“It’s too late.” Kezik’s voice breaks.
None raise a voice to argue. For what could they say? None of them yet know the extent of their diminished power. Vos had been the first to suffer for it, but each know that, with time, such suffering will be shared by them all.
A shrill and bloodcurdling scream breaks the quiet, and every head whips toward the hall. Mere moments pass before they’ve moved throughthe corridor and into the room where he’d left his mate to grieve.
Muri is on her knees before the child, held by a fist gripping her hair, a feynstone blade at her throat.
“Do it!” Vos demands through clenched teeth.
“I can’t,” Muri says, her bottom lip trembling.
“Let her go, Vos!” Durek yells over the fracturing crack of thunder, followed by a web of lightning that illuminates the sky.
“Tell your mate to do as I say, and I will release her!” Vos yells over the sudden deluge of rain brought by Durek’s power.
“Kezik,” Durek growls in warning, “Calm your mate, before I end her.”
Kezik approaches the females cautiously. His eyes flick from those of his mate’s to the dagger she fists, sending rivulets of blood down Muri’s neck to pool on the white silk of her dress. He kneels beside her, cooing soothing words that soften the female’s steel. She relaxes her grip on Muri’s hair and releases the blade to fall clattering upon the floor.
Muri tears away from her, rushing into Durek’s arms with a wracking sob of fear. Kezik alone seems unaffected by his own mate’s wrath, as he bundles her into his arms, smoothing the hair on top of her head.
“You’re selfish!” Vos yells across the room, her voice hoarse and weary. “The fates gift you the power ofShivayand you won’t use it to save the innocent at my feet!”
“The gift is not without sacrifice, Vos. You know that,” Durek growls in defense of his mate.
“I will pay the price,” Vos says, hot tears streaming down her face. “I will pay it!”
“No,” Kezik growls, silencing her.
“All we can ever do is trust the fates,” Muri says weakly.
“Foc. The. Fates,” Vos spits, “And foc the feyn.”
The storm rages in the dead of night, thunder booming with a loud crack and flicker as the winds pick up, howling through the ancient forests of Brax.
When dawn breaks the horizon the next morning the Braxian rains finally begin to ebb. It is a new day, and life on Terr will never be the same. The ancients tore the veils to save the humans, leaving their own speciesto a miserable fate. Their power had been stripped from them, only a fifth of what they had known for millennia remained. Perhaps they could have learned to live with it—had it not already cost them so much.
Durek left the moment Muri began to dream beside him. Unable to find sleep himself, too troubled and plagued with sorrow. His eyes are heavy when he returns to the keep, his head clouded by the foggy haze of exhaustion. Exhaustion that taunts him with the soft ghostly echoes of a crying child.
No. These are no ghostly echoes sent to torment his mind.
His feet quicken beneath him as he rushes through the halls, through deep shadows and bright panels of light cast by the dawn. Sliding to a halt when he sees her, he gasps, wide-eyed, “How?”
Vos beams at the newborn babe nestled in her arms as she rocks it.
“Vos.” He raises his voice, repeating the question, “How?”
“Muri,” she coos, smiling at the child. “Muri brought the child back.”
For all the joy the new mother holds in her arms, he is racked with an equal weight of dread. He rushes toward their room, breath caught in his chest, heart thundering. What price would the fates ask of his mate for the life of the child? What price would she have been willing to pay for her sister’s happiness? Too much. He already knows, the price is too high.
He bursts into their chamber, collapsing onto the bed beside his mate, gripping her shoulders and shaking her forcefully.
“Muri. Wake up.”
She moans, and he puffs out a sigh of relief. She’s alive. He takes her hands in his own and asks, “What have you done?”
Her smile is weak. “Did you see?”
