Every wall I’ve ever put up between me and the rest of the world disappears in the light of that bit of blue. Then I see Jorren’s eyes behind the ball, glowing bright in the darkness.
The world around us returns with my fingers an inch away from the ball, and its power over me disappears. It’s not because I was stronger than that draw. It’s not because something interrupted us like the crashing chair had in the Great Hall. No, Jorren let me go.
“You’re a lost one, aren’t you, Fiona?” Jorren whispers.
I blink. “Lost? What do you mean?” I ask. “And what is that?”
He smiles softly, knowingly. “Touch it and you’ll find the one who lost you.”
“Who lost me? Jorren, I haven’t eaten or had a sip of water in two days. I need clarity, not these cryptic statements.”
He holds the ball out toward me. “You were lost by someone who had a great tie to you, and thus, the god Kaelith holds a bond with you. You’re drawn to my powers in a way that very few others are. This magic will let you see and understand who lost you. You’re not Veris-touched. You’re Kaelith-touched, Fiona.”
My parents. I could see them again. They lost me when I was only a child, and I know they loved me in ways that no one else ever has. What I would do to see them again, to speak to them.
I reach my hand out toward the ball, but I stop. No, I’m not alone with Jorren. There are too many people to count watching me right now. I can’t use my Marks without them seeing, so why would I let anyone know my secrets?
And what if that little ball of light shows them I’m a Priest? That I’m Rhaskar’s adopted daughter? No, that would be a terrible decision, even if it’s something I desperately want to know.
I pull my hand back. “There’s a time and place for everything,” I say. “And this is not it. After the trials, I think I’d like to take you up on that offer.”
He nods, and the ball of blue light disappears. The feelings of warmth and happiness leave along with it.
Jorren says, “Let’s get back to the others. Hopefully, we’ll have food and drink waiting for us.”
As I follow behind him, all I can think of is the fact that I almost made the worst decision possible. All to see my parents. Is it just thehunger that almost convinced me to do that? Or was it something else? Was it Nyxthos’s influence?
It doesn’t matter why I almost fell into ruin. What matters is that I make sure I don’t let it happen again.
Interlude 9
Theboywaseighteenwhen he was taken to a world of gray. Of twilight. Of pain.
The boy was eighteen when he was ripped from the ones he trusted. From the ones he loved. From the ones who’d spent the last eighteen years giving him the best life he could imagine.
The boy was eighteen when he found out the truth of his mother’s agreement. Of the war he’d never been a part of. Of the true strength of the bond between him and the dragon who had marked his chest.
Lysara brought him to the Realm of the Dead and promised him two things. She would give him everything he could ever want in exchange for his complete loyalty, and she would break him if he was ever anything but loyal.
The boy was not yet a man when he entered that twilight land. He had not known the love of a woman, nor watched as the light faded from a man’s eyes. His hands had never burned a man to ash. The hardness of the world was still a stranger.
He knew the safe swordplay his family had taught him, where no one is ever truly hurt. The sun rising over Skycrest had warmed his mornings. He’d known the laughter of a child and the song of a bard. Life, rather than death, had been his companion.
But the Goddess of Life did not rule this world of gray. It was ruled by Lysara, and while she was the most beautiful of all the gods, of all Nyth, beauty and life do not always lie along the same path.
As Lysara pulled him and the red dragon from Nyth into her castle, he was amazed. He saw the beauty in everything. The crimson marble that was shaded with black. The crystal lanterns, which had been carved into skulls and serpents and flashed with bright flames. Rugs woven in intricate patterns drew his gaze. A mosaic of red and black on the dome ceiling of her throne room had been created in Lysara’s image as she walked naked through a village.
Against the far wall, a gagged and naked man hung from iron shackles. Beside him was a woman, just as naked. He noticed them, yet said nothing, for he didn’t understand their purpose.
But the dragon did. The dragon knew what was waiting for the boy here. Pain. Death. Chains. Lysara would want the boy to become just like her. Broken. Cold. Full of hate and fury. Shewould wrap it in beauty and seduction, though. She did not think herself terrible. Does anyone?
“Azric,” Lysara purred as she took his hand and led him to the two figures hanging from the wall. “These two humans have committed crimes and need to be punished. You will take care of this for me.”
He frowned as he stared first at the man and then at the woman who whimpered. Part of him, the young man who was interested in the naked female form, looked her over. When he noticed the deep wounds across her stomach where claws had dug into muscle, all desire was lost. He knew who he spoke to, though, and he was no fool. He could not tell the goddess to treat the woman’s wounds.
“What did they do?” he asked, even as bile rose in his throat. He was doing his best to be strong as his father would have. He tried to mimic his father when he hid his feelings behind a mask. It was not a very convincing impression, and Lysara saw through it immediately. The cracking voice. The quivering jaw. The way his hands shook at his sides.
They were normal reactions for a boy who’d never experienced the hardness of the world, but she would not tolerate weakness. He was to lead her troops against the greatest enemy any world had ever known, and cruelty was what she would instill in him.
