Descendant (19 page)

“You really need to find your phone, Dad,” Kye says. “A lot has happened in the last few days. The Elen are looking for the Arawn Keys.”

Eoin frowns at the mention of the Keys. “That’s nothing new. They’ve always been looking.”

“Yeah, well, they must be getting closer, because now the Fae are involved, which drags Abby and me into the search.” At his father’s look of confusion, Kye shakes his head and continues, “Long story. Lan sent us to see Juri in Las Vegas—not a friendly guy, by the way—and he showed us that Cairn Elen thing.”

I draw in a deep breath as Kye tells him the full story, shivering at the memory of what has transpired in the last forty-eight hours. Kye notices and takes my hand, lacing our fingers together and absently stroking my thumb with his. Considering that Eoin and I have only just met, Kye’s off-handed yet blatant gesture of possession makes me self-conscious. I have to remind myself we have much bigger worries than whether or not our parents approve of our relationship.
If that’s what this is.

“Anyway,” Kye continues, “we could really use your help, Dad.” He holds my hand up so Eoin can see my ring. “What do you think of this?”

Eoin’s mouth falls open. Here’s an expression I recognize. He lets out a slow breath. “Where did you get that, Abby?”

I swallow, fighting the urge to hide. “It was my grandmother’s. I inherited it when she ... died.”

“Do you know where she got it?”

I shake my head because I really don’t have a clue.

Eoin studies me. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” I untangle my hand from Kye’s and fold my arms to hide my hands.

Eoin rubs his knuckles over his lips and exchanges a glance with Kye. “Okay. Am I correct in assuming your gram was Gifted with a special ability?”

“She was a Healer.”

“And you?”

I hesitate. After a lifetime of keeping my Gifts a secret, I’m suddenly telling a whole lot of people.

“Abby has two Gifts,” Kye says. “She’s a Healer like her gram, and she has Sight as well.”

Heat creeps up my cheeks as I stare at the scarred wooden surface of the table, thinking of Gram and Eric and how miserably I’ve failed to ever Heal anyone. Maybe I don’t have two Gifts. Maybe I only have Sight and we just thought I was a Healer because I picked up a natural instinct from living with Gram. Maybe if I stop telling myself I can Heal people, I won’t feel that sick dread that comes whenever I think of my future. Maybe if I accept it now, I’ll be able to focus on the things I can do instead of the one thing I can’t. “We might be wrong about my Healing ability,” I mumble. “Gram wanted it to be true. She said it was true, but it’s never actually worked. I’ve never been able to Heal anyone. Maybe Gram was wrong.”

Kye rubs my shoulder. “Don’t say that, Abby. I’ve seen you. I saw you work on Eric.”

“Who consequently could have died, and me along with him.” I let out a shaky breath, leaning away from Kye. “I’ve patched cuts and scrapes, and once saved a dog—probably a total fluke. It’s possible that anyone with the right herbs and healing crystals could’ve done all that.”

While Kye stares at me in stunned silence, Eoin clears his throat. “Tell me about your Sight.”

I comply, and as I talk, I mentally draw a line between my visions from the past and my life in the present. What if Kye is that boy? Maybe he’s the one I’ve been searching for all this time. It would explain our connection, that instant recognition. It would explain why touching him feels so right, so familiar. It would explain everything. When I’m finished, Eoin runs a hand through his hair, the same way Kye sometimes does. “How old are you?”

“Seventeen.” I lean my elbows on the table, reeling with my newest realization.
Soul mates?

Kye and Eoin exchange another surreptitious look.

“What?” I snap. “What are you not telling me?”

“Nothing.” Kye sounds exasperated. “I already told you I think your ring might be the one Theron gave Raina. I just—what if it was more than a wedding ring? What if it’s one of the Arawn Keys?” He looks again at his father. “Is that possible?”

“Entirely.” Eoin picks up a book, opens it on the table, and flips
through the pages until settling on a specific one. He turns the book around, pushes it toward me, and taps the faded script. “Take a look at that.”

