Wings of Lomay (2 page)

Emane met Kiora’s gaze over Alcander’s shoulder before turning to go. “I hate eating breakfast with you. We get mobbed.”

“You like it.”

Their voices carried back to her as they headed down the hall.

“I don’t,” Emane insisted. “If I were . . .” The rest of his sentence was lost as they turned the corner.

Emane had told her he would step back—let her go. But she couldn’t make hide nor hair of the friendship he was developing with Alcander. They were opposites in every way and had spent nearly every moment since they had met either fighting or disagreeing. But now they bantered, asked each other for advice, and near as she could tell, shared a mutual respect. “Boys,” she muttered.

Kiora undressed and slipped into the welcome warmth of a perfectly heated bathtub. She exhaled, leaning against the curved back. She had a little time before the meeting and if she couldn’t sleep, she could try to relax. She smiled and ran her finger around the edge, watching the water drip from her fingers and run down the side. The warmth of the water was doing its job and she sank lower, her weariness melting away.

She must have fallen asleep because she was jerked awake by shouts. Kiora leaped out of the tub. She dried as quickly as she could and stumbled toward the balcony, trying to wiggle into her tan pants as they stuck to her damp skin. She hurriedly buttoned them, pulled on a shirt, and threw open the doors. The courtyard below her was filled with Winged men, Taveans, and a few Omelians. The first rebel group had arrived.

The general mood of the group was somber, with the exception of the Winged man standing behind Lomay. He was yelling. One of the other rebels stepped forward and put his hands on the man’s shoulder, leaning in to whisper in his ear. The Winged man shoved him off.

Kiora raced down the stairs. Once she made it out the front door, she pushed her way through the crowd. Closer now, she could make out some of the words.

“Solus . . . she’s gone . . . my wife . . . where was the Solus?”

Kiora froze. Bile rose in her throat. Compelling her feet forward, she moved toward the dispute. As she came up next to Lomay, the Winged man turned his brown eyes to her. His hair was sandy blond, cut short to his head, his face filled with rage.

“You,” he seethed, pointing his finger at her.

“It was not her fault,” Lomay said. “Kiora nearly sacrificed herself trying to protect your wives and children. Place your anger where it belongs—this was the work of the Shadow.”

The man’s eyes did not waver from Kiora, giving no indication he had heard anything. “You were supposed to protect them.”

“I know,” Kiora said thickly. “I did everything I could.”

“It wasn’t enough,” the man bellowed. His wings flared out behind him.

An Omelian spoke from the side. “We have all lost those we love, Leith. It is not the fault of the Solus.”

Leith whirled on the Omelian who had spoken, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his feathers ruffling on his still-flared wings. “If she can’t protect a handful of women and children, what makes us think she can go up against the Shadow? She’s already lost.” He turned back, and when he spoke again, his voice had dropped an octave. “And now our wives and children are gone.”

Kiora felt his thread altering. The group around him felt it too—they widened their eyes and took apprehensive steps back.

A popping sounded overhead.

Kiora looked up as Leith continued yelling. The barrier, previously black, now rippled with pinks and reds and greens, looking exactly like the magic that formed the protection in the entrances.

No, no, no!
Kiora thought, panic strumming through her. She pushed past Lomay. “Leith, I am so sorry. Please forgive me. I should have stayed with them, been here to protect them. I—”

He stepped toward her, his eyes narrowing further as he glowered down from his substantial height advantage. “What do you mean? You
left
them?”

Kiora stepped back under his advance, startled. “We went to get the Light from Tavea. Jasmine attacked while we were away. I got here as fast as I could, but—”

Leith closed the distance between them in one rapid step, wrapping his hands around her throat. “My wife was safe for years before you came! Years! How could you leave her?”

Lomay cried out. Alcander’s thread charged through the crowd.

“Please,” Kiora croaked, wrapping her fingers around his hands. “Your thread—the barrier.” She tried to warn him as color rolled above them like strange, unworldly fire. But he didn’t listen, his fingers tightening instead.

She couldn’t breathe. Spots swam around her vision. Kiora shoved magic out, ripping his hands from her throat and pushing him back. Gasping for air, she bent over, her hands on her knees.

