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Killen stretched his hands out to embrace her. ‘My aunt. My mother’s sister-in-law.’
‘You do know me.’
Killen grunted as he released her from his arms. ‘How could I not? She esteems you no end.’
Kesia clapped her hands together with joy. ‘She spoke of me?’
‘All the time. She adores you and considers you as a blood sister.’
‘To hear that gives me so much happiness. I miss her so.’
‘I’m sure she misses you too. I’ll invite her to visit once calm reigns over Katáne.’
‘Calm, Killen?’ Kesia said. ‘That might take a while.’
He smiled. ‘Which makes me the eternal optimist in a fokkin’ hurry.’
She stared at him for a beat. ‘I now understand why the hawkstone chose you. You have a gravitas and charisma that can move mountains. Helps that you’re a freakin handsome devil with brilliant charm, and I sense cocky, sometimes arrogant, genius-level intellect.’
Killen laughed in a deep rumble. ‘Some say that. The fact is I’m a mess of contradictory virtues and vices. Beneath my enigmatic smile lies a poet-philosopher and a debilitating doubter on some days.’
Kesia laughed, nabbed his hand and pulled him away into a far corner of the kälajan’s compound where the wild grass beat up against the rocky terrain in the evening wind.
Killen flicked a hand, and an invisible barrier of íkan rose around them.
The Katánian noblewoman gifted him a half smile. ‘Apologies for interrupting your night, but I couldn’t wait any more to meet you.’
‘De nada,’ Killen rasped before leaning in closer. ‘It warms me to welcome someone eager to be acquainted with me outside my close companions. Many want me dead, I hear. All because I wear a fokkin’ precious jewel on my forehead.’
He gave a dry laugh, one free of humour.
Kesia must have sensed the storm inside him, so she reached out and squeezed his arm.
‘Don’t be so hard on yourself, nephew. You can do this. You are ready enough.’
‘Am I?’ he rasped.
She nodded. ‘The hawkstone chose you for such a time as this. It will help light the way even in the darkest path.’
He shot a grateful smile. ‘Sante aunt, I’ll hold onto those words. For they remind me of something K’Elisa would have said.’
Kesia’s eyes darted up to his forehead. ‘May I touch it? The hawkstone, I mean?’
His eyes narrowed with a gleam. ‘Why is everyone so mesmerised by my flasher?’
‘It is the stuff of legends,’ Kesia added. ‘Some even doubt it exists. They say it is forever lost.’
Killen cocked his head and studied the woman for a beat.
With a sigh, he flicked a finger, and a curtain of gold íkan strands shielding them thickened even more. ‘Take care, aunt, it can get a little bright.’
Kesia stared as he swept aside the messy, silver hair falling over his brow. He stood tall as the hawkstone unleashed itself and revealed its full brilliance.
Kesia gasped as she threw her hands before her face to stop the light from burning her irises.
‘That Killen Sable is Kag?an’s eye, without equal.’
‘You’ve no idea,’ he drawled. ‘It’s a double-edged sword—a blessing and a curse. It lights the way, reveals shadows, and casts the living into the dead. While freakin’ tiring me out. Out of interest, why did you call it the eye of the eagle?’
