“Absolutely not. We stick together.”
“Azarius, think of Alby. Together, we don’t stand a chance to find him before we are either caught or killed.” Emory felt the determination burning through her, her jaw set stubbornly.
Azarius whispered, “How can I trust you?”
“Give me a chance to gain your trust.”
He ran his fingers through his hair, and blowing air through his mouth, he resigned. “Fine. I will give you an hour. That’s it. We meet back here. If things go bad and you’re late, I’m not waiting up for you.” Turning his back, he walked away, disappearing into the mass of black bodies.
She turned the opposite direction, her heart aching as if it was a shattering window, slowly and then all at once.
Chapter Forty
Brokk
He wished for death. Death would be lying in a soft bed and drifting off to his final sleep. It would be easy. Above all, it would be welcomed.
He closed his eyes and ached for relief. His body was sprawled across the wooden table they had built in the middle of the room. His face was beyond recognizable, open gashes covering almost every inch of his skin. They never let him fully heal—only enough to be kept alive. A giggle sounded from the corner of the room, and he visibly flinched.
They whispered from the darkness, “Do you want to hear another story?”
He didn’t have the will power anymore to say no. They always took his silence for a compliant yes.
“Lovely. We start off where a collection of strangers are learning about each other. One is much more powerful than the others and would abuse his power if he knew. So, they send out another copy of himself to bring peace to their land. Sounding familiar so far?”
He gritted his teeth, searing pain shooting across his face. He didn’t respond but watched as their hollow eye sockets stared at him.
“And so, the sisters were relieved. Soon, what had been stolen from them would be returned. The wrongs in this world would disappear. Adair will no longer sit on his broken throne, and Emory Fae will die.”
What?
He snapped to attention. Usually their “stories” were cryptic and just repeating how they were doing him a favor—that this was for the best. Not that they were just as power hungry, twisted, and ruthless. Not at all. But there was no news about how far the doppelganger had gone—until now.
Emory. His heart clenched at the mention of her, worry making him want to break free and destroy these Oilean.
They continued their story as he licked his cracked lips. “And so, since the sisters knew that this was going to come to an end soon—the royal line, the Faes, and you—they figured they would share some secrets.”
Giggles resonated all around him, and he flexed, trying to sit up. Trying to do anything.
“You see, Brokk Foster, we have learned such interesting facts about you. Peyton, having known your mother, can compare similarities between you two. Your shapeshifter qualities upon being induced by our serums are basic. You turn into your second form, the wolf, but the rest... Well, that is where things get more interesting, very interesting indeed.”
What had they found out?
Curiosity built; despite everything they had done to him. Test after test. No one in his life had been able to explain why he had more powers. Why he was so different.
They approached him slowly, in the half light, coming closer and closer to the table. The Oilean’s leader held another knife, and Brokk started whispering, “No, no, no, please no.”
He had to hold on. He had to escape. If not for Black Dawn, for himself.
Determination flooded into him, lighting himself with motivation he didn’t know he had. He flicked his eyes open, darting around the room. Be resourceful, Brokk. Think.
They had cleared the room; the only things left were cracked lamps hanging on the wall.
“Ahh. Look, sisters, we have put a spark in him.”
His head snapped toward them, and he sneered at their elation.
“You know what we must do now...not let his hope catch.” She pulled a short silver dagger from a sheath attached to her hip.
No. No. I will not survive this.
“Now, I will warn you, this will not be pleasant.”
Laughter echoed around him.
His body felt as if he was being dragged down slowly through water. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move. The dagger bit as it slid in between his ribs, and the world spun in pain.
Chapter Forty-One
Emory
She wove further and further down into the bellows of this land. Adair’s kingdom was like an ant hill, twisting and interconnected. Sweat poured off her body, and she walked as fast as she dared, trying not to draw attention to herself.
By now, the hallways had emptied besides the lingering soldiers talking in excited, hushed voices. She caught clips of the conversations, and her heart dropped like a stone. Keeping her eyes ahead, she took in everything. She had passed what looked like a market, vendors of food, clothes, wine and instruments were splayed in an attractive display. Past that, a blacksmith’s shop, a beautiful woman stepping out from the front door, covered in soot and sweat.
Pushing herself faster, Emory made note of the activity within Adair’s kingdom. Some children ran behind, waving goodbye as their fathers and mothers disappeared. She took a sharp turn left and was met with another series of stairs. She took them two at a time.
Azarius will make it. He won’t get caught, she repeated this like a mantra.
“Soldier! You are to report to the stadium at once. The King’s orders.” The voice was as sharp as knives, and she froze.
Come closer you. I dare you.
“Soldier!”
She heard his footsteps when he clambered down the stairs toward her.
It was indeed my lucky day.
Her movements were fast and sure. She twisted around, and the guard froze, taking her in. She took the opportunity to dive behind him, holding her knife to his throat. “Make a noise, and you’re dead.”
He was frozen against her hold, and up close, he couldn’t
