Desmond clasped a hand over his mouth, his expression twisted with emotion. His throat bobbed. Once. Twice. Finally, he lowered his hand and approached Emylia. “I wanted to hear your voice again, Mother. I miss you so much.”
His mother’s voice hesitated before it emerged from Emylia’s mouth again. “I missed you too, my darling, but this isn't right. You should leave me at peace.”
“I want you to come back.”
“That isn’t possible.”
“What if it is?” With slow, deliberate movements, Desmond leaned forward. One palm covered Emylia’s hands and the crystal within. The other reached for the collar of his jacket and began to loosen the buttons, one at a time.
“What are you doing, Desmond?” his mother’s voice asked.
“I want you back, and I’m willing to sacrifice half my heart to get it.” He now had the top of his coat unbuttoned. He pulled it back to reveal a strange marking on the white shirt he wore beneath it. It was a complex pattern drawn over his sternum, illustrated with a dark ink Teryn suspected was blood.
“No!” his mother’s voice shouted, erupting from Emylia’s lips. A cyclone of air spiraled around Emylia, blowing the seer’s hair back and sending papers soaring off the desk. “I don't want to come back! Leave me at peace!”
“No, Mother,” Desmond said calmly as he lifted Emylia’s hands and brought them toward the marking on his shirt. “I need you.”
The wind increased, and Desmond struggled to bring her hands the rest of the way to his chest. The lanterns lighting the room flared in a roar of fire, casting it in an orange glow. Emylia’s face angled up at Desmond, her lips peeled back from her teeth. “Let. Me. Go.”
Teryn wasn’t sure whose voice spoke then, for it seemed both Emylia and Desmond’s mother cried out in tandem.
Desmond’s eyes went wide as he looked down at Emylia, at her twisted expression. He seemed to falter, and the cyclone of wind increased. Desmond stumbled back, breaking contact with Emylia’s hands. She, in turn, dropped the crystal and tumbled from her chair.
In the next moment, the wind was gone, the lanterns extinguished save for one.
Teryn blinked to adjust to the shift in light.
“Why, Mother?” came Desmond’s trembling voice. He stared at the ceiling, blinking back tears, shoulders slumped. “Why didn’t you want to come back? Is your love for me so weak?”
Only silence answered.
With a heavy sigh, he lowered his gaze. Teryn saw the motionless heap on the floor before Desmond did.
“Emylia!” Desmond called out, rushing to her side. She was sprawled beside her chair, lips pale, face coated in a sheen of sweat. Her crystal lay a foot away from her empty palm. He fell onto the floor and pulled her into his lap. “Say something. Please!”
She mumbled incoherently as blood trickled from her nose.
“No, please no.” He rocked her in his lap, tears streaming from his eyes. “I’m so sorry. Forgive me, Em. I did this. I didn’t know this would happen.”
“Des,” she said, voice weak. She lifted a hand toward his cheek but dropped it before it could make contact. Her face went slack, body limp. Fresh blood trickled over her lips, her chin.
Desmond stared down at her, eyes wide with terror. “No, no, no. Emylia!”
She was silent. Still.
A sob broke from Desmond’s throat. He pressed his hands to her cheeks, her neck, her wrist, hands trembling with every move. As he released her wrist, his eyes fell on what lay discarded beside her. The crystal. His trembling ceased. With a chilling calm, he grabbed the amber stone. Then, folding her limp fingers around it, he pressed it to his chest, directly over the blood marking his shirt. As soon as the crystal made contact, Desmond heaved forward with an agonized grunt. He stayed like that for several moments, eyes pinched tight. Then his face relaxed. Slowly, he let Emylia’s hand slide from around the crystal, from his chest, to the ground.
He cradled the crystal to him. “I’ll make this right, Em,” he whispered. “I’ll bring you back. I’ve given up half my heart to do so. It belongs to you now.”
He crouched beside Emylia’s lifeless body and caressed her brow. “Forget my father. Let him stay cursed.” He brought his lips close to her ear. “I’ll find the Heart of El’Ara myself. I’ll find the mother and make sure she never bears this true Morkara. Then when I am Morkaius, I’ll find you a new body and we will rule together.”
Teryn felt colder than he ever had before. He no longer held any doubt about who Desmond was. He wasn’t Morkai’s son, but the sorcerer himself. And he’d trapped Emylia in the crystal out of a dark and treacherous love.
Teryn slowly turned to face her and noted her pursed lips, her empty eyes. “He didn’t wait until he was Morkaius,” she said, voice hollow.
She waved her hand, and their surroundings shifted. Teryn found himself in a candlelit bedroom he’d never seen before. From the gilded portraits lining the walls and the elegant furnishings, Teryn guessed it was inside a palace or manor. The only thing that belied the room’s grandeur was the table that stood at the far end of the room, its surface littered with books, vials, and stacks of paper. It reminded Teryn of the contents in the tower library.
Beside a large four-poster bed stood Morkai—and this time Teryn could see all the signs that he was a slightly older version of Desmond. He had the same ageless grace that the former duke had when he’d been alive, but the tender sorrow he’d glimpsed in the younger man’s eyes too. He stared down at the bed. Or, more accurately, the female body that laid upon it.
