Page 85 of The Demon Tide

Elloren Grey

Noilaan

Eastern Realm

Two days prior to Xishlon

“One month.”An angry, male voice sounds through the closed door ahead as I follow Fain and Lucretia down a narrow hall cut into the mountain’s black and purple stone. “One month, and thedamned Crowswill be on our doorstep.”

Fain opens the door, and all conversation snuffs out as the people inside turn toward me.

I’m faced with a small library, a cobalt circular table in its center marked with a blue dragon. Two purple-hued Urisk people are seated before it—a lovely older woman in a floral, plum tunic who’s about Fain’s age, and a straight-backed, angular-faced man of about my age. He’s garbed in a Vu Trin military uniform that’s curiously tinted violet, his invisible magical aura a bright penumbra of purple. A furious-looking man stands opposite them, perhaps around Lukas’s age, tension spitting through his potent aura of earth magery in spiking black vines—the same man, I’m assuming, who was railing against the “Crows” just a moment ago.

Only...he’s a “Crow” himself.

And the most outrageous Mage I’ve ever seen, save Ariel Haven.

There’s a huge raven tattoo stamped across half his green-glimmering neck, another of a black spider beside one eye, the spider’s legs extending over half his forehead and his entire cheek. His guarded, angry green eyes are lined in thick, dark kohl, like Trystan’s, and black metallic piercings edge his ears, eyebrows, and the bottom of his nose. He’s dressed in solid-black Noi attire, his lips painted black, his midnight hair spiked, his whole aura simmeringly bleak and confrontational.

He also bears a striking resemblance to my brother Rafe.

And the purple-hued young man bears a striking resemblance tome.

The Urisk woman gasps, glancing toward the purple man and back to me again, a stunned look crossing her features as her graceful violet hand flies up to cover her mouth. The young Urisk man’s expression has turned coolly speculative as he rocks back in his chair and looks over my glamoured form with almost amused appraisal. His sharp, forest green eyes stand out in bold contrast to his purple features, and I’m rendered spellbound.

He looks so exactly like me—if I were male, point-eared, and mostly purple-hued.

“Everyone,” Fain says, slowly and with great import. “This is Elloren Gardner Grey.” He glances at me. “Artfully glamoured,” he amends with a slight smile.

The spider-tattooed Mage’s kohl-rimmed eyes widen before he flashes me a wicked grin. “Well, isn’t this an interesting turn of events.” I notice there are three house cats hovering near him—two calico felines on the table, one white cat purring adoringly against his leg.

“Hello, Elloren,” the purple-hued young man says in convivial greeting, his green eyes dancing. He seems remarkably at ease coming face-to-face with the Black Witch.

“Elloren,” Fain says gently as he angles his head toward the purple-hued man, “this is Edwin’s son, your cousin, Or’myr.”

My throat tightens with shock even though Trystan told me of him. It’s one thing to hear about the family I never knew I had, quite another thing to see them in person.

Slender Or’myr gets up and rises to his full impressive height, then strides around the table toward me, extending his hand. Rendered speechless, I grip it, and he gives me another faint smile, his gaze piercingly intelligent. “It’s good to meet you, cousin.”

Cousin. Uncle Edwin’s son.

My emotions thrust into a tumult, I pick up a keener sense of Or’myr’s strong core of violet fire and earth magery, his earthlines forged from purple stone and crystal.

“We look alike,” I finally manage—my resemblance to this young man I’ve never met before is so much stronger than my resemblance to either Rafe or Trystan.

A sardonic gleam lights his eyes. “We do. Except you are not purple.”

“I’m not this either,” I note as I motion toward myself.

Or’myr loses his smile. “It’s good you’re glamoured, cousin.” His gaze slides over my grayed face. “How did you ever manage it?”

“A Smaragdalfar glamour.” I cast about for the words. “One of a kind.” I take in the amethyst-encrusted wand sheathed at Or’myr’s side before meeting his shrewd gaze once more. He radiates a reserved calm similar to Trystan’s, which loosens some of my tension. “You’ve wand magery, then?”

The side of Or’myr’s lip twitches. “A bit.” His gaze flits to Fain, and I sense from their shared, amused glance that this is a wild understatement. “I’m a Level Five Fire and Earth Mage,” he clarifies. “As well as a geomancer.”

I’m struck by the fact that Or’myr and I have the same predominant affinities as I note the slim chain draped diagonally across his military garb, the chain’s links holding small amethysts of varying lavender hues.

Or’myr smiles. “I work with your friends Sagellyn Gaffney and Tierney Calix. We’re all magical researchers at the Wyvernguard.”

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