Everything happened in clips of violence.
Cesan stalked up to the rover, not giving him a chance to explain, before bones cracked and more blood was spilt. Fists against jaws, might against might.
Adair tripped, landing hard on his knees. Yells, protests, and the one voice who could stop his father’s wrath - “Cesan, stop.”
Roque Fae strode past, Nei followed at his heels, her expression dark and unyielding.
Dry laughter filled the hallway as Cesan turned, his dark eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Roque, I thought this is the very thing we are trained to do when someone threatens our children and our home.”
Spittle and blood flew from the man’s mouth as he barked out a choked laugh. “Threaten? I didn’t know that stepping foot inside your precious Academy was a threat. We were here to talk when your son threatened us.”
Lies.
Adair stood, forcing his shaking 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 roared and shoved him back hard with a pointed looked.
The two men stood in a silent battle before Cesan shook his head. “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 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, son, or best friends. It was like a cord snapping; the frayed edges that had held on for so long were no longer able to bear the weight.
Dread spread with a fury through Adair, cold and numbing, and he did nothing but watch. Roque sighed and turned his attention on the group who were still pinned to the wall and looking at them with curious interest.
“Bresslin, if you could...”
Adair’s mother snapped her frost-bitten fingertips, and the deadly spears turned to water, 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 rising, his voice rang clear, cutting into Adair’s heart. “I am Tadeas Maher of the Shattered Isles. My companions and I have traveled 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 recognize the peace agreement that was made with Kiero, nor do we answer to this pitiful fabrication of a government.” He paused. “Most importantly, you all have terrible manners. Don’t you know you should bow before the new King, which I am pleased to inform you, is me.”
Nei’s skin paled of all color, her mouth hanging ajar. 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 wanted to melt into nothing, to disappear in the shadows. 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.”
Chapter Three
Memphis
The voices were consuming and suffocating. Roaring and crashing, they took up all that he was and left 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 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. Sitting up too fast to pace around his simple room, Memphis’s world tilted. His stomach turned, bile threatening to claw its way back up.
Taking a deep breath, Memphis forced his pained features into a smooth compliance as he paced his room. His body knew the drill: breathe, walk, breathe, walk. Around the two bunkers were the desks and the bookcases. He had been lucky enough to land a suite this year, and 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 overall feelings: snippets of words, of internal battles.
And he knew one thing without a doubt—the Academy was at a huge unrest.
Memphis groaned aloud and 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.
