He shook his head, snapping, “That’s not answering the question.”
Brokk growled. He knew they had to go now, but the world had stilled and it was just them. Just this. Brokk shook. “Our world is falling apart, Adair is waging war, Emory is on a different planet, and all you care about is that I haven’t been telling you one secret? One?”
“Yes, I do care. Because we have always been us. But everything is a lie. Emory knew. Why didn’t you think to tell me? To trust me?”
Brokk paled. “Emory found out by chance, Memphis. I never wanted her to know. Never.” His shoulders sagged. “And now she won’t know anything, thanks to me. Not you. Not this world. Not me.” The words hung between them, as their silent argument did before. Memphis, reluctant, knew Brokk was right. He normally was.
“She can’t live a life that is always torn in two. She would never move on, never fully experience what that life would offer her. Is that what you want?”
He gnashed his teeth. “I want her to be here. I want us to be together.”
Brokk stalked up to him. “What, so she can die? Stop whining and look at the reality. Adair will hunt her down, manipulate her, and use her like he did Roque and Nei. He will hunt all of us down.”
Memphis shoved his chest hard. “Get away from me, now.”
Arching his brow, he snarled. “No, for once, here’s the ugly truth, Memphis. She didn’t feel the same way that you do. Your image of your relationship and life together will never be what she wants. As one of her best friends, trust me, I know. She had a crush on you, and you have been in love with her for years.” Both of their chests were heaving, and Memphis’s ability rose, roaring to tear through, to obliterate something, as the pieces became blaringly clear. He had gone back in time to free them from Bresslin. How many times had he done this? What did he know? Had he seen?
“Get away from me. You have been controlling this situation all along. Have been controlling her all along. Me all along.”
Brokk shook his head. “You’ve actually got to be joking, right? Memphis, no.” He stepped closer.
Blanching, his ability filled him. “Get away from me, now.”
The ground shuddered beneath their feet, their impending doom clawing closer and closer toward them. He stared at the sky, ashes floating and cascading down at them, overtaking and blotting out any color lingering there. Looking past Brokk, he watched as the first line of dabarnes roared toward them, their festering skin and bloodied teeth coming into focus. All this promise of being the saviors with no guarantee that they could get Emory back, that they could even survive this. Shifting his weight, he spun, his decision steeling in his heart. Something heavy slammed into his temple as the world spun into a giant mass.
He saw Brokk’s face, his eyebrows knitting together as he whispered, “Hold on. Please.” He dropped, his body colliding with ice, as he was plunged into oblivion.
25
Adair
He landed on the ground in a plume of smoke. His fingers dug into the dirt, shifting and searching, as the sun broke over the horizon. The smoke settled, curling around his feet in black and purple hues. The brisk morning air collected dew, and as he rose, small puffs of mist flaring in front of him.
“My King?” The dabarne’s voice brushed up against his mind, as the creature prowled to his side. It was a question and a recognition, and he bared his teeth as he fixated on the city in front of them. They had travelled through the night, groups of his army breaking off, Adair feeling the shifts of energy like stars streaking across constellations, creating a beautiful serenade of screams that followed him from below. His fire. His carnage. He rolled his neck slowly, bones cracking, as Sarthaven and his father waited for him down below. A distant thought tugged at his mind, that once, a lifetime ago, this city had been his lifeline, his hope to explore and to create. Swallowing hard, the thought dissipated, as one thought filled his mind, the magic ripping through his bloodstream, building and building.
He whispered, more to himself, “I go in first, alone. Cesan is mine.” Approving roars and cackles rippled behind him as he unsheathed his blade, his reflection shimmering in the steel, distorted by blood. He stalked toward the city that once was said to bustle with life, flourish with culture. It was the heart of their country, where trading routes were established with the Shattered Isles, the first King of Kiero sat on his throne, where the monarchy was built. And destroyed.
Now the towering buildings were tainted, red and black smears staining the ivory cement. He shivered, clenching his blade tighter as the first wall of magic hit him like a breaking wave against a rock. Smoke curled, floating above the streets, and he could hear the distant cries, the shuddering roars. So not all the dabarnes came to the Academy. His footfalls were soft against the dirt, the late summer air humid, making his clothes stick. The homes and towers curled toward the sky, and as he drew closer the true might of the city unfurled around him. Excitement surged through him, as he approached the blackened gates, the curled metal creating beautiful designs reflecting the dawn.
The tang of magic intensified. A guttural growl sounded behind the gates as they creaked open. “And who are you?” Slow steps sounded as the owner of the voice came into view.
Adair stood still, raising his eyebrow in cool composure. Inside, he blanched, ripping against his confines, sickened
