Wings of Nestor (20 page)

But none of that changed the fact that he loved her.

He picked up a book and threw it across the room. It slammed into the wall with a delightful thud. He threw another and another, hoping to relieve himself of the pressure building within. It wasn’t enough. The rage had become a roar between his ears, his vision muddled. Emane kicked over another chair, sending it clattering across the floor. Turning around, he grabbed at the only thing he saw—a giant tapestry hanging from the wall depicting dragons swooping through the sky. He wrenched it down with a guttural cry. Moving to the next tapestry, he grabbed it with a yell, throwing it to the floor. He stood there, panting, and then his eyes caught on a painting the tapestry had hidden. As it came into focus, Emane’s heart slowed nearly to a stop. His knees grew weak and he didn’t have the energy to fight it. He dropped to the ground, his mouth gaping.

“I did not wish for you to see that,” Lomay said from behind him.

Emane rolled his head to the side, squeezing his eyes shut. “Then why did you paint it?”

“Sometimes there are things I wish I didn’t see.” Lomay carefully moved between Emane and the picture. “Painting is my way of releasing those things. Then, if it is something I do not wish others to see, I hide it.”

“This changes everything,” Emane whispered.

“No. It cannot,” Lomay said with enough force that Emane looked up at him. “
Nothing
is certain. And sometimes things look different than they are.”

Emane looked at him skeptically.

“Come.” Lomay hobbled over to one of the tables, righting two overturned chairs as he went. “Sit.”

Emane numbly stared at the vision for another minute before he joined Lomay, who sat in such a way so as to put Emane’s back to the painting. Unfortunately it faced him toward the wedding scene.

“Is that one not what it seems as well?” Emane asked bitterly.

Lomay looked over his shoulder. “Alcander was furious when he found that.”

“Why?”

“He hated the Solus, felt that the people had been abandoned by her. He swore this vision would never happen, that he would hate the Solus until the day he died.”

“He changed his mind rather quickly,” Emane said, slumping.

“He fought it, make no mistake. And so must you.”

“You are telling me I should fight your visions?”

“No. But maybe that one.” He inclined his head toward the painting behind Emane. “Some visions have missing information. Such as what happens right before and right after. We don’t know. Not to mention I have been wrong before.”

Emane straightened. “You have?”

“Once.” He leaned forward. “You must push this from your mind. When that moment comes, you cannot make choices based upon what you have seen here.”

Emane rubbed his forehead. “You aren’t making any sense.”

“Some visions are very clear, set in stone, because there is really only one option. Drustan is aware of this, which is why he is so angry. He can see what Kiora can not.” Emane frowned. “But others show only the beginning and not the end. As is the case in this one.” Lomay gestured toward the painting behind him. He hesitated for a second before standing and moving over to a rather normal-looking framed painting of a landscape, the only framed painting in the room. “And this one,” he said as he lifted the painting free of the wall. What was revealed beneath brought Emane to his feet.

“She would never!” he shouted.

Lomay looked thoughtfully at his work. “Now that I have met her, I believe you are right. This painting is missing something. It does not show the end, or the beginning. And yet, it looks like Kiora is killing me, does it not?”

“Lomay, she couldn’t. She can’t harm anything without it nearly killing
her
.”

“As I said, now that I have met her, I believe that. But all these years, waiting for the Solus, this painting was in my mind. It made me suspect her intentions and her heart. This is my point, Emane.” Lomay gestured toward the horrible portrayal. “You cannot base your decisions on what I have painted on that wall. Some will come to pass. I will not deny that. But others may come to pass very differently than how it appears in the painting.”

“But there is no misconstruing that one.” Emane turned back to the one he had uncovered beneath the tapestry.

“Perhaps. But as we speak, Kiora is trying to change it. Regardless of my opinion.”

“But isn’t that what you want her to do? You just said—”

“I know what I said. But as I also said that some destinies are to be because there is no other possible outcome. Jasmine has to be defeated. The Shadow must die. If that does not happen, Jasmine will stamp out our resistance. But Kiora has made her choice and I will not force her in another direction. She will learn in her own time.”

