Wings of Lomay Read online

  “No,” Kiora said. She took a deep breath, slowly lowering her hand to her side. “But if you don’t control your thread, you are going to die.” She pointed up to the barrier, which was now a dark magenta.

  Leith ignored her warning and charged toward her. His thread turned completely.

  Kiora pushed out a burst of magic that knocked him to the ground. He struggled to get up, but she held him there—the fury in his eyes spoke to what would happen if she released him. A tear slipped down her cheek as it began to rain.

  The magical rain poured from the barrier overhead, just as it did from the doorways. The rebels surrounding them stumbled backwards, confused and shocked, as the magic seized Leith in its deadly grasp.

  Alcander came up behind Kiora and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her away from Leith.

  The magic poured all around him, filling his mouth and flashing red as it confirmed the darkness of his thread. Then the magic fulfilled its purpose—it eliminated the threat on the city. Leith melted away, his mouth opened in a silent scream. Having completed its task, the magic ascended back to the barrier.

  Kiora shook off Alcander’s grasp. “Let me explain,” she began shakily, addressing the rebels.

  Einar, a commander in charge of the rebel camp on Lake Everleen, interrupted her. “There is no need to explain. We were told when we arrived what the magic was for and what it would do. We all felt his thread change.”

  Kiora turned her head away.

  The Omelian who had spoken earlier spoke up again. “There are many of us who are grieving here today, and many are angry. But not at you.”

  Kiora pulled her chin up. “I will not push the blame away. It is my fault. I brought your families here. I was unable to defend them.”

  The Omelian stepped forward, dropping to one knee before her. “We have been unable to defend many in the years we have waited for you. The blame is placed on the Shadow.”

  The rest of the group followed his example. They dropped to one knee, bowing their heads in agreement.

  “Thank you,” Kiora said. She motioned for them to rise. Knowing she should say something, she gave a little smile and tried not to look uncomfortable. “I am grateful to have you here, and even more grateful that everyone arrived safely. We have rooms for each of you. Lomay, can you point everyone in the right direction so they can get settled?”

  “Of course,” Lomay said.

  Kiora grabbed Alcander’s hand and pulled him toward the house. “I thought they knew. I thought Lomay told them when he messaged them.”

  Alcander’s lips were tight. “I did as well.”

  “Imagine coming here, expecting a reunion with your wife, and to find out . . .”

  “Did you know the barrier would respond like that?” Alcander asked, opening the door to the main house and ushering her inside.

  “No. It should have given Leith a little more time. Maybe if we could have just talked to him—”

  “His hands were around your throat,” Alcander interrupted. “Had he tried it again, I would have ripped him to shreds myself.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Swordplay

  “IT’S NOT YOUR FAULT,” Alcander said again, following Kiora into the meeting room. He was agitated, and his agitation was irritating her.

  “I know. Leith made his own choices and I tried to warn him. But his wife is dead.”

  “He is not the only one who lost family.”

  “I know, Alcander, but does that mean I’m not allowed to be upset about it?” Kiora asked, jerking a chair out from around the table.

  “Yes. As Einar pointed out, the blame lies with Jasmine. The only one who doesn’t recognize that is you.”

  Emane pulled open the door for Lomay. He followed in behind him with Drustan on their heels. Lomay hobbled over to take his chair. He crossed his hands on the table and looked politely to Kiora, obviously waiting for her to begin the meeting.

  She straightened, clearing her throat. “The rebels must be apprised of the situation before they arrive.”

  Lomay’s head dropped wearily. “I apologize. That was my decision. I thought it might be better if they were told in person.”

  Alcander gaped. “You thought it would be better to have them come, expecting to be reunited with their families, and then tell them?”

  Lomay rubbed the bridge of his nose. “In hindsight, it was a poor choice. I have been distracted as of late.”

  “Lomay!” Alcander leaned forward on the table. “How distracted could you possibly have been to think—”

  “Stop. Please.” Kiora held up her hand. “It’s over, and nothing is going to change what happened.” She took a deep breath. “Lomay, how is the solution for a barrier coming? I want to make sure the rest of the rebels are safe when they arrive.”

  “I nearly have it.”

  There was a strain in his voice Kiora didn’t understand. “Are there problems?”

  “No, no problems. I have worked out what needs to be done. Just a few loose ends to tie up and I will be ready.”

  “That is wonderful news,” she said.

  Lomay smiled tightly. “It is.” Smoothing down his robes, he asked, “Emane, how is the training coming?”

  Emane leaned back in his chair, interlocking his fingers behind his head. “It would be going better if Alcander’s subjects would stop cheating.”

  “They have been so long without magic,” Alcander said. “Telling them they can’t use it after it was just returned to them is difficult.”

  “I understand that,” Emane said. “But I can’t teach them how to fight if they keep finding magical ways around the lessons. Not to mention I’m tired of getting knocked on my butt every thirty minutes by a magical blast from a frustrated Tavean. I have bruises.” He pointed toward his backside.

