Her throat bobbed, but she said, “Anything.”
The image faded, then shifted. The two figures were now sitting at the desk on opposite sides. Emylia held her crystal like she always did when preparing to use her sight. Closing her eyes, she said, “What would you like to ask this time, Des?”
His voice came out cold. Firm. “Find my mother.”
47
Her eyes flew open at once. “What?”
“I need you to channel my mother’s ethera.”
She shook her head. “I’m a seer, not a medium. I don’t commune with the dead.”
“If you can see her, you can draw her forth. I told you; I’ve been reading about the Art of the ethera and sanguina. I’ve studied your Art too. You can use the sight to channel my mother.”
“Des…”
“You’re powerful enough to do this. I know you are. If I’m not going to see her again like Father promised, then I must at least speak to her.” He paused, then added, “You said you’d do anything for me.”
Emylia pursed her lips, and for a moment Teryn thought she might refuse. Then her expression softened. Her voice came out small. “I’ll try.”
“Thank you,” Desmond said. “Please find her. The spirit of Morgana Solaria.”
Her eyes widened. “Morgana Solaria,” she echoed. “The Queen of Syrus? You…You’re…”
“Prince Desmond Solaria. Son of King Darius Solaria.”
A look of hurt crossed her face. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You loved me for me. I wantedsomeoneto love me as I am. For once.” Emylia stared back at him, brow furrowed. A tic formed at the corner of Desmond’s jaw. “Besides, Father always told me being a royal of this world was nothing when we were the true monarchs of the fae. Now will you find her or not?”
She gave him a curt nod and settled into her meditation.
The room fell under a tense silence as seconds ticked past. Then minutes.
Desmond remained in place at the other side of the desk, hands perched upon his knees. The only sign of his anxiety was the slight jitter of his leg.
“I see her,” Emylia whispered.
Desmond sat upright, posture rigid. “You…you do?”
“Yes,” she said with a smile. “She looks just like you.”
“Make eye contact. Draw her to you.”
“I…I don’t know?—”
“Do it.”
Emylia returned to silence. Then, “I made eye contact. She…she doesn’t look happy.”
“Draw her soul to yours. See yourself connecting with her mind. When she’s close, touch her ethera.”
Emylia trembled from head to toe. “She…she doesn’t want me to touch her.”
“Do it, Emylia,” Desmond growled. “Do it now.”
Emylia let out a strangled cry, then her eyes shot open. Rage darkened her expression. “Desmond,” she said, but her voice sounded wrong. Too deep. Too lilting. “What have you done?”
