Tharen tapped a finger against the Compendium, shifting the crumpled note that lay on top. "Another thing." He lifted the note, smoothing the edges down. She squinted, trying to read it, but he spoke before she could. "'Come find me, M.' This was in my apothecary when we got back from the Temples. The whole place was ransacked. No magical trace left behind…"
"There are only a few that have that type of power," Graves mumbled. "Do you think?—"
"Iknow," Tharen interjected. "Merath. She most likely used a glamor crafted by Emarelia to hide her presence when she snuck in."
"Vexing female," Graves seethed. "How does she want us to find her? Is that all the note says?" He sat up, scooting forward across the stone until he was closer, no longer on the outskirts of their strange circle.
Luella felt a soft stab of jealousy at the raven shifter’s words, speaking of another female, but she shoved it far down.
Tharen waved the note before him. "Nothing else. It makes me wonder if the note was left as an afterthought?" he questioned.
"Or perhaps she was trying to keep where she and Emarelia are hidden a secret," Bastian stated. "She’s a smart female—has to be if she’s the lover of the prior Prima, once the most powerful?—"
"And dethroned byme," Tharen asserted, a snarl etched into his severe features. "No mage is as powerful as I am, now. I should be able to see past the glamor. I should be smarter than this."
This was… bothering him, she realized. Being tricked.
From the way Luella sat, nestled upon Az’s lap, the fire flickering in the hearth cast amber light over the backs of Tharen’s tanned hands, illuminating the pale, weathered paper of the note. She could see the feminine scrawl inked on the other side. And… something else.
Her brows furrowed, and she found herself leaning closer, nearly tumbling from Az’s lap, if he didn’t settle her with a strong, large hand. "Angel?" he questioned. "What is it?" His voice was a low murmur.
"Is that…" She trailed off, staring at the paper clutched in the Prima’s hand. Az followed her gaze, and she knew the exact moment he saw what she did, that it wasn’t a product of her feverish mind and tired body.
"Flip it over," Az barked, making Luella jump slightly from the increase in his tone. He offered a silent apology in the form of a hand soothing over her nape.
Tharen eyed him. "What?" His teeth flashed.
"Flip the note. Hold it up to the firelight," the demon said hurriedly.
Her gaze drifted to Vale and Bastian, who watched with interest and rapidly growing understanding. Graves was quiet.
Tharen did so with a strange reluctance, tilting the note up to where the light of the fire glowed softly over the back of it. And it revealed?—
Wings.
A dark etching, as if done with some unique sort of invisible ink. A pair of wings, outlined over the scrawl of the words Tharen had read, only revealed when held up to the light of a fire.
Vale’s prideful stoicism cracked as his eyes narrowed, calculating.
"Wings?" Luella breathed. "Why wings?" She was scared of what they would say. Scared of what this female, the prior Prima, meant to them all.
Az leaned down to whisper into her ear, fingers brushing her white hair to the side, "No one will ever be you, and no one could even try."
She shivered, feeling soft, blooming love replacing green jealousy.
Tharen’s fingers curled around the note, disrupting the image of wings. His tongue poked into his cheek as he thought deeply, and finally, he said, "The Fallen Isles. They’re hiding on the Fallen Isles."
8
A SECRET FOR THE OCEAN AND THE AIR
GRAVES
All the air was sucked from Graves’s lungs.
He took one shuddering breath and then stood. Unable to sit and listen to this fucking nonsense anymore.
He couldn’t. Oh, gods, hecouldn’t.