Emane placed his thumb and forefinger in the corners of his eyes. “No one should know these things.”

“On that account, you are very right, my boy,” Lomay said wearily, his eyes traveling the length of the room. With a wave of his hand, the two tapestries returned to the wall, falling neatly onto their hooks. “Please do not remove those again, for everyone’s sake—but most of all, for yours.”

“How can I forget them?”

“I do not know, but sometimes we have to forget or we can’t move on.”

Lomay groaned, stretching out his back. “I think I shall go and wait for Arturo. We should have a few minutes before it is time to go.”

Emane sat drumming his fingers on the table long after Lomay had left. Lomay had kept the other painting uncovered and his eyes traveled over it. It depicted Kiora with her hand outstretched, Lomay falling beneath her. His body was blurred, washing away like a drawing in the sand. Finally, he turned to stare at the tapestry. Although the scene was covered, he could still see it in his mind’s eye. He tried to think of every scenario that might come to pass, anything that might help. He ran through different beginnings and different endings before scrambling to his feet to search the room for paper.

Sitting at one of the other tables, Emane wrote, pouring his heart onto paper. After he finished, he read over his work. Satisfied, he pulled back the edge of the tapestry, using his elbow to knock a hole in the plaster wall. Rolling his letter into a tube, he slid it into the hole.

As he walked outside, the Pegasus’ eyes were trained on him. Emane was fairly certain Arturo had heard his most recent thoughts, the ones he had written in the letter.

Arturo, can I ask for your help?

Arturo nodded.

You know what to do?

Arturo nodded again before bowing his head to the ground.

Thank you.

“Let’s go, my boy.” Lomay said, slapping him on the shoulder. “We have no time to lose.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Castles of Illusion

DRUSTAN LANDED THE THREE far enough away from the villages to avoid tripping any magical traps. As she slid off Drustan’s back, Kiora looked at the valley ahead. Many of the villages had more people than Meros, and there were several within close proximity of each other. She felt thousands of threads, and each would be willing to kill her—with pleasure.

“Are you sure we can’t fly over…” Before she could finish, several red balls of magic shot upwards, exploding and sending out tiny bits of magic in all directions.

“I’m sure,” Alcander said. “Let’s get this over with.”

Kiora eyed the village warily as she summoned the book of Creators, handing it to Alcander.

He flipped through the pages before handing it back with distaste. “This one.”

She scanned the spell. “It doesn’t look so bad.”

Alcander snorted. “We shall see if you feel the same way in a minute.”

“It says I should touch whatever we need to alter. What are we changing?”

“Whatever it takes to make me unrecognizable.”

Kiora touched his hair, whispering the incantation. His hair changed from blond to jet black, the color flowing over his head as if she had poured paint over him.

That wasn’t so bad. She glanced back at the book as Alcander sighed. Looking up, she noticed that his hair had returned to normal.

“Did you read the rest of the spell?”

“Yes.”

Alcander pursed his lips before flipping the page and tapping the other side.

Kiora quickly read it. “What? This can’t be right.”

“It is. Lomay has decided you’re ready to use more difficult spells. They require concentration to keep the spell in place, and a large amount of magic. It is why they are rarely used.”

Kiora snapped the book shut. “I am supposed to wrap my thread while concentrating on keeping both our disguises in place while we march through
that
?” She pointed across the valley.

Alcander only offered an expectant gaze.

She looked at Drustan, who was calmly picking his fingernails. She huffed, setting her book on the ground. “Teach me how to wrap my thread first.”

“Are you sure? It means you will have to hold on to it longer.”

“I know. But if I don’t get that under control, I will lose the spell.”

“Very well. Close your eyes.”

Kiora did as she was told, remembering very clearly the red eyes and slashing claws that came the last time she opened her eyes during this spell. She would not be opening them this time.

“Do you remember the incantation?”

“Yes.” Kiora balled her fists, steeling herself for what she was about to do. Muttering the incantation, she clenched her jaw as the flood of icy evil wrapped itself around her, pushing and pulling at her, trying to sink its way deep into her soul.

