Page 55 of The Night Prince 3
But how could they have been? Why would they have been? Because of who his father was? Did the Leviathan know he was this elf’s son? The Night Prince, he supposed. No, no, they’d never recognized him like that!
In their ghostly, raspy whispers, all the Leviathan had ever expressed was hunger, disdain and hate. Hate for everyone and everything in general. But not a particular hate for him. He’d made them hate him more as he’d killed them by the dozens. They’d been gorging themselves on helpless humans and he’d made them stop. If they’d hated him for something before that though they’d given no indication.
For you…
Yet his adopted mother’s words indicated that the Leviathan had somehow made their way to Lightwell for him. Because of him. It was the first place they’d broken through on Earth. It was why Aquilan had arrived on Earth there first, too. Yet, again, why? It was all confusing and yet he couldn’t think of her here. Not with this black wound in the ground…
Could I have created this?
For a moment, he wished desperately that Finley were there. Not just because he needed his best friend to be all right, but because Finley would make it all make sense. Finley had always had that capability. Made him feel less alien and alone. Aquilan had a similar way, but he allowed Declan to believe he could be himself even if he wasn’t normal. Was completely abnormal. But neither man was with him as Vex had sent them to different dangerous situations.
He acts as if he is a god. Spinning our fates. Sending us to our individual dooms. Is this mine? Or am I here because he needs something from me?
Declan shook himself and stared with narrowed eyes. “The Leviathan… I was too late… I avenged her.”
“The Leviathan?” Vex turned towards the crater. Half his head was shaved. The long, silvery hair like silk–or spider webs–shorn down to nearly the skull on the one side. It was so different from how the Aravae wore their long hair. That and his barely there clothing and seeming hundreds of tattoos was worlds’ apart from the Aravae’s more classical elven appearance. Vex was punk rock in comparison. “Chewing on the wires perhaps? They could have followed her here and then while she attempted to resurrect Illithor’s defenses… yes, it could have happened that way.”
“What are you talking about? My mother died in our kitchen. On Earth. Not here.” Declan shook his head.
Vex tapped his chin. “Avenging her makes far more sense for your personality type. Your magic–”
“Wait! Stop! STOP!” Declan grasped Vex’s right arm and tugged the Night Elf to face him. His words were betraying him again. He couldn’t get his point across. Vex was wandering.
Vex stared at him. He then looked down at Declan’s hand on his arm and then back up at Declan’s face. His expression was blank. Declan had a feeling that no one touched the Night King without permission and he just had… Well, if he was this man’s son then this should be allowed. Besides, the elf had been in his head without permission, which was far more intimate.
“I did not do this,” Declan lowered his voice. “I was never here. My mother… my mother died on Earth the day the Leviathan came.”
“Your mother died here, Rahven, and this… this stinks of your magic even now.” Vex’s red eyes pinned him, sulfurous reds and golds swirled inside of them. It was almost hypnotic and beautiful, but deadly too.
“N-no. No!” He let Vex go and, only then, did he realize that his skin sparked and felt slightly numb as if he’d been holding onto dry ice. “I’ve never been here before!”
“That you can remember,” Vex said. Almost gently this time.
That was true. He didn’t remember his past. It was one large black hole that had somehow never bothered him that much. Until now.
Vex’s expression was no longer teasing and light. In a way, it had become far more opaque. But Declan could read it. Against the Night King’s will, Vex felt sorry for him.
But why?
This was bad if Vex felt sorry for him. But it was wrong. It was all wrong.
“I think I would remember this!” Declan gestured towards the impossibly vast crater. Wouldn’t I?
“One would think so, but then again, whatever caused this must have been so traumatic that perhaps you would make sure that you could not remember it at all,” Vex answered and put his elegant hands on his narrow hips. “I thought that seeing it might jog your memory. Or, at least, show if you were lying, but neither appears to be the case.”
Declan clenched his jaw. This was wrong! This was all wrong! And he…
“Wait, you said my magic,” Declan said carefully, “my magic did this?”
“Yes, of course. You could hardly have dug it out with a shovel. Well, perhaps, given time, but you’d still be here shoveling if that was the case,” Vex pursed his lips as if this shoveling image gave him some deep thoughts.
“Well, now I can definitely tell you that you’re wrong about me having anything to do with this,” Declan almost laughed, because it was the hated Vulre who gave him the answers he needed now.
Vex frowned. “You did this, Rahven.”
“If it took magic then I did not,” he answered. He clenched his right fist and pounded it against his chest. “I am unable to use magic this way. That’s one memory I do have. Vulre,” here, he swallowed as his gorge rose up at the thought of the other Night Elf, “would have died a thousand deaths if I had this kind of magical ability. But I didn’t. I don’t. It never came to me.”
Vex studied him carefully, but said nothing. Was he shocked, disappointed, in denial about his alleged son having no magic? Lady Ashryn had told him that Vex, himself, had been a late bloomer as if to suggest that his lack of ability was normal. But he’d known it hadn’t been. Regardless, even if he’d been able to muster up a few paltry sparks