Page 64 of To Scale the Emerald Mountain
My hands shake with my new wave of disappointment until I consider the name of the village, Glehsdor. In my sleep deprived state, I did not initially make the connection, but I know where Locane has taken her.
Guards scouted to the country house my mother had built in the early days of her marriage when her heart yearned for her homeland, and it was cleared at the time. I frequent the house and send crews to clean and stock the place for when I stop to break up the travel. Ellya uses it just as often when she comes to me.
It is just bold enough to make perfect sense for Locane.
I am about to tell Kraeston I know where they are, but a sharp pain sluices across my palm, making me hiss. I glance down to see unmarred skin, realizing that Ellya is hurt, when something horrifying happens. That light encasing my heart that I cherish so dearly starts to dim, like someone slowly turning the key on a flicker lamp, the bright flame fading with each throbbing turn until there is nothing left but the wick. Clutching at my chest, it is as if my heart has ceased beating—ceased existing—with the absence of Ellya’s light.
Ellya is not dead. I can sense that she is still alive, our bond not entirely severed. My knees weaken and hit the soft forest floor beneath me. Hunching over with one hand on the ground while the other claws at my chest, a strangled scream wrenches from my throat. Whatever dark magic Locane has dabbled in, I am now certain that he has invoked some on my precious mate.
But to what extent?
Kraeston drops to my side with a tight grip on my shoulder. “Alec!”
Not bothering to placate him, I grab the collar of his tunic, pulling him with me straight to the grounds of the house. Kraeston knows me well enough to lean his magic into mine for the combined jump, and we effortlessly fade into the void, Kraeston’s weight slipping through nothingness along with mine. I am ready to tear down whatever wards Locane has placed around Ellya to hide her from me and dampen our bond, reducing her flame in my heart to nothing but shadow.
We land out of sight of the country house, barred far from where it sits by Locane’s wards. I run in the direction it sits but quickly hit an invisible barrier, dark magic sizzling and burning my skin like acid. Great bubbling blisters appear on my hands. They do not start to heal immediately like they should. Pacing the perimeter of the wards, I run my hand along it, hoping to find a break. I pay no attention to the pain and flaying of my flesh with the denial of my intrusion.
I let loose an animalistic roar, causing a flock of birds to flee screaming from a nearby tree, the beat of their wings pounding against the air like that of my racing heart.
“Fuck,” Kraeston hisses behind me. “They’re in there.”
Not answering him, I continue my failed assault on the wards, muttering every incantation I can recall while knowing that they will fail. A portion of the barrier makes me stop in my tracks. On the warm night breeze I catch a fresh whiff of a scent that I would know anywhere; the distinctive smell of cloves wrapped in jasmine, confirming that Locane cut Ellya’s hand, drawing her precious blood to keep me from her.
Where I was an animal before, I am now feral. Screaming at the skies, I bring my fist crashing into the poisoned wall of magic over and over, warm air that whistles with the force of my throws connecting with my exposed knuckle bones. A zap of pain shoots up the nerves of my arm and ignites my shoulder joint with fiery agony while the dark magic crackles and smokes, denying my entry.
“Fuck!” I bellow at the stars, wondering if she could somehow hear me, wondering if she could somehow feel my rage and devastation and know that it means I will not stop until I reach her. The dark hole in my chest tells me that she does not. I try to pull on our tether, but it is lax and never ending, as if it now has nothing to connect to.
It is only when I cannot catch a full breath anymore that I stop my senseless raging and sink to the ground, grasping my hair in my bleeding hands as I frantically attempt to gulp down air.
“We know where she is now, my king. I will go now to get every guard available to surround the perimeter. He will not get away with her again.” Kraeston disappears.
Sitting in the deafening, lonely summer sounds of crickets chirping and a gentle breeze ruffling the leaves of trees, I wallow in my uselessness to help the woman that I live for who is just out of my reach; in how thoroughly I have failed her. The anguish that engulfs me is exacerbated knowing that it is caused by the person I have loved most in this world, other than Ellya.
That closeness of Locane and I throughout our lives is so far away with the years that have elapsed since we had our falling out, long before Father died. Still, I never would have believed he would be so willing to crush me for his own gains. The betrayal when Locane disowned himself from our family—from me—cuts deep, but therewas hope for reconciliation.
But this… this is insurmountable.
While I sit alone under the starry velvet sky, I grieve the bond with my identical twin that I had hoped all these years could be restored. I grieve Locane as deeply as I grieve the light of my love that I can no longer find within me. Hanging my head in my hands, I weep. Great, racking sobs that shake my whole body as the weight I have been harboring for weeks crashes down on me.
The absence of Locane felt like a death in and of itself. The absence of Ellya at Locane’s hand fills me with sorrow so deep I will surely drown in it.
I have not moved by the time Kraeston returns. I expect more to show up after him, and I do nothing to stop my tears. But no one else arrives, and the footfalls are much too soft for the large man who’s gait I know well. Lifting my heavy head, I see it is not Kraeston, but Mhaylene who has come and come alone.
My eyes watch her imploringly, waiting for whatever reasoning that the place is not being surrounded at this very moment. Mhaylene looks as if she is sleeping poorly and stress lines her hazel eyes.
“We have to go back to Quinndohs, Alec,” Mhaylene says softly.
The infinitely wise and knowing tone of her voice grates at my ears and irritates me irrationally. My head snaps up at her with disbelief. “Why would I do that when I know that she is in there, Mhay?” I point in the direction of the wards.
“Because Ellya will come to us—in The Capital.”
Mhaylene is telling me without saying that she has Seen it. Standing to my feet, I stride towards her. Without bothering to ask her permission, I clamp my hand around her arm and look into her mind. My gift does not require touch, but it will produce a clearer and more detailed picture.
An aerial view shows my personal study in my residence at the palace of The Capital, as if standing on the mezzanine. Mhaylene is sitting behind my desk, the surface scattered with papers and alcohol. I am standing with my back to the door, gazing out the window at the darkening sky beyond. Kraeston leads Ellya into the room with an arm around her waist to support her weight and guide her forward. A group of guards walk in after, surrounding Locane who is in chains.
It is over as quickly as it began.
Mhaylene’s visions are not nearly as detailed and descriptive as Ellya’s, nor does she see from anyone’s perspective. In Mhaylene’s visions she is always an uninvolved bystander unable to hear the thoughts of anyone. This vision is unusually short and nearly silent, but the details are clear.