Feelings tore through her, dark and angry and fighting with her very existence—contrary to everything she was. She threw her head back and screamed.

“Kiora.” Alcander’s voice was anxious and sounded very distant through the roaring in her ears.

Bending over, she shoved her fists in her stomach, trying to hold herself together. “I can’t…do this!” she gasped.

In her weakness, she could feel evil trying to do exactly what Alcander had warned her about on her first attempt. It was pushing at her, trying to slip inside, not content just to wrap her thread. It wanted to turn her thread and possess it.

The pain was excruciating, the Wings of Arian times a hundred—maybe more. It was unbearable.

“Alcander!” she cried. She felt him grab at her, but he didn’t speak the incantation to release her and she could not remember it. It had been he who had spoken it last time—she didn’t even know how it began. “Please, help me!”

Kiora.

His words rang through her mind, strong and calming.

Alcander?
What was he doing?

Kiora, feel me. Focus.

Taking gasping breaths and fighting through the darkness, she focused in on his mind, wide open before her. She saw herself pulling back her hood, the first time Alcander had ever seen her. She felt his heart race, the instant desire he had for her, his confusion at the response. She saw herself through his eyes, standing up to him, seeing straight through him when no one else could. She felt love grow. She saw her own strength, a strength she struggled to see in herself, and she marveled at his willingness to open himself up to her like this. Grabbing on to his faith in her, she shoved back at the evil pressing around on all sides. It pushed back harder. She dropped to her knees.

You are stronger than this. You have saved Meros, defeated Dralazar, escaped the Shadow. You can do this.
His words came laced with so many other things: love, worry, a little fear.

Stumbling to her feet, she grabbed his arms, opening her eyes and focusing on his. In a sea of dark, swirling hate, red eyes, and claws, his blue eyes shone clear, urging her through this.

“Push it back, Kiora. Make it bend to your will. Force it to wrap your thread,” he said evenly.

Gulping, she pushed back again with everything she had, imagining it wrapping her thread. The force lessened.

“That’s right,” Alcander said. “More.”

Again she pushed and finally the black around her faded, the red eyes focusing in on her, narrowing and then vanishing. She was left gasping for air, her thread wrapped in horrific evil.

Alcander relaxed. “You did it.”

Kiora frowned. “I…did.” She wanted to feel proud of herself, but couldn’t. “Why do I feel so angry?” It simmered all around her, just waiting to explode.

“That’s the evil. You have controlled it, but it will influence your emotions as long as you are under it.”

Kiora shuddered. “I don’t like this. Let’s get the rest of it over with.” Picking up the book, she scanned the incantation again, fighting the urge to throw the book at a tree. This anger was ridiculous. Was this how others felt inside? She could hardly imagine.

She touched Alcander’s hair again, sending black flowing down it. She moved to his face, touching his nose first. It flattened under her touch and he grunted as if she had punched him, his eyes watering as he blinked furiously.

“Stop being such a baby!” she snapped.

His eyes jolted open.

“I’m sorry. I…” The spell started to fade and Alcander yelped as his nose began to protrude again. Kiora pulled her focus back, keeping the spell active. “I’m not used to feeling this way. This anger is…” Shaking her head, she put her fingers on his lips, thinning them out before making his forehead a little taller. “Drustan?” Kiora asked. “Is this enough?”

“I wouldn’t recognize him.”

“I don’t know how long I can keep this all together. Both of you get ready while I adjust myself.”

Alcander spoke the incantation to wrap his own thread while Drustan morphed into a mix of human and Tavean she had never seen him use before. Short, squatty, unattractive, and easily forgettable.

She turned her white streak dark brown to match the rest of her hair and then moved to her face. When she lengthened her nose, it felt like someone had grabbed the bone and was pulling it out of her skull with pliers. Tears sprang to her eyes and Alcander yelled her name as her concentration faltered. She focused, trying to ignore the grating pain in her face. She was beginning to wonder if Lomay had seriously overestimated her.