A slow smile splayed on his lips, and Nei backed away, her softness gone as she looked at him. The drums and laughter spun around them, the rest of the Academy oblivious to the shift of energy, her panic bleeding into her features. His blood felt like it was on fire, and he turned, locking eyes with the Prince of the Shattered Isles. Emory was walking toward him now, his sarcastic jabs lost to him as Adair mouthed one word to him, “Run.” Marquis’s skin paled.
The world shuddered beneath him, as Adair started screaming. Everyone paused, looking to their King who crouched down low on the ground, writhing in pain.
“Adair, you don’t have to do this. Please,” Roque’s voice cut through his mind, and he growled, clenching his teeth. “The Book of Old only has one motive, one reason for existing.”
The pain stopped abruptly, and Adair stood, shaking, and whispered to Roque, “To end you.”
The killing blow was crippling and unyielding, and Adair obliterated everything the acclaimed King of Kiero was. His bones turned to ash, his blood boiling and his nerve endings exploding until he dropped. And the magic that was slumbering within Adair shuddered through him with such a crippling force, it was like diving into the coolest water, wiping away any weariness, any pain, any confusion, any weakness. It filled his heart with purpose and his ability with strength and melded into everything he was.
And blackened his soul.
Adair ripped himself from Roque’s lifeless body in churning black smoke. Crossing the space, he hurtled toward Nei. She was flung back as Adair collided with her, his dark magic soaking into her veins, charring and burning. Blistering rage consumed Adair, as he felt her major organs shut down, the dark magic consuming her. In mere seconds, Nei Fae was dead.
Separating himself from her body, Adair was flying upward in the inky smoke.
The screams rose and fell, building with every second as Adair’s eyes flew open. In the cool darkness of the tunnel, he lurched forward, dry heaving. Looking down at his arms, his pale skin was streaked with blackened veins.
Vibrating, he clawed at his chest, ripping his shirt until he saw the monstrous burns exactly where his heart was, his skin raw and swollen. The world spun, and he reached for the familiar depth of his ability only to be met with a wall.
“Finally.”
The voices caressed and overlapped in his mind. They were the maestro, and now Adair was the instrument, bowing to their commanding hands. Heaving again, he emptied his stomach, as he was pulled down into the depths of his consciousness.
All the hope and beauty that the lustrous magic showed him before was gone. He felt himself collapse as their claws sunk themselves into his heart. Images flashed through his mind, cruel and sharp and unrelenting. Adair was sucked into the memory, and it charged through him.
Roque Fae looked around the room, raising a dark eyebrow to the two beautiful women seated to his left. “You’re sure the room is protected?”
The woman chuckled. “Roque, after all these years, you still doubt us?”
An uneasy tension rippled across the room, and sighing, Roque sat down, his features softening. “No. I don’t. Forgive me.”
The women shook their heads gently, and snapping their fingers, a white light seared down the doorframe. Making sure no one could get in or out. Nei gently clasped his hand underneath the table, squeezing it, and Roque continued, “What should we add today?”
The flickering eyes of the couple lingered on the two dark haired women at the end of the table. Their deep brown eyes were filled with an infinite void that also filled their world, which was foreign to Roque.
Roque chewed his cheek, looking to the man across from him. Damien Foster was the epitome of strength, from his dark hair to his rugged features. They had known each other for years, each meeting bringing quaking memories of pain with them.
Damien was rare, and that was saying a lot among their world. A man who could find and travel amongst worlds? A man who had woven together these meetings, bridging culture, strength, and magic and defying the laws so that they all could sit here. Roque looked at the glistening book in the middle of the table, filled with secrets and spells from each world. Each leader that consisted of the Original Six added to it each time they met, so the integrity of their cultures could be preserved.
It hadn’t been easy learning that there were other worlds connected to Kiero. Damien Foster had discovered the channels in using his abilities, like lifting a veil to show them the truth. Damien had bartered with his life and made sacrifices to get people to listen. To show them the opportunity of an alliance that was woven across time and space. One that Roque and Nei tucked close to their hearts, shielding from their country.
Roque unclasped his hand from Nei’s, and the fey from Daer cleared their throat and said, “It is our turn.”
Roque stated, “And what will you be addressing?”
For a moment, they didn’t say anything but tilted their heads slowly, an identical smile blossoming on their faces. Their whispers made the end of his hair stand on end. “Magic not heard of before by your worlds.”
Looking at the book, it drifted toward them, scraping against the table. Meeting their outstretched hands, the cover flew open, pages churning wildly under their touch. The others shifted uneasily.
The fey looked at each other, their lips splitting into sharpened grins. Soft green light flared from under their fingers, soft and alluring. For a moment, the scent of moss and warm spices filled the room. Strange and vivid, beneath their bony joints, images flared, materializing in the book, as their eerie voices whispered to the pages in a language foreign to them all. The sharp and guttural