The sketch is faded and the artwork questionable, but the design is eerily similar. I hold out my hand to compare. “It could be, I guess.”

Eoin’s fingers graze the page. “There’s no proof, but if what Kye says is true—if what I see in you with my own eyes is accurate—then yes, I’m guessing that is the same ring.”

“What does that mean? What you see in me?”

“I see that your soul is older than your body. You have an unusual depth of compassion, and trust, and ... something else, but I can’t find the words to describe it.” Eoin takes the book back and turns the page. “How much Gifted history do you know?”

“Kye told me about the King and Queen of Dryden, and the story of Theron and Raina.”

Eoin nods in approval. “Good place to start.”

“He said Raina’s ring has the power of true love.” I lift my hand so the stones catch the sunlight and reflect sparkles of color all over the walls.

“May I?” Eoin asks. Nodding, I drop it in his outstretched palm.

“Wow, that was easy.” Kye jokes. “As I recall, you pounded on me when I first looked at it.”

I glare at Kye, annoyed. “He asked nicely. You just took it. I hardly knew you at the time. How was I supposed to know you’d give it back without throwing it across the parking lot?”

“Well. I have been known to throw things from time to time.” Kye’s grin infuriates me, so I shove him away and accept my ring back from Eoin, who returns to the pages in his book.

“When the Ring of the Princess was lost is unclear,” he says. “After Raina disappeared, rumor circulated that Theron kept it on a chain around his neck, holding on to the hope that he would someday find his princess and return it to her. But after Theron died, the ring was never recorded as having been seen again in all the history of Dryden.”

He taps another section of text and reads aloud. “Theron, heir to Dryden’s throne, was many years in his searching. Neither Queen Isleen nor Captain Rhys ever returned. The kingdom fell into disarray. Crime became rampant, and the peaceful lives in which
the community had lived crumbled without a leader to enforce the laws. Rumors spread, suggesting that Rhys and the queen had run off together. Theron’s parentage was called into question. The name of the beloved Isleen was defiled and defamed.

“While Theron was abroad searching for his family, his cousin, the Duke of Nairn, came to visit and, finding the palace devoid of the royal family, immediately laid claim to the throne.

“He took control, cleaned up the city, and restored order within the realm. But Nairn was not meant to be King of Dryden. He ruled it with an iron hand, ruthless in punishment, raw in temper, and hateful in vengeance.”

I shudder, strangely reminded of Hitler.

Eoin continues reading. “Nairn fell in love with power and prepared to do battle with Theron for the throne. But when Theron returned, weakened by his shattered heart, he was in no condition to reclaim the throne. For forty days, he locked himself in the room he had shared with Raina, refusing even an audience with the cousin who had ruled in his absence. When he emerged, it was with plans to build a memorial fountain in honor of his missing family, after which he would reclaim the throne and resume his duties as King of Dryden.”

“That poor guy,” I murmur. Suffocating sorrow hangs in the room. “First he loses his parents, then his true love, and then he has to fight for his kingdom.”

“Theron never actually fought, though,” Kye says. “Didn’t he disappear after the memorial was dedicated?”

“Yes. He was presumed dead. Then the Duke ran the kingdom into the ground.” Eoin turns the page, pauses in unmasked surprise, but then shakes his head and picks up the book to pace with it. “Prince Theron’s disappearance was the catalyst for the people of Dryden. They had lived in fear of Duke Nairn, waiting and hoping for the return of the royal family, but Nairn reclaimed the throne the day after Theron’s memorial service. His first order of business—after crowning himself king—was to destroy the fountain and call in an army of demon guards to enforce his new laws. Eventually, the people rose up against Nairn and the demons, and the kingdom went to war ...” Eoin’s voice trails off, and he stares out the window.

“Dad?” Kye takes the book from his father. “Are you okay?”

Eoin shakes himself. “Yes, sorry. Just imagining what a horrible battle it must’ve been. A lot of innocent people died. When the war was over, the destruction was so complete that the city had literally disappeared. It sank into the ground, and was never seen again.”

