Page 76 of Prince of the Sun

“Quinn Kallister,” Saechon murmurs, stepping forward. In person, he’s even more beautiful than in the pictures and videos I’ve seen: tall, lithe, silk-straight black hair pulled back with double braids. A beauty mark above his lip. “What gorgeous eyes you have.”

“They’re nothing special,” I say, inching back, bumping into Daerios.

“I would beg to differ.”

“Sae.” Daerios moves in front of me, one hand blocking my chest. “Don’t—”

“Out of the way, little brother.” He sweeps forward, cloakflapping behind him, and brushes Daerios away. “There’s no need to protect the human. If you’ve found what I think you’ve found, you’ll be saving an entire planet.”

I glance over at Daerios, who doesn’t move to push Saechon away from me. Just watches us with a mixture of horror and fascination.

Traitor.

Bastard.

Scum of Elaërion.

Saechon lays two fingers beneath my chin and tilts my face upward. His eyes rove my cheeks, my nose, my lips, the line of my hair. “Mmm.” He nods. “Just as beautiful as the High Mage said you would be.”

“The wh-who?”

Saechon ignores me, instead reaching into his belt and pulling out a knife.

That’s when I run.

I make it less than half a step before Daerios grabs me, restraining my arms behind my back. I struggle. Lift one knee and jab my foot backward into his groin. Daerios doubles over, groaning, but doesn’t release my arms. In an instant the other guards are on me.

“Feisty.” Saechon presses the knife’s point to his finger to test its sharpness. “Relax, dear, this won’t hurt a bit.”

“Please. Don’t kill me.” I hate the plea in my voice, its wobble of weakness. “You have the wrong person. I’m not the Lightbearer. I’m no one.”

Saechon pauses, lifting his finger from the blade. His eyes flit to Daerios. “Someone has been telling stories.”

“I’ve told her nothing.” Daerios’s voice is flat. Almost dead. “I’ve no idea how she figured it out.”

Saechon tilts his head, considering his brother. After a moment, he nods and looks back to me. “How did you figure itout?”

“I broke your stupid code. The one in the publications.”

His eyebrows raise. “Did you, now?”

I spit on the bedroom floor. “It wasn’t even hard.”

“Hard enough to withstand nearly a century’s scrutiny.” Saechon turns to Daerios. “I understand your fascination with this one, brother. She’s clearly brilliant. And if we’re right about what she is, she’s also one of the most powerful beings to walk this planet.”

One of the most powerful beings to walk this planet?

“Her palm, Râd.”

The guard on my right unhooks my arm and extends it toward Saechon. I keep my fist squeezed shut, but Râd pries it open and holds it there. Saechon presses the tip of the blade to my open palm and, after a measured inhale and exhale, drags it backward.

I’m ready for red. Ready for the beaded blood of my insides to spill forth. Ready to grimace, to yank my hand back, to smear the evidence of this wrongdoing all over his stupid grey cloak.

What I’m not ready for is a beam of light.

What I’m not ready for is my skin to split open and, as if it were a door held ajar in the night, reveal a sliver of brilliance that shoots straight to the ceiling.

I’m not ready for my stomach to bottom out. For the room to spin. For me to forget everything I thought I knew about myself as I stare at something utterly impossible.