  Alcander waved him off. “You heal them as fast as you get them.”

  “That doesn’t mean they don’t hurt,” Emane said, his hands dropping back to his lap as he sat up straighter, looking quite insulted.

  “I could take the mesh off the talisman for training and force them to learn,” Kiora said. “Not having a magical escape available might just give them the needed motivation.”

  “Marvelous idea,” Lomay said.

  “There is another problem,” Emane said. “We only have two swords. I can either do a demonstration, or work with one Tavean at a time. The original idea was to set them up in sparring groups—otherwise, this training is going to take longer than we’ve got. I need more weapons.”

  “There aren’t any others to summon,” Lomay said. “This world has not had need of them.”

  “And Meros only has what’s at the castle,” Emane said. “Which isn’t much.”

  “Not that it matters,” Kiora said. “Meros is out of my range for summoning. The weapons need to be made here.”

  “You need craftsmen—smiths or metalworkers,” Drustan said. He tapped his chin in obvious sarcasm. “If only I knew some.”

  Lomay stilled.

  “Craftsmen?” Kiora asked before realizing what he was referring to. “Wait, the Shifters?” Drustan had told her that in the time before the Shadow, every species had different jobs and responsibilities. The Shifters were craftsmen.

  “I don’t know exactly how it would work, given the circumstances.” Drustan gave Lomay a look that conveyed his continued displeasure over the slavery of the Shifters. “But I don’t see any other way to procure the weapons.”

  Emane clicked his tongue, drumming his fingers on the table. “I don’t know, Drustan. We need a lot of swords made. And we need them soon.”

  “We are quite skilled at whatever we put our minds to,” Drustan said, sounding mildly offended that Emane would suggest there was something he wasn’t capable of doing.

  “Do you really think if we force them to come here, they will ‘put their minds to it’?” Emane asked.

  “They certainly won’t if I am around,” Lomay said.

  The table went q
uiet at that—no one knew quite what to say. They couldn’t argue the point.

  Lomay took a deep breath, looking up at them as if coming out of a daze. “Kiora, you still haven’t eaten breakfast. Why don’t you do that, and then come down to the library. I have something I need you to see.” He stood up and grabbed his walking stick. As he came around the table, he paused, placing his hand on Alcander’s shoulder.

  Alcander looked up, confused, as Lomay smiled down at him. Lomay patted him on the shoulder and looked as if he might say something, but instead, his hand slid back to his side, and he hobbled out of the room.

  Emane looked around, bewildered. “Is the meeting over?”

  “It appears so,” Alcander said.

  Kiora scowled at the door. Something was going on with Lomay, but she had no idea what it could be.

  ***

  KIORA TOOK HER FIRST bite of breakfast. It was a little disconcerting—gray and very unappealing. But it was tasty—sweet and creamy, similar to the oats she would eat at home, but smoother.

  “Didn’t you already have breakfast with Emane?” Kiora asked Alcander.

  “No. Emane ate, but I was interrupted too frequently to get a bite.” He shoveled a spoonful into his mouth before pulling a face. “By the Creators, you would have thought there was an Omelian in the kitchen this morning.”

  Kiora laughed. “Omelians like things sweet?”

  Alcander shuddered. “Very.”

  She took another bite. “Who is in the kitchen?”

  “A Tavean, I’m sure. But it has been a while since they have had the opportunity to cook.” His current tone was one that she had been unable to decipher when they first met. But now she knew well the sound of pain overlaid with his Tavean façade of impassive distance.

  Kiora set her spoon down, looking at him intently. “It wasn’t your fault,” she said, repeating his words from earlier.

  He evaluated her for a moment, looking undecided on whether he should say what he was thinking.

  “Go on,” Kiora said. “Say it. You have never been shy about voicing your opinions.”

  Alcander raised one eyebrow. “I was thinking, there are a number of things that are not your fault and yet you continue to carry around grief for them. I wish you would apply the advice to yourself.”

  “I . . .” She looked into her bowl. “It’s not . . .”

  “It’s not the same?” Alcander said. “Is that what you were going to say?”

  Kiora slammed her spoon down. “It’s not!”

  The murmur of voices at the tables around them dropped off. She looked over her shoulder at three Omelians seated at the table behind her and gave them a tight smile. They nodded and politely returned their attention to their breakfast.

  Kiora leaned forward, trying to keep her voice low, but the emotion bubbling beneath the surface was making it difficult. “Your people were enslaved by your uncle. You thought they were dead. There was nothing you could have done, and it was Aimon’s actions, not yours, that kept them there.”

  Alcander reached across the table, gripping her hand. “You almost died trying to save those women and children. Jasmine killed them, Kiora. Not you.”

  “But I was running away from my responsibilities. Lomay warned me—Drustan tried to warn me. And people lost their lives. It is entirely my fault.”

