“We’ve had no word from Drystan since he vanished from the cave,” Carina answered. “And we’re still not sure how it opened or?—”
“The gathering of the eight,” Lyvia cut in. She paused, her fist flying to her mouth as she proceeded to hack for several moments.
Isla leaned forward and offered her a rag. Lyvia wiped her mouth and pulled it away, staring blankly at the black sludge that painted the rag.
I blinked. I’d expected blood.
“The eight Bellator powers are required to open the gate,” Lyvia continued. “They had to be near enough for it to open. Olienna had the Palaega, and the Aeterna is here?—”
“The Aeterna Bone is missing,” Isla cut in, her brows narrowing. “It was here, yes. But it disappeared after the gate opened. And Olienna is dead. We found her body…” Isla trailed off as the bronze of her skin lightened by a shade.
“Her body was…” I paused, forcing myself to remember the horrifying details of what remained of her body. “A husk. We’ve no idea what happened to her Palaega power.”
Lyvia paled, her throat bobbing slightly.
“Sintarrak killed Olienna,” she whispered, her breath escaping in a hush.
Despite never having heard the name in my life, the fire in my veins extinguished the moment it left her lips, and something deep and primal reared forward in defense. I opened my lips to question what the hell she was talking about, but she plowed forward.
“The Palaega is his,” she explained, her voice stronger. “He must have found a way to take it back. And the rest of us were here on Kayj. It’s my fault. I couldn’t help thinking of Drystan. Feeling as if he needed to be here. I think I somehow called him to me,” Lyvia choked out, a devastating guilt riding her tone. “Drystan is a Bellator. He harnessed the Advetis power, making seven. Which meanssomeonehad the Celestyn Bone.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
EVONY
Your pleas are useless. The girl stays with me as payment for your son’s crimes. Write again, and I’ll come for your youngest.
– Correspondence from Lord Haro to Mother Eghan. 19thof Winter, 046.3E
Evony – Aedrialis, Sultira
The Juniper Sea sparkled like a gemstone against the navy clouds in the distance. The sunshine beat down on Aedrialis like a spotlight from above as I shoved my way through the gathering crowd at the River Harbor. The line of docking ships caused a stir amongst the people of the capital.
Families gathered along the docks as refugees from the haunted Island of Kayj poured out of the ships. Nearly two thousand, to be expected. That was what Ronan had said. Or Lord Merik, as he was referred to now that he was high steward of Sultira. I rolled my eyes.
Still, I was grateful he agreed to take me on as a ward. Since Drystan and Ezrich left, I’d stayed as busy as possible with the agrippa herd, but now that Ronan’s control over the city had settled, the trainers at Cantor Manor had things under control. This city still felt weird to me. Foreign.
I’d begged Dad to bring me here after Lyvia and Bayne had come to stay with us in Rivaner. Lyvia made it sound so exciting, so different from our small mountain lake town.
And now it felt…veiled.
As if a sheet separated the harsh, clamoring crowds, bleating animals, and the combined stench of piss, old ale, and fresh bread. I was here, and I wasn’t. I was surrounded by people,constantly, but I drifted through the busy streets like a ghost.Alone.
An old man barked a curse at me as I slipped past him, nudging him harder than intended to get through the growing crowds and nearing the largest of the ships. That was where Ronan said he’d be.
Tall with light skin and short, sandy hair. Around Lyvia’s age. Grayish-green eyes. Ithinkthat was what Ronan said. I was listening. Mostly. I pressed onto my tiptoes to get a better view as people continued to flood in front of me.
I tripped as a middle-aged woman shoved her way past me, catching myself on a grouchy old man, and avoided landing face-first in the icy mix of mud and horse shit. The woman cursed at me as I shoved her right back and slipped out of her grasp before she could get a handful of my cloak.
I flipped her a rude gesture without looking back and trotted to where the gangplank had lowered.
A tall man matching Vander’s description strode down the long wooden plank with a large pack slung over his shoulder.
“Vander Stryke?” I called, stepping forward.
His eyes flashed my direction, and a weird, warm feeling ran down my abdomen. I swallowed the lump in my throat as his lips widened into a smile, and he strode the last few lengths of the gangplank to stand in front of me.
Gray eyes, I realized. Not grayish green. And I couldn’t stop staring at them.
