Emylia began to tremble, and her voice came out weak and strained. “Desmond, that’s too much. I can’t…I can’t see any more than that. I need to come out of the channel?—”
“No!” His shout made her jump in her seat. He softened his tone. “No, Emy, you’re doing great. We can keep going. I’ll find a better question.” He hung his head and planted his hands at the end of the desk. “It isn't El’Ara my father needs. Not for what he needs to do. It’s the power of the Morkaius.”
Morkaius. Another word that sounded so much like Morkai.
He returned to Emylia’s side and kneeled on the floor again. “Can one claim the power of the Morkaius without entering El’Ara? Can one become Morkaius ofthisworld?”
Emylia shifted in her seat, shaking her head. “I don't like this. I’m seeing too much darkness.”
“You can do this, Emy. I believe in you. Ineedyou to do this.”
She shuddered but settled back into her trance. After a deep exhale, her voice regained its steady tone. “To gain the power of the Morkaius, one must first become King of Magic, a crown given, not taken, and reign over El’Ara’s abandoned heart.”
“What is El’Ara’s abandoned heart? Where do I find it?”
“A land left in the wake of the Veil. A heart that once was one, now split by three crowns. One crown rests upon the birthplace of the mother you seek. To become Morkaius of El’Ara’s heart, harness the magic that seeps from its center.”
Desmond’s face broke into a grin. He grabbed paper, ink, and quill from the desk and began to write. “A crown given, not taken. Reign over El’Ara’s heart. Harness the magic?—”
“He who harnesses the magic will be destroyed by it.”
His pen stilled over his paper. “What?”
“El’Ara’s magic is too strong to be contained by any man, neither mortal nor fae. It will eat through living flesh and burn living blood. No Morkaius shall survive the harnessing.”
His eyes shot to Emylia, and he pursed his lips so tight, they lost color. Then, with a shout, he shot to his feet and swept his arms across the desk, sending books, ink, and paper flying. Emylia opened her eyes and let out a cry, backing away from him, chest heaving.
Silence enveloped the room while the two remained motionless, surrounded by the last of the fluttering papers.
“What's wrong with you?” Emylia finally shouted. “You could have hurt me, forcing me out of a channel like that!”
As his eyes met hers, his face twisted with anguish. He ran to her and gathered her in his arms. “Forgive me, Emylia. Forgive me.”
She remained stiff in his arms for several long moments until she softened against him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “I’ll try again, Des. We’ll find the answers you need.”
“I fear what you told me was answer enough,” he said, voice muffled as he spoke into her hair. “My father’s mission is impossible. And yet, we must find a way. Father must become Morkaius.”
She pulled back and glanced up at him. “Why? What does that word even mean?”
“It means High King of Magic, and it’s Father’s birthright. Becoming Morkaius will give him access to magic beyond what we know.”
Emylia frowned. “What kind of magic?”
His expression hardened. “The kind that can bring my mother back.”
“Your…mother.”
He nodded. “She died, like yours, but not during childbirth. She died of illness.”
Emylia’s face sank with pity. She brought a gentle hand to his cheek. “Des, no one can bring someone back from the dead.”
“The Morkaius can.”
“But how can your father become this…this Morkaius? You heard the words. He who harnesses the magic will be destroyed by it.”
Desmond shook his head. “Father will find a way. Either that or he will find this mother the prophecy spoke of and end her.”
Teryn shuddered at the ice in his tone.
