Page 80 of Dreams and Dragon Wings
“He has told me everything,” she reiterates, her voice husky and low. “About all that I am. About all that I can be.” Drawing in a deep breath, she exhales, “About his plans for the world.Ourworld. Tomorrow, we march on the Aerie.”
I shake my head. “No. You cannot trust anything he says. Malice is a liar. He appeals to your Shade.”
Pride. That is the burden all Jewels must bear.
Desperate, I warn her, “He will lead you astray, Aurelia.”
“And after that, we march on the human realm,” she says, ignoring me. “The world will bend to the will of myTheryn’kai.”
A bitter laugh explodes from my throat. Nonsense. She is speaking utter nonsense. Malice must have her bewitched. “Malice will need the Corona Ignis before he can claim that title.”
Aurelia purses her lips, looking like a petulant child rather than the elegant woman I know her to be. “I suppose you’re right. We will simply have to wait for you to die, then.” An almost shy smile curves her lips. “But in the meantime, he can still call himself myTheryn’fey.”
Her words sting in a way I refuse to acknowledge. She is not herself.
But when she utters, “And with my gift, we will rule…forever,” I can keep my feelings masked no longer.
Anger ignites within me as I shout, “Malice!”
The image of Aurelia dissolves at once, leaving only my uncle standing before me, his laughter booming in my ears.
“That took you long enough,” he taunts, swiping his fingers beneath his eyes as if to brush aside tears of mirth. “But I supposecritical thinkinghas never been your forte, my dear nephew.”
My jaw tightens. My hands clench.
His lips curl into a sneer, as if I disgust him. “That is the trouble with people like you, you know. People who try to see the good in everything and everyone. It makes you gullible.Weak—”
I smash my right fist into his jaw, cutting him off.
Just as I hoped, he staggers backward, clearly feeling the blow.
“The Great Weaver calls us to be discerning, Uncle,” I correct him, a shred of guilt plucking at my heart as I massage my now sore knuckles, “not doormats.”
I should not have struck him, even though he deserved it. I should not have sunk to his level. My father raised me better than that.
Suddenly, Malice is gone. The clearing is, too.
I am back in the garden, standing next to the grotesque apple tree, with Brisa and Glorana flitting around me, both fretting.
Glorana observes, “You seem to be bleeding,Theryn’kai.”
Brisa flings her hands into the air. “Wonderful! We canbleedhere.”
The prickle of eyes upon me draws my attention upward to where Malice now lounges on a sofa fashioned from more sickly green clouds, well beyond reach.
He frowns, his gaze flicking between my aunties. “Were there not three of you?”
Brisa bristles and shoots toward him like a blue hornet. The air around him ripples when she harmlessly connects with the invisible barrier now protecting him from us.
Glorana, though, blinks and then points to herself, Brisa, and me individually while slowly and loudly explaining to him, “Therearethree of us.”
Malice’s frown deepens.
I slice the blade of my hand through the air and call out to him, “This is between you and me, Malice. Leave the rest of them out of this. My godmothers. Aurelia.”
He barks out a laugh. “Now, why would I do that? I get to torment you, claim my throne,andreceive the gift from the last living Jewel.”
“She will never give it to you,” I hotly deny.
