That day before he was taken to the Academy, the world was buzzing about the death of Camden, how he had mysteriously dropped at his dinner table. No health problems. No sign of tampering. Nothing. His court had frantically scattered, disappearing in the wind, leaving no conflict between governments. Leaving Roque to play the savior, to brandish the Academy with welcoming arms after years of fighting against his father and the world. He hadn’t forgotten that one emotion roaring through Camden’s guards that day. One of betrayal. Sluggish memories came into his mind’s eye, fear slithering through him. That day, almost eleven years ago, he had overheard Camden’s men stirring, anger burning deep toward Roque, and the murmurings about how the prince had finally choosen his path. His love over his blood ties. It was like unblocking a dam, the emotions, the clipped conversations, slamming into him.
He looked around, wondering if the panic was that evident behind his eyes. If anyone saw his revelation. That Roque had somehow managed to kill his own father. Had Memphis just as blindly played into the Faes’ motives? Like so many others he had been cut off from his family, scared and dangerous. That Academy had never been just a school for him but a lifeline. A place where he could learn control. He had buried those memories down into an iron vault, not thinking of Sarthaven until now. Because if Roque Fae was willing to have spun lies and killed his father for the Academy, how far was he willing to go to protect it? How much loss would he justify for the greater good? He knew without a doubt that Camden had deserved his end. He had cast the world into a madness that wouldn’t soon be forgotten.
Chewing his bottom lip, he wondered how much Roque was willing to let go of his dream, to rise to be king. The thought clung to him, loud and ugly. Its claws sank deeply, erupting chaos as scenarios ran through his mind. He could feel every mile behind him, the distance between Emory and him searing into him. Just find the truth.
Dusk clung to their surroundings, washing the world in a dreamy haze. Deep violets and blues chased away the golden hues of the day as the forest thinned before them. A sharp whistle cut through the air, and their horses slowed from a gallop, to a canter, and finally to a walk. Hissing through his teeth at the momentum change, his muscles ached deeply.
Tadeas’s voice boomed over them. “We will camp here tonight. We are about an hour from Sarthaven.” The group snapped into action, his group dismounting first. The teachers from the Academy flanked together, talking quietly. Professor Iasan, tactical training. Professor Whilms, ability assessment. Professor Remre, weapons specialist.
He froze as he looked at the most ruthless teachers of the Academy. It made sense; they had no idea what would be waiting for them in the capital. They needed them here with a potential battle looming. Yet the back of his neck tingled with foreboding.
“Well, you look like you have seen about ten ghosts in the last minute.” Brokk limped up to him, his horse much more relaxed around his presence than a couple of hours ago. He loosened his feet from the stirrups, lowering himself onto solid ground. Glancing at Brokk, his friend practically jumped off his mount, his features darkening. “Next time, I am shifting to travel.”
“Must be nice,” Memphis muttered under his breath which made Brokk chortle.
The happiness was quickly lost as Brokk fell in stride with him. “I don’t trust this lot. What are we going to do?”
“We are going to play the faithful students of the Academy. But I agree, it’s time to find out what is really going on here. I’m not sure—I think you are right about Roque.”
Brokk raised an eyebrow at him, his voice gruff. “Why the change of heart?”
Two men from Tadeas’s group gathered their mounts, whispering to the horses in soothing tones as they led them away to the babbling stream at the forest’s edge.
Memphis rubbed his frozen hands together. “I remembered something I had... attained with my ability before I was brought to the Academy. When I was a kid. I just think there is more to Roque than our best interest.”
Brokk nodded but didn’t push for more. Tents were pitched around them, fires lit, as the chatter of the camp broke out. No one noticed them as they slung their packs over their shoulders and navigated to the far corner of the camp.
Brokk absentmindedly grabbed a tent and poles, murmuring, “Do we deal with Roque when we get back?”
Sighing, he shrugged. “We have to be careful about how we go about this. Emory is our best friend.”
Brokk punched him. “I would say you two are more than friends by now.”
He felt heat flush his cheeks, at a loss for words.
“Memphis! Brokk!” Turning, he saw flaming red hair cut through the crowd. Alby, a bit out of breath, ran up to them grinning. “Am I ever glad to see you both here. Come on,
