Lies. Shakily standing, he forced his legs forward. His dad had to believe that he wouldn’t use his ability for anything but self-defense. He had to see reason.
Cesan grabbed the man’s jaw, forcing him to look at him. “I’m glad my son threatened you. I only wish he had finished the job.”
“Cesan!” Roque shoved him back hard with a pointed looked.
The two men stood in a silent battle before Cesan shook his head, growling, “You will condemn us all, Roque. This is my line. You can’t possibly expect me to sit back while you reason with these people?”
“That is exactly what I expect you to do.”
Cesan’s skin flushed, his clenched hands shaking. It was a moment suspended in air, the defiance and the betrayal plain in his father’s features. Adair’s heart stuttered as Cesan bared his teeth and turned away, his anger a wild and tangible thing. He didn’t look back at his wife, his son, or his best friends. It was like a cord snapping, the frayed edges that had held on for so long now unable to bear the weight.
Dread spread with a fury through Adair, cold and numbing, and he did nothing but watch. Roque sighed and pulled his attention to the group still pinned to the wall, looking at them with curious interest. Slowly he said, “Bresslin, if you could.”
Adair’s mother snapped her frost-bitten fingertips and the deadly spears changed to water, icily crashing down on their guests. Sputtering, their leader recovered first, appraising not Roque but Nei.
“Why are you here?” Roque’s voice rang with authority, and the man flickered his attention back to him.
Adair felt Emory brush up beside him, tugging his fingers gently, but Adair was entranced, watching as the man gave Roque a bloody smile, chips of broken teeth and bruised skin making his skin look distorted.
He bowed mockingly and rose, his voice rang clear, cutting into Adair’s heart. “I am Tadeas of the Shattered Isles. My companions and I have travelled a great distance, Roque Fae, to come deliver news to you all but specifically to your wife.” Tadeas shrugged past Roque, a menacing glint in his eye. “Your father has been killed, Nei, and usurped. The Shattered Isles no longer recognizes the peace agreement that was made with Kiero nor do we answer to this pitiful fabrication of a government. Most importantly, you all have terrible manners. Don’t you know you should bow before the king, which I am pleased to say is me.”
Nei’s skin paled of all color, and her jaw dropped. Tadeas’s companions drew their weapons, steel hissing with freedom from the scabbards. Flanking their king, Tadeas spat blood and saliva at Nei’s feet, musing aloud. “We have a lot to talk about, but I must say we are famished. Perhaps dinner and some wine are in order?”
Adair’s heart pumped as he desperately tried to disappear in the shadows, but Emory gripped his hand hard, yanking him back and forcing his body to walk with her, fleeing from the scene. They couldn’t get away fast enough before Nei’s shaky voice chased at their heels, “Of course.” Swallowing hard, the world spun and they sprinted. A shooting pain raced up his side as his blood trickled down his wrists and spattered onto the floor. Turning, his heart dropped into his stomach and he knew that this was the moment everything crashed together, creating beautiful chaos.
3
Memphis
The voices were consuming and suffocating. Roaring and crashing, taking up all that he was and leaving a trembling boy in its wake. Memphis Carter sat on the edge of his bed, clutching his temples, willing that blissful wall of reprieve back. He truly had no such luck today. He had lost control coming back from class, and he was now drowning beneath the beating waves of the collective conscious that was the Academy. Gnashing his teeth together, he growled, sitting up too fast, and paced around his simple room. His stomach churned, bile threatening to claw its way up. Taking a deep breath, he forced his pained features into smooth acquiescence as he paced his room. His body knew the drill: breathe, walk, breathe, walk. Circling around the two bunkers, the desks, and the bookcases, the room spun. He had been lucky enough to land a suite this year. The simple cavern-like walls provided more space than previous years, and it was pure bliss.
Another wave of white noise crashed down on him, and he cringed, picking up his pace. Snippets of conversation wove tightly around his mind, piling up thicker and thicker. It wasn’t coherent sentences when it was this intense, but as always, a tone, always an overall feeling. Snippets of words, of internal battles. And he knew one thing without a doubt—the Academy was in unrest. Groaning aloud, he sat back down, shutting his eyes. He hadn’t slipped this bad in a long time. The chaos blanketed him, and his stomach lurched violently again. He really might be sick. Spreading his knees wide, he gripped his thighs and lowered his head below his heart. A sharp ringing pierced his ears as he breathed deeply, rooting himself to this moment. His ability was strong, but he had learned to be stronger. Thanks to the Academy and his private tutor, Professor Ida, Memphis had learned one thing that he could not have learned otherwise—not to give in to his fear.
It had taken years of getting through episodes like this, of grueling private lessons, of learning he was more, that he could have a life worth living. That titles like freak could be morphed into strength. That he could show the people who feared what happened behind these walls that they weren’t so different. Curled into himself, Memphis did what he knew and used the crippling pain, fuelling
