A shiver of excitement went through him. He reveled in that, and in the knowledge that his actions would cause such drastic, life-changing events. By the Divine, if their efforts played a part in waking the legendary celestials, it would all be worth it.
Jordan, a young lad with entirely too much energy for the late afternoon, dashed ahead of them up the winding stairs, past golden banners and tomes collecting dust. When they reached the upper atrium with the arched doorways and wide windows letting light stream in, Jordan came to a stop. He swung his brown arms and legs in a wide gesture, pointing toward the doors, then bowed and scurried away. Likely to continue on with his next message. He was a runner—the fastest Imer had ever seen—but other than being quick of foot and fast with memory, Imer had seen no other manifestations of the boy’s abilities.
As soon as Jordan disappeared, the door to the inner chamber opened. A woman walked out, her hips swaying as she strode toward them. In one hand she held a long, unsheathed blade that caught the sunlight. She was dressed in simple garb: a short halter that left her belly bare and a long skirt that settled low on her hips, revealing even more flesh. Willow. Imer gave her a wolfish grin which, to her credit, she ignored.
“Don’t take up too much of his time,” she said in passing. She smelled like magic, raw and dangerous, and there was a wicked glint in her amethyst eyes.
She brushed up against Ingram and then turned around, pausing her departure. He gave her a cool, aloof appraisal, his usual distant greeting. Ingram had a stand-offish approach, while Imer preferred to flirt. It was more fun that way.
Her perfect nose wrinkled. “Are you drunk?” she asked, her eyes narrowing in disdain at Ingram.
Imer laughed, both at her disdain and the disgruntled look on Ingram’s face. Ingram had the allure, the ability to pull people toward him, and most woman ignored Imer and fell in love with Ingram’s hardened, stony demeanor. Not that Imer minded, he got in enough trouble as it was, but Ingram often had to deal with love-languished women following him around, and they often lost their wits after he bedded them. It was best to stay away from womenfolk, no matter how desirable and attractive they were. Besides, Willow spent so much time with the wizard, Imer know she aimed to become the next wizard of the tower. There was a cold ruthlessness hidden under her beauty.
Ingram growled. “Are you judging how I celebrate?”
Willow took a step back and smiled sweetly at him. “Just insulted you did not invite me.”
Ingram tilted his head back, studying Willow, then shrugged. “Find me later . . .” he said, but there was no promise in those words, mere jest.
Willow frowned, crossed her arms over her chest, then turned and walked away, her hips swaying from side to side. Ingram stared after her until Imer punched his shoulder. “Careful brother, you still have a priestess waiting for you in Isdrine.”
“I haven’t forgotten,” Ingram returned, his voice low. “But don’t you wonder . . .”
Imer sped up so he wouldn’t hear his brother’s words. Wonder. Of course he wondered what Willow knew. But getting her drunk and seducing her wouldn’t be the best way to find out. He shot a side glance at his brother before they both stepped into the domain of the wizard.
Multi-colored prisms covered the hall, creating a myriad of colors so rich it was almost impossible not to cover one’s eyes. In a moment, the flare of magic died away, and the wizard appeared, blowing on his wand.
Imer paused just inside the doorway, heart pounding as he crossed his arms over his chest and waited.
The wizard glanced at them and then strode over, his robes billowing out behind him. He was not a traditional wizard. Although he was old—in years—his hair was black instead of white, he did not possess a beard, and he had the spryness of a man in his youth. It was his eyes, deep and magnetic, that gave away who he was.
“Ingram. Imer,” he said. His words came out rushed, as though he were short of breath. “The hunter has risen.”
The rest of the wizard’s words were lost as a sudden ringing came to Imer’s ears. His blood ran cold, and for a moment he wondered if they should leave the wizard’s tower after all.
7
Seven Shards
“Tell me about the seven shards,” Maeve asked Sandrine the next morning.
There was nothing to eat as Maeve and Sandrine walked north among the rocks, though Sandrine said after midday the waters would be clean enough to fish from, or they could search the rocks for crustaceans.
Maeve wondered how Sandrine knew so much, but the scholar did not seem ready to talk about herself any more than she already had, and Maeve was growing tired of her pointed remarks.
“Ah. The seven shards,” Sandrine’s dry voice gentled with wonder. “Legend says thousands of years ago, before the angels fell from the Divine’s grace, they lived above the world as celestial beings and worshipped the Divine in an everlasting paradise. The scrolls state that the souls of the righteous rest with the Divine after death, although you need to visit a temple and speak with a priest or priestess to find the path of righteousness. Once you gain access to the heavenly kingdom of the Divine, wealth and wisdom are yours for an eternity, and those you lost in life will be with you, forever and always. That is a promise of the Divine.
“However, the angels, beings sworn to worship and protect the Divine, stole a relic from the Divine’s treasury. It was a crown made of seven crystals with a bluish aura to them. When the Divine discovered the theft, there was a war among the celestials. Half were cast down to the Underworld, not to be mistaken with the fae’s Underground. They are now called demons, and they seek to undo all that the Divine built as vengeance for being kicked out of everlasting paradise. It is said the Divine was not unkind, and he gave the demons many chances to repent, but they were headstrong and determined to become more than they ought to have been, to become divine creatures who ruled the souls of all. They walk the earth as they are able, seeking to corrupt humankind, darken souls, and drag all down to the Underworld, where everlasting torment awaits as punishment for their deeds. After the war, the crown was cast down by the Divine. When it fell to earth, the seven shards were scattered across our known world, and most of the relic’s power was lost. But not all of it. Legend says, if one can find all seven shards and put them back together into a crown, the reconstructed artifact will have the power to break all curses simultaneously.”
Maeve listened, her forehead furrowing at the story. She believed some of it, but other parts seemed outlandish, impossible. But the people of Carn were not human, and they boasted extraordinary powers—perhaps the powers of fallen angels? She was unsure, for that part of her heritage was missing. Dwelling on the past brought her no joy, and there was no reason to question what had happened to Carn. The land was in ruins, taken over by the orcs. She frowned, hoping one of the shards wasn’t there, too.
“Why do the fae want the shards?” she asked, curious to hear Sandrine’s speculation.
Sandrine’s sharp gray eyes met hers. “You caught the fae’s attention, which means you must be a warrior exalted above all others, but you’d be a fool not to see what they intend. The fae have been banished from the earth, and although they walk it every full moon, they want more. You’ve seen what they can do, and you’ve likely heard the legend of the Dragon Throne. What more could they do if they were free from the curse?”