Pulling my hand away from his, I asked the question I both needed and dreaded the answer to. Unable to hold my emotions at bay, my voice trembled as I said, “How is this one of your memories, Endymion?”
He steeled himself before saying, “Because, Nyla, it was me who spoke those words a lifetime ago.”
I stumbled back, my world crashing down on me.
“You…” I said, my panic stealing the rest of my words as I began to hyperventilate.
He stepped toward me, and I put a hand up, taking another stepback. Eyes wide, I stared at him. Really stared at him.
Hadn’t I been the one to say he didn’t look like an autumn fae? Hadn’t I been the one to feel that there was something different about him? Hadn’t I been the one to say his powers weren’t like the others? Hadn’t he been the one to give me daggers that only those with arcane abilities could use? Hadn’t he told me he had access to all four elements?
“No,” I said, trying to will the word true.
This couldn’t be happening.
I took another step away from him, and I could tell it was taking every ounce of restraint for him to give me the space I needed.
My breaths came in heavy as I struggled to keep myself from spiraling, and I was vaguely aware when our surroundings began to change in rapid succession.
“Little Star, I need you to breathe.”
I wanted to yell at him. To tell him he had no right to call me that. But all I could do was rest my hands on my knees as oxygen betrayed me. Taking in heavy gulps of air when afforded the mercy, I distantly noted our surroundings flipping through my memories.
The cabin.
Mrs. E’s.
Leighmullan.
The training ring.
“Nyla, please,” Endymion said, placing a gentle hand on my back.
I woke up screaming, nearly falling face-first into the table, Artton catching me in time. I scrambled out of his grasp, turning to sit on the table instead.
“Nyleeria?” Caius’ deep voice said, permeating my panic, “what’s wrong.”
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. My shoulders raised and fell with the harsh breaths still fueled by panic. The same panic that was making my vision blacken at the edges.
“Here,” Artton said from the couch, handing me a short glass ofamber liquid. I’d never had a drop of spirits in my life, but if there was any time that called for it, it was then.
Taking the proffered glass, I steadied my breathing long enough to pound it back in one go. Hissing against the burn, I shoved the glass back at Artton before it hit my stomach. “Another.”
“Spark, I thin?—”
Utterly uninterested in whatever fucken excuse he was about to spew next, I spotted the ornate, rectangular decanter and grabbed it. Sliding the glass stopper out, I unceremoniously brought the entire thing to my lips and took two long pulls before Caius wrapped his hands around mine and lowered it. Knowing I’d had more than my share as the warm reprieve of its poison slid through my veins, I relinquished it to him and took a moment to finally breathe.
Caius sat on the couch beside Artton and gave me a few minutes to compose myself before saying, “What happened, Nyleeria?” His tone was kind, but there was no mistaking the undertone of demand in his question.
I didn’t answer him; instead, I continued to wrap my mind around what I’d just learned.
What else had I missed? What else did it mean? If I were to believe that Endymion was the one who created the spark, then what other truths had been right in front of me—only I had no idea what they’d meant.
My focus shifted to Artton as another piece shifted into place.
Endymion wasn’t the only one who commanded all four elements. Nor was he the only one with access arcane powers. Fuck, how many times had I seen similarities in their features, in their cerulean eyes?
Then there was Caius. Why had he given Endymion a residence here? Yes, they’d grown up together, but why? And why was Caius so adamant that the spark was the key to healing Lumnara—so much so he’d committed patricide for this truth?