I draw a pattern on the table with my fingernail. “It doesn’t seem possible an entire city could sink like that.”

“Well.” Eoin picks up another book. Toward the end, he stops turning pages. “Listen to this:

‘By magic did the kingdom fall.

Below the earth its demons sleep.

The Morrigana did forestall

The fate that makes all mortals weep.

The Arawn Keys have sealed the door

The keepers spreading far and wide

Until the day the Keys restore

The powers that are locked inside.’”

T
he book thuds onto the table as Eoin sets it down. The room is silent as we all work out the poem in our heads. I break the silence. “The city sank by magic, then?”

“You could call it that.” Eoin runs his fingers through his hair again. Kye does it too, and I hide my smile. “The magic—or powers—of three goddesses. Badb, Macha, and Morrigan, otherwise known as the Morrigana or the Great Queens. The ladies had a special attachment to Dryden, and I think that was their way of preserving what little was left of it.”

“They sank an entire city?” My head throbs with incredulity. “Why?”

“It wouldn’t have been the first time in history, would it?” Eoin clears his throat. “From my studies, I gather that the city and all beings living there—mostly demons at that point—were sealed behind a door. Val and I figure it’s a sort of tomb.”

“A tomb containing an enormous cache of power.” Kye lays the book on the floor at his feet. “Evil power.”

“Don’t worry.” Eoin pats my hand. “They can’t get out by themselves. The tomb is made of poisonous stone, so their Gifts are rendered useless. For now.”

“And my—Raina’s ring is one of the Keys.” I’m starting to believe Eoin’s theory about my ring might be right. “But why would Juri want to open the door?”

Kye’s face lights up. “I bet he’s after treasure.”

Eoin shakes his head in disgust. “That’s probably not far from the mark. Dryden was a wealthy kingdom. A handful of Gifted people escaped before the city sank, and they helped seal the tomb by combining their powers with the magic of the jewels that would become known as the Arawn Keys. By doing so, the people bound their powers, unknowingly giving up the bulk of their special abilities.

“Theron was not one of the sealers—we know this for certain. But that ring of yours must have been one of the sealing Keys. Or that’s my theory.”

A sliver of sunshine creeps through the closed curtain and I follow it to the window to look out at the street. “But there’s no real proof. No one knows for sure if this was really Raina’s ring.”

With his hands on my waist, Kye draws me backward into his arms. “I know it,” he whispers, holding me tight. “Whoever carried that ring out of the city helped close the demons behind the door. Whoever it was must be related to you.”

Eoin joins us at the window, staring at something in the distance. “Everything I’ve read indicates that the only people powerful enough to seal an entire city underground were members of the royal family, yet they were all missing at the time. There’s a big piece of this puzzle still absent and I’m running out of places to look.”

I lean the back of my head against Kye’s chest, still surprised at how comfortable we are together. “Could one of my ancestors have stolen it?”

Eoin shakes his head. “It’s not likely.”

“Why not?”

Eoin turns to stare at me—hard. “Your eyes. And your abilities. It’s entirely possible you could be a blood relation to the royal family—a direct descendant, even. It would explain where your grandmother got the ring.” He picks up a book and hands it to me, pointing out a full-page portrait of a young woman. She has high cheekbones,
a slightly crooked chin, and waves of auburn hair that frame her porcelain skin and bring out the roses in her lips. There are more similarities, but none so striking as her eyes, which are round and full, a mix of blue, green, and gray.

They’re my eyes. My face, my crooked chin. If I didn’t know better, I would swear the portrait in Eoin’s antique book is a picture of me.

A
small figure creeps through the forest, pulling her cloak more tightly around her shoulders to keep out the chilly winter air. In the shadow cast by a grove of trees, she waits, knowing he will come. Sooner or later, they’ll bring him here, and then she’ll save him. A cough shakes her body—the cough of the dying—and the hood of the cloak slides down to reveal her face.

She
is me.