“She won’t make it,” Azarius spat.
Memphis didn’t realize Azarius had moved behind him, and he straightened up to meet him.
“With the risk of infection and loss of blood, she will not survive,” Azarius elaborated.
“And who are you to decide her fate?” Anger swelled in Memphis like a wave.
Narrowing his eyes, Azarius said, “Unlike you, I am a survivor. And as someone who has survived in this world fighting against Adair every day, I have seen wounds like this, and it does not end well.”
“Azarius...” Alby said his name quietly.
Azarius looked to his brother. “No. You, I haven’t even begun to start with. Stay out of this, Alby.” Then Azarius drove a finger hard into Memphis’s chest. “You have hid away in your Academy while thousands of people have died. And what was it for? The girl who just threw every hope you had away for her throne?” He snorted.
“And now, where does that leave you? Homeless, without direction, hoping that we will take your group in, while in the last years, it was you that left us in the cold.”
Angry spit flew at his face, and Memphis was speechless.
“You call yourself their leader. You don’t have the first idea about sacrifice. You have only done what’s good for you, not your group, and it was all left to your selfish decisions.”
Memphis’s right hook was direct as his fist slammed into Azarius’s jaw, cracking at the impact.
Azarius staggered back, laughing. He spat out blood and rubbed his face. “See? You can’t admit to yourself that it’s true. Her...” he pointed to Nyx, “...blood will be on your hands, including everyone else’s.” He turned away, adding, “As for you, a trial with our leader will settle it.”
Facing the group, Azarius said, “We leave at first light. We take turns being on lookout tonight and get through this together.”
He stalked away, haughtily, leaving Memphis surrounded by broken people.
Chapter Forty-Three
Adair
The knife wedged itself deeply in the wall with a satisfying thud. The black steel was flawless, thanks to having the best smithy in Kiero. The steel was able to cut through rock and marble. Riona Welsh, time after time, had outdone herself.
Adair retrieved it quickly, pacing back and forth. The remaining light of the day spilled into his room—which was in the highest cave. An array of bookshelves and weapons scattered through it. He sent the knife flying once more, its carved hilt gleaming as it soared, and he tried to arrange his thoughts.
How exactly had this happened?
Over the past six years, he had managed to collect order over the entire kingdom but now...not one, but two, resistances had emerged. And Emory from her grave.
Adair grabbed the knife, twirling it between his long fingers. His next decision would dictate everything. When Emory had appeared before him, claiming she had come to join him, he was certain another hallucination had started and what ill timing it was. Yet, she was in the cells, and the rebels had infiltrated his halls. Not only that, but they had managed to escape with all the prisoners.
They had challenged him and succeeded.
Ghosts of the past had returned, and what consuming things they were...
The silver of the blade glinted as he slammed the point into the wood of his desk, his scrolls jumping from the impact. Drumming his fingers, he planned his next move. He would dance with the rebels if they wanted to dance. Finding their whereabouts wouldn’t be hard if he, himself, finally took a part.
For six years, he had hidden and protected the Book of Old. It has been his teacher and the key behind building his empire. His soldiers had scoured the land, recruiting all that would join him and destroying all who wouldn’t. He was their government—their king.
“Isn’t this what you taught me? Isn’t this what you wanted?” Shouting into the silence, his questions hung in the air. Adair gritted his teeth.
If it wasn’t for Memphis and Brokk, he should have known. They had always favored her, wanting to protect her, to love her.
What Emory didn’t realize was that she didn’t have to run. He killed her parents to attain the book, and the Oilean demanded a blood price. A sacrifice for the greater good. They could have been a team—the greatest king and queen. She was his equal. If she wasn’t a rebel spy.
Anger bubbled up inside, and he threw the knife, aiming for the back of the door. He didn’t need to look to know it found its mark. Together, Emory and he could be unstoppable. But if he was wrong about her...
“But you love her.”
The voices cooed around his mind, his cage, mocking him.
His guards had contained her as soon as the unexplainable tornadoes had started, as well as dragging him away to safety. He hadn’t given her a chance to talk to him. Should he?
Stalking around his room, his palms tingled. There had been whispers of a rebel resistance rising because Emory Fae had returned, but he had scoffed at the rumors. It wasn’t until Nyx had come to his court, showing him that the rumors were true. In exchange for Emory, Nyx had foolishly believed that he would grant the rebels freedom.
He had “gifted” her with an enchanted amulet that allowed him to control her and everything that had happened that night. He had hoped she would prove him wrong. He saw Nyx kill that blue haired girl, Bryd. With her death, the Academy had appeared from its concealed state, and his soldiers destroyed it.
He was victorious—until Memphis had gotten Emory out.
Now he had nothing to worry about. She had come right to his doorstep.
As for the other rebels, their time would come.
But how far was Emory willing to go
