Hope blossomed deep in her chest as she whispered, “Alby? You’re alive?”
His red hair was dishevelled, green eyes alit. The closer Emory looked, though she didn’t remember Alby being that tall—or bulky for that matter. Taut muscles were exposed from underneath his t-shirt, and she flushed deeply as he caught her staring. Movement caught her eye from behind him—the guards. Looking exasperated, he started rubbing his hands together as if he were cold.
Realizing she was still standing there, he mouthed, “Run,” at her.
Suddenly, a funnel cloud twisted from the now black sky devouring everything as it touched the earth. The man, who she now knew wasn’t Alby, stood taller, and twirling his hands, the twister roared toward the tunnel. He was controlling it. She whipped around and sprinted to the edge of the woods, her heart sounding in her ears.
Not a minute later, screams resonated behind her, and not looking back, she wove around the trees as she broke through the edge of the forest. She spotted a rotting tree trunk tucked away behind some undergrowth. Perfect.
She flung herself over the trunk and rolled her body neatly behind it. Shivering and teeth chattering, the shock was settling in. That was too close. Squeezing her eyes shut, Emory concentrated on her breaths, trying to calm herself. She would not panic.
A branch cracked near her left side.
Eyes flicking open, she came face-to-face with deep green eyes. Emory screeched, “Get away from me!!”
Jumping up, she rolled from her hiding spot, tears threatening to overflow from her eyes. She sprang into a run, the stranger following close at her heels.
“Hey! Wait!”
Catching up to her, he cut off her path, arms folded across his chest. She had to stay focused.
Find Brokk. Don’t get caught.
“Aren’t you at least going to say thank you?”
Sighing, she nodded her head once in his direction. “Thank you.” She tried to move around him, but he caught her arm, tightly.
“Who are you?”
Wrenching from his grip, she looked up at him in confusion now, assuming he was joking. His face was set with a scary determination.
“Who are you?” She shot the question right back at him.
“Look, since you were being trailed by Adair’s soldiers, you are either dangerous or important. You came out of the Academy which I thought had been destroyed. Who exactly are you?” the man reiterated.
Take a risk. Her gut urged her to tell the truth, while her heart wistfully leaned toward lying. She exhaled. “I’m Emory Fae, Heir to Kiero.”
It was half whispered, but his face drained of color all the same. A knife she didn’t know he had on him was quickly held against her throat as he shoved her against the nearest tree. The steel bit into her skin, droplets of blood trickling down her neck.
A slight breeze tousled her hair, and his eyes flicked back and forth as he took her in. Narrowing his eyes, he murmured, “So you are both dangerous and important.”
She had nothing to say to that. He huffed, talking more to himself. “Today really couldn’t get any worse, could it?”
Dropping the knife, he ran his hand through his hair. “I’m assuming you have mistaken me for Alby, since we’re twins. But the more important question is how he could be alive when I thought him to be dead years ago? When the Academy fell...”
She cut him off, “It never fell.”
He tilted his head in question.
“Over the years, a resistance has been building, hiding from Adair until we were betrayed by one of our own. Alby was part of the Academy, but Adair...he has him now.” The words came out in a rush.
“So, it was true. There were always theories, but it seemed too unrealistic that some of the most influential people of our country would stand by and do nothing while thousands died.”
She cringed as if he had slapped her.
“Especially you, Emory Fae. You alone could have gotten Adair’s attention and made a difference. Anyone who is anyone knows about Adair’s blood feud with your family. Exactly how is it that you of all people are alive?”
Before she could answer, a husky voice called out, “Azarius!””
He snapped to attention, the knife flashing back, holding her from running. His anger was stifling.
“Hello, Lorne.” Azarius tipped his head toward his friend, his eyes never leaving hers.
Emory took in the other man, his sunkissed skin and deep eyes, dressed in a worn jacket and ripped pants. His sword was sheathed at his hip; Emory watched his hands slowly move toward it.
“What news?” Lorne asked.
“It would seem Adair’s men have found what they were looking for. They left very few survivors.”
Memphis. It felt as if someone had physically winded her. She shook her head wildly and asked, “A man with blonde hair...did you see him?”
“You don’t get the privilege of knowing that!” Azarius snapped at her and shot Lorne a look that stopped him from saying anything further.
Lorne slowly asked, “Should we bring her to Morgan?” He fidgeted with his hands, the notion setting him on edge.
“No. This one I will dispose of myself. You tell Morgan there was nothing to report.”
“Azarius.”
“NO!” He whipped around and whispered something to Lorne in agitation.
This is it.
She had never thought about her death much. She thought she would live a full, quiet life. But here she was, thoughts frantically running through her mind as Lorne turned his back, walking away and leaving Azarius and her alone once more. She was frozen, her heart pounding—and wishing.
Her core warmed as those golden eyes filled her mind. Brokk Foster. How she needed just one moment with him—to try to explain that her fear in him was misplaced. Was fabricated all thanks to Memphis. That she had been wrong not to give him a chance.
Emory closed her eyes and, above all else, wished desperately she wasn’t alone.
The wind
