“And who were they?”
He clenches and unclenches his fists at his sides. “Veils,” he reveals.
A shiver runs down my spine.
Impossible.This is all impossible.
“Nothing is impossible, Caderyn.”
“No,” I breathe, “this isn’t true. You’re lying. Why are you telling me this?” I demand, walking up and poking a finger in his chest. The red M at his shoulder stands out like a mockery among the lies he’s spewing. “The Veils never served the Noctryns. We detest everything you stand for!”
He looks down at me through his lashes. “I’m telling you this,Heathen, because you deserve to know. You’re half Noctryn, whether you want to admit it or not. This may help you see usin a different light.” His face is stoic, but his eyes are filled with something I can’t quite put my finger on. “What you do with this information is entirely up to you. However, I highly recommend keeping it disclosed. Not everyone is privy to it, not even all of the dark regiment at this academy.”
I walk to stand beside him and clutch the edge of the battlement walls, knuckles turning white as I stare at nothing and everything. All the lessons I was raised upon are carefully crafted lies? Why? Why would the divide between the two powerhouses be encouraged?
Is Kingston being honest, or is this some sort of devious plot to bury me?
I don’t doubt he has something up his sleeve, just like Ambrose said.
“What happened to these so-called royals?” I ask, trying to find holes in his story.
“Glad you asked,” he answers, stepping a little too close and invading my space. “Assassinated. Picked off one by one, and those who they couldn’t get to were targets of a smear campaign, turning the Veils against them,” he says, his breath falling over my ear. “Their most trusted soldiers became their most determined hunters. The immediate royal line was wiped out, and the remaining Noctryns were enlisted as mere foot soldiers.”
The gray stones of Kintoira Academy sit in front of us. An academy built on deceit and sinister plots, if what Kingston is saying is true.
His eyes take on a faraway look as he leans back and keeps talking. “A lethal army of both light and dark magic was put together to protect a small group of weak-minded men. Men who ran the kingdom into the ground. An academy was created for future generations to be classified into the categories they deemed appropriate.” A dark laugh slips free. “The very same academy you’re currently enrolled in.”
I watch him start to pace the battlement, his face drawn into harsh lines while he talks. I stay quiet, letting him tell me everything. “They made a mistake, though. They didn’t count on the surviving original Noctryns refusing to forget and not letting the grudge die. The blood magic woven into Salaryan’s walls, the ones that kept the abnormalities out, eventually failed, and the casting needed to resurrect it died with the royals,” he says. “A separation between the magic was created, and simultaneously, Salaryan was opened up to be preyed upon by forces darker than they could have imagined.”
If this is true, which I’m not saying it is, but if it is, at one point in time, there was no mistrust and hatred between the two powerhouses. They fought side by side and trusted each other before turning on one another.
I blow out a breath and stare at the cold man before me. Timeless, distant, and full of things still left unsaid. His mask never fell, but it shifted, showing something raw and real. Perhaps his silence isn’t detachment but protection.
I have a million things on my plate and a hundred places I’m supposed to be, but first, I’m visiting the library.
Chapter twenty-two
I stare at the three large piles of timeworn texts in front of me with annoyance.
I grabbed every history book I could find, returned to retrieve more, and still came up empty-handed. There hasn’t been a single mention of royals in Salaryan’s history.
Trust me, I checked and then double-checked.
The foundation of the wraith attacks, the evolution of prosperous cities within the realm, and an abundance of information on Veils and Noctryns all reside within the rough-edged pages. But nothing that ever links them to a monarch. Definitely nothing that correlated a camaraderie between the two. I went back hundreds of years, and not one king, queen, or even a princeling was mentioned.
Moonlight spills through the arched windows, and a few remaining lamps that haven’t burned out cast a warm glow on the large stained-glass window. The library is all but abandoned at this hour. The thick carpet beneath my feet masks theinsistent tapping of my foot, my anxiety rushing to the forefront and telling me that I’m missing something.
Something right in front of my face.
My fingers drum across the hardcover of a tome, bound in cracked leather, the cover lacking a title but bearing the crest of Kintoira. I scan the isolated library, my mind searching for a loophole or overlooked factor. In the corner, a lone student sits hunched over a table, half covered in shadows as he pores over a manuscript. Apparently, we both had the same idea. Look for answers while the rest of the world sleeps.
I reach down into my bag, sorting through the contents for the quill that I tossed in the bottom earlier. My fingers graze the edges of what feels like a book.
That’s odd…
I haven’t checked out any books, and the ones I bought are currently sitting beneath my bed.
Carefully, I pull a small, palm-sized book out from the bottom of my bag. I turn it in my hands, but don’t recognize it. The cover is silver, like moonlight, and shimmers as I look it over. The corners are slightly bent, as if it’s cherished and has been read many times.