  Alcander stretched across the table and pulled her hand closer to him. His eyes were wide and inches from her face. “The only reason you have a destiny at all is because of Jasmine. She has murdered hundreds of thousands, and each and every one of those acts falls on her head, not yours. You are not responsible for what you failed to stop.”

  Kiora’s eyes filled with tears. “I hate her,” she said, her voice trembling.

  “Good,” he said, squeezing her hand. “Hate her.”

  Kiora took a deep breath. “I can’t keep doing this to myself.”

  Alcander slid back down until he was sitting in his chair again. “No, you can’t. It will destroy you. You have been directing your hate at yourself instead of where it belongs—Jasmine.”

  Kiora felt a shift somewhere deep inside as her anger found a new target. “You’re right. Thank you.” She picked up her spoon, thoughtful as her guilt began to dissipate, and took another bite of breakfast.

  Lomay stepped outside the front door of the main house. He looked up at the barrier, scowled, then disappeared back inside.

  “Have you noticed that Lomay has been acting a little strange lately?” Kiora said.

  “Lomay frequently acts strange. But yes, I know what you mean.”

  “What do you think is wrong?”

  “I don’t know. But I do know that he will keep whatever it is a secret until he’s ready to tell us.”

  “It makes me nervous.”

  Alcander chuckled. “Get used to it. It is how he functions.”

  Kiora took another bite, enjoying the sweetness that Alcander was so disinclined toward. “I still feel unprepared.”

  “We are unprepared.”

  “I know. I am trying to formulate a plan to win this war.”

  “As am I. I hope you have enjoyed more success in your efforts than I have.”

  “Not really. But while trying to assess our assets and decide how to use them, I realized that I don’t know what your staff does.”

  Alcander leaned back, crossing his arms. “The staff has power of its own. You witnessed that at the battle for Tavea. More importantly, it amplifies the powers I already possess.”

  “Your control of wind and water increases?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why aren’t you carrying it?”

  “It seems strange to carry it here. Finished?” he asked, nodding at her bowl. “I thought we could watch a training session with Emane.”

  “Are we checking up on him?” Kiora picked up her bowl and walked around the other tables, smiling at the Omelians as she carried it to the kitchen.

  “You could say that.”

  “He’s doing a fine job, Alcander. I have already checked in on his sessions several times.”

  Alcander smirked. “I’m sure he is. But that’s not actually why we are going.”

  In the city center, on either side of the main house, four rooms occupied the wall, set behind pairs of wooden doors. Alcander pulled one open, ushering her inside.

  Emane and a Tavean stood in the center, swords raised and eyes locked. Emane charged forward. The Tavean stumbled backwards, trying to get his sword up in time. He was slow and awkward, hopelessly outmatched. Realizing eminent defeat, the Tavean dropped his sword in order to raise his hand in front of his face. A blast of magic burst out that caught Emane in the stomach and landed him on his backside.

  Alcander chuckled under his breath. “That is why we came.”

  Emane grunted as he got to his feet, looking at Kiora as if to say, See?

  “We’re going to try something different,” Emane announced, brushing himself off. “Since you can’t seem to stop using magic . . .” He paused to give a pointed look to the Tavean who had just blasted him. “No matter how many times I ask you not to, we are going to practice in an environment without it.”

  The Taveans shifted uncomfortably.

  “You will get your magic back as soon as the training is over,” Kiora announced to soothe the tension in the room. “Emane is right. You all must learn how to fight without it.”

  She removed the sheath from the talisman. The magic in the city vanished. “This is what it will feel like in a battle against the Shadow. Jasmine will take your magic as she has always done, and you will be left helpless against the Shifters. When that time comes, you will have nothing to lean on except what Emane is trying to teach you.”

  Emane jumped in. “I know you are all very familiar with this feeling, and right now you equate it with helplessness.” He spoke slowly, clearly, as if to embed it not only in their minds, but in their hearts as well. “You are not helpless. I will teach you how to fight when all yo
u have is your mind, your body, and your weapon. And although learning the moves and stances I am trying to teach you is important, I need you to realize how much power you still hold when your magic is taken from you. That is what will truly make the difference.”

  The Taveans looked dubious.

  “Perhaps a demonstration is in order,” Emane said. He took the sword from the Tavean he had been working with and tossed it to Alcander, who snatched it out of the air by the hilt, his eyes glittering at the prospect of a battle.

  “I am not asking you to ignore your natural strengths,” Emane said as he strode forward. “As you will see. But you cannot use magic.”

  Kiora leaned against the sidewall. Sliding down, she wrapped her arms around her knees. The other Taveans backed up along the sides, giving Emane and Alcander the floor.

  Emane twirled his sword in a circle as he smirked at Alcander. “Ready?”

  “Always.”

  “You’re about to be embarrassed in front of your subjects.”

  The Taveans shot glares at the Witow who dare insult their king.

  Alcander held his sword out in front of him, signaling his readiness. “Over-confidence can be fatal, Emane.”