Leith recovered and came toward her again.

Kiora held out a hand as she straightened. Magic rippled across her fingers in warning. “Not any closer.”

Leith stopped. His wings flared out like an avenging angel, making him look twice his size. His thread turned darker still. “Are you going to kill me?” he demanded. “Like you killed my wife?”

“No,” Kiora said. She took a deep breath, slowly lowering her hand to her side. “But if you don’t control your thread, you are going to die.” She pointed up to the barrier, which was now a dark magenta.

Leith ignored her warning and charged toward her. His thread turned completely.

Kiora pushed out a burst of magic that knocked him to the ground. He struggled to get up, but she held him there—the fury in his eyes spoke to what would happen if she released him. A tear slipped down her cheek as it began to rain.

The magical rain poured from the barrier overhead, just as it did from the doorways. The rebels surrounding them stumbled backwards, confused and shocked, as the magic seized Leith in its deadly grasp.

Alcander came up behind Kiora and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her away from Leith.

The magic poured all around him, filling his mouth and flashing red as it confirmed the darkness of his thread. Then the magic fulfilled its purpose—it eliminated the threat on the city. Leith melted away, his mouth opened in a silent scream. Having completed its task, the magic ascended back to the barrier.

Kiora shook off Alcander’s grasp. “Let me explain,” she began shakily, addressing the rebels.

Einar, a commander in charge of the rebel camp on Lake Everleen, interrupted her. “There is no need to explain. We were told when we arrived what the magic was for and what it would do. We all felt his thread change.”

Kiora turned her head away.

The Omelian who had spoken earlier spoke up again. “There are many of us who are grieving here today, and many are angry. But not at you.”

Kiora pulled her chin up. “I will not push the blame away. It
is
my fault. I brought your families here. I was unable to defend them.”

The Omelian stepped forward, dropping to one knee before her. “We have been unable to defend many in the years we have waited for you. The blame is placed on the Shadow.”

The rest of the group followed his example. They dropped to one knee, bowing their heads in agreement.

“Thank you,” Kiora said. She motioned for them to rise. Knowing she should say something, she gave a little smile and tried not to look uncomfortable. “I am grateful to have you here, and even more grateful that everyone arrived safely. We have rooms for each of you. Lomay, can you point everyone in the right direction so they can get settled?”

“Of course,” Lomay said.

Kiora grabbed Alcander’s hand and pulled him toward the house. “I thought they knew. I thought Lomay told them when he messaged them.”

Alcander’s lips were tight. “I did as well.”

“Imagine coming here, expecting a reunion with your wife, and to find out . . .”

“Did you know the barrier would respond like that?” Alcander asked, opening the door to the main house and ushering her inside.

“No. It should have given Leith a little more time. Maybe if we could have just talked to him—”

“His hands were around your throat,” Alcander interrupted. “Had he tried it again, I would have ripped him to shreds myself.”

CHAPTER TWO

Swordplay

“IT’S NOT YOUR FAULT,” Alcander said again, following Kiora into the meeting room. He was agitated, and his agitation was irritating her.

“I know. Leith made his own choices and I tried to warn him. But his wife is dead.”

“He is not the only one who lost family.”

“I know, Alcander, but does that mean I’m not allowed to be upset about it?” Kiora asked, jerking a chair out from around the table.

“Yes. As Einar pointed out, the blame lies with Jasmine. The only one who doesn’t recognize that is you.”

Emane pulled open the door for Lomay. He followed in behind him with Drustan on their heels. Lomay hobbled over to take his chair. He crossed his hands on the table and looked politely to Kiora, obviously waiting for her to begin the meeting.

She straightened, clearing her throat. “The rebels must be apprised of the situation
before
they arrive.”

Lomay’s head dropped wearily. “I apologize. That was my decision. I thought it might be better if they were told in person.”

Alcander gaped. “You thought it would be better to have them come, expecting to be reunited with their families, and
then
tell them?”

Lomay rubbed the bridge of his nose. “In hindsight, it was a poor choice. I have been distracted as of late.”

“Lomay!” Alcander leaned forward on the table. “How distracted could you possibly have been to think—”

“Stop. Please.” Kiora held up her hand. “It’s over, and nothing is going to change what happened.” She took a deep breath. “Lomay, how is the solution for a barrier coming? I want to make sure the rest of the rebels are safe when they arrive.”

“I nearly have it.”

There was a strain in his voice Kiora didn’t understand. “Are there problems?”

“No, no problems. I have worked out what needs to be done. Just a few loose ends to tie up and I will be ready.”

“That is wonderful news,” she said.

Lomay smiled tightly. “It is.” Smoothing down his robes, he asked, “Emane, how is the training coming?”

Emane leaned back in his chair, interlocking his fingers behind his head. “It would be going better if Alcander’s subjects would stop cheating.”

“They have been so long without magic,” Alcander said. “Telling them they can’t use it after it was just returned to them is difficult.”

“I understand that,” Emane said. “But I can’t teach them how to fight if they keep finding magical ways around the lessons. Not to mention I’m tired of getting knocked on my butt every thirty minutes by a magical blast from a frustrated Tavean. I have bruises.” He pointed toward his backside.

Alcander waved him off. “You heal them as fast as you get them.”

“That doesn’t mean they don’t hurt,” Emane said, his hands dropping back to his lap as he sat up straighter, looking quite insulted.

“I could take the mesh off the talisman for training and force them to learn,” Kiora said. “Not having a magical escape available might just give them the needed motivation.”

“Marvelous idea,” Lomay said.

“There is another problem,” Emane said. “We only have two swords. I can either do a demonstration, or work with one Tavean at a time. The original idea was to set them up in sparring groups—otherwise, this training is going to take longer than we’ve got. I need more weapons.”

“There aren’t any others to summon,” Lomay said. “This world has not had need of them.”

“And Meros only has what’s at the castle,” Emane said. “Which isn’t much.”

“Not that it matters,” Kiora said. “Meros is out of my range for summoning. The weapons need to be made here.”

“You need craftsmen—smiths or metalworkers,” Drustan said. He tapped his chin in obvious sarcasm. “If only I knew some.”

Lomay stilled.

“Craftsmen?” Kiora asked before realizing what he was referring to. “Wait, the Shifters?” Drustan had told her that in the time before the Shadow, every species had different jobs and responsibilities. The Shifters were craftsmen.

“I don’t know exactly how it would work, given the circumstances.” Drustan gave Lomay a look that conveyed his continued displeasure over the slavery of the Shifters. “But I don’t see any other way to procure the weapons.”

Emane clicked his tongue, drumming his fingers on the table. “I don’t know, Drustan. We need a lot of swords made. And we need them soon.”

“We are quite skilled at whatever we put our minds to,” Drustan said, sounding mildly offended that Emane would suggest there was something he wasn’t capable of doing.

“Do you really think if we force them to come here, they will ‘put their minds to it’?” Emane asked.

“They certainly won’t if I am around,” Lomay said.

The table went quiet at that—no one knew quite what to say. They couldn’t argue the point.

Lomay took a deep breath, looking up at them as if coming out of a daze. “Kiora, you still haven’t eaten breakfast. Why don’t you do that, and then come down to the library. I have something I need you to see.” He stood up and grabbed his walking stick. As he came around the table, he paused, placing his hand on Alcander’s shoulder.

Alcander looked up, confused, as Lomay smiled down at him. Lomay patted him on the shoulder and looked as if he might say something, but instead, his hand slid back to his side, and he hobbled out of the room.

Emane looked around, bewildered. “Is the meeting over?”

“It appears so,” Alcander said.

Kiora scowled at the door. Something was going on with Lomay, but she had no idea what it could be.

***

KIORA TOOK HER FIRST bite of breakfast. It was a little disconcerting—gray and very unappealing. But it was tasty—sweet and creamy, similar to the oats she would eat at home, but smoother.

“Didn’t you already have breakfast with Emane?” Kiora asked Alcander.

“No. Emane ate, but I was interrupted too frequently to get a bite.” He shoveled a spoonful into his mouth before pulling a face. “By the Creators, you would have thought there was an Omelian in the kitchen this morning.”