hearing Nei’s distant questions fade behind him. The other partners had stepped to the sidelines, the drums continuing to pound, rattling their souls. They all watched as the contained waters from the Prince of the Shattered Isles roared toward their princess, both parties emitting a calm confidence, each thinking they had the upper hand. Adair watched Emory succumb to the waters, crashing into them and submerging herself. Her arms were powerful as she swam, cutting through the water, only to find herself trapped in a massive roaring orb. Her brows furrowed, confused at the sudden wall she was met with.
Marquis winked roguishly, whispering, “Game over, Princess.” Dropping his hands, the orb stopped, crashing Emory to the ground in a sputtering mess. Claps and roars of approval pounded through the room as Marquis mock bowed. Emory, looking half-drowned, laughed, laying on the ground. Her clear voice cutting right through his heart. Adair stopped, exhaling hard, not realizing he had been holding his breath. The room filled with chatter, with laughter, with light and love. He could feel Nei’s gaze burning into his back, and he was about to turn slowly when he heard it.
The room seemed to dim, everyone fading to the background. The boisterous and alluring scents and glamour of the party swept from his mind. Adair. Adaiiiir. They are coming. His heart faltered as the smell and tang of winter filled his senses. The roars and echoes of bloodthirsty cries climbed through him, the promise of death lingering on his tongue. They are coming for all of us. The ancient essence that was locked around his heart stirred, images cutting through his mind. The forest crystallizing into a world of ice, his mother swiftly leading an army not seen by man before. And the Academy, sitting
, waiting, as the icy world raced toward them. Act now, Adair. Or die with them.
His heart hammered against his ribcage; he was certain it was going to break through his chest, shattering him. A trickle of sweat ran down his neck, flushing his skin, with fire and ice.
“Roque, darling, are you okay?” Nei’s voice was tentative as he spun, the darkness roaring within him. It was all he could see, could taste, could feel. His world was ripped apart, and he was in the middle of everything, unable to do anything but watch. A slow smile splayed on his lips as Nei backed away, her softness gone as she looked at him. The drums and laughter spun around them, the rest of the Academy oblivious to the shift of energy as panic bled into her features. His blood felt like it was on fire as he locked eyes with the Prince of the Shattered Isles. Emory was walking toward him now, his sarcastic jabs lost to him as he mouthed one word to him, throwing them both one last chance.
Run.
The world shuddered beneath him as he started screaming. Everyone paused looking to their king crouched down low on the ground, writhing in pain.
“Adair, you don’t have to do this, please.” Roque’s voice cut through his mind, and he growled, clenching his teeth. “The Book of Old only has one motive, one reason for existing.”
The pain stopped abruptly as he shakily stood, whispering to himself, “To end you.” The blow was crippling and unyielding. He ripped and tore, charging through the magic in his heart, in his soul, flaring and electrifying every nerve in his body. Adair obliterated everything the acclaimed King of Kiero was and reveled in it. His bones dissolved to ash, his blood boiled, and ragged heaves escaped from him. Until Roque was no more. And the magic that was slumbering within Adair thundered through him with a crippling force. It was like diving into the coolest water, wiping away any weariness, any pain, confusion, weakness. It filled his heart with purpose, and his ability with strength, and melded into everything he was. And blackened his soul.
Gasping, he was ripped from Roque’s lifeless body in churning black smoke, and his soul was trapped within, his ability roaring. But he couldn’t do anything as they were hurled right toward Nei’s heart.
She was flung back as they collided, the magic soaking into her veins, charring and burning. He felt the blistering rage as they broke her, consumed her. A second or eternity, he couldn’t tell as memories and feelings were devoured, his ability, their magic, devouring her.
Then he was flying upward in the inky smoke, slamming into the ceiling and into the hidden tunnels, leaving the hall behind. Screams rose and fell, building with every second as Adair’s eyes flew open. In the cool darkness of the tunnel he lurched forward, dry heaving. In the half shadows, he saw his skin was streaked with black, swirling on his arms, spiraling up toward his heart. Practically vibrating, he clawed at his chest, ripping his shirt until he saw the monstrous burn exactly where his heart was, his skin raw and swollen. The world spun, and he reached for the familiar depth of his ability only to be met with a wall. Finally. The voices caressed and overlapped in his mind. They were the maestro, and now he was the instrument, bowing and soaring to their commanding hands. Heaving, he emptied his stomach as he was pulled down into the depths of his consciousness.
All the hope and beauty that the lustrous magic showed him before was gone. He felt himself collapse as their claws sank into his heart. Images flashed through his mind, cruel and sharp and unrelenting. He was sucked into the memory, and it charged through him.
Roque Fae looked around the room, raising a dark eyebrow to the two beautiful women seated to his left. “You’re sure the room is protected?”
The woman chuckled. “Roque, after all these years, you still doubt us?” An uneasy tension rippled across the room, and sighing, Roque sat down, his features softening.
“No. I don’t. Forgive me.”
The women shook their heads gently and snapping their fingers, a white light seared down the doorframe. Making sure no one could get in. Or out. Nei gently clasped his hand underneath the table, squeezing it and Roque continued, “What should we add today?” The flickering eyes of the couples lingering on the two dark-haired women at the end of the table. Their eyes, a deep brown, were filled with an infinite void that also filled their world that was foreign to them. Roque chewed his cheek, looking to the man across from him. Damien Foster was the epitome of strength, from his dark hair to his rugged features. They had known each other for years, each meeting bringing quaking memories of pain with them.
Damien was rare, and that was saying a lot among their world. A man who could find and travel amongst worlds. A man who had woven together these meetings, bridging culture, strength, and magic and defying the laws so they all could sit here. The glistening book in the middle of the table was filled with secrets and spells from each world, the government leaders adding every time they gathered.
It hadn’t been an easy task, bringing them together. Damien had sacrificed, having to barter with his life to make people listen. To show them the opportunity of an alliance that was woven across time and space. One that Roque and Nei tucked close to their hearts, shielding it from their country. Despite the whispers, the rumors, that clung to their friend.
He unclasped his hands from Nei’s as the faeries from Daer cleared their throat, their voices strangely melancholy. “It is our turn.” Snapping his attention back to the present, the icy voices of the fae shuddering through him.
Clearing his throat, he stated, “And what will you be addressing?” For a moment, they didn’t say anything but tilted their heads slowly, an identical smile blossoming on their faces. Their silence became icy, making his hair raise on the back of his neck.
They whispered, “Magic not heard of before by your worlds.” Looking at the book, it drifted toward them, scraping against the table. Meeting their outstretched hands, the cover flew open, pages churning wildly under their touch. The others shifted uneasily.
The faeries looked at each other, their lips splitting into sharpened grins. Green light flared from under their fingers... soft and alluring. For a moment, the scent of moss and warm spices filled the room. Encasing him and bringing him back to sultry summer nights filled with the song of the forest, the light blazing around him. As a boy, he would chase it, never wanting the night to sweep in. Strange and vivid, beneath their bony joints, images flared, soaking in and materializing in the book, as their eerie voices whispered to the pages in a language foreign to them all. The sharp and guttural words wove, the notes hanging heavily around them, sharp as any sword and calming as still water. The world within the pages was beautiful and cruel, and the world of Daer was shown to them, the only way they could understand. Of towering castles, born from rock and gems, hidden in forests so ancient Roque couldn’t fathom their timeline. The rivers running black, the intricate flowers blooming to ash. Of a tale of a court that had once ruled within the kingdom, breathing life into magic, breathing hope and truth into its people. Only to be destroyed.
The imagery flashed, turning cold, the emerald haze of the paradise vanishing in a pull of smoke, and the lights within the room seemed to dim. Black roses ruled over the once majestic castle, and the crumbling brick showed the weathering of time. Where once beauty flourished, a harshness had fallen over the world and the fae that lived there. Roque cringed as the echo of screams resonated within his mind, and looking more closely to the book, he saw that timeless world burn, the faeries churning and changing into something else entirely. Smooth inky hair and empty eyes, the four women bowed before the king sitting on the throne of carved bone. It was peerless white, the contrast so great it was like the last star in a blackened night. The courtroom was empty, besides them. The king wore thick armored plates, his blade glistening as he spun it rhythmically in his palm, his eyes sharp and golden, scar tissue roping around his neck in silver webs.
“For years, we have lived in this... shell of a world. It is time to change that.”
Bowing their heads in unison, their whispers overlapped i
n haunting tones. “We will not fail you, our king.” Standing, they clasped dark green emerald gems and, forming a circle, started chanting in the same sharp guttural tones, their plain white robes fluttering around their bony knees. In a flash of dark light, they were gone, leaving scorched ground in their wake. The king started to laugh, a small chuckle at first, then rolling into a deep rolling rumble.
The Oilean were born from the heart of darkness itself, and as his trained assassins, they would rid this newfound world of everyone in it, leaving the magic for their own taking. Just as they did with this one. The King of Daer looked to the crumbling ceiling and dreamt of the carnage they would make, and he knew he would wait until the day came and the Oilean would connect them. And finally, he would be able to scourge new lands, filling his starving soul, feeding his magic. Until that day came, he would wait. And he would be ready. Gripping the blade, he sent it soaring to the opposite wall, the hilt thrumming with magic. It collided with the stone and exploded, the sword vanishing with the impact in a cloud of smoke, the debris crashing around the room. The king smiled as the sword materialized back into his palm, fresh and glinting, as he stared at the absent space where the wall was. Beyond that, the roars of his kingdom beckoned to him. Where the rolling forests once stood, a sea of white greeted him, the hollowed-out bones of the previous fey staked in the ground like delicate art. Smoke churned in the shadows, and he knew his people could taste the longing of magic lingering in the air, on the tip of the scales. And so, the king sat back and waited.
Renegade: A Young Adult Dystopian Page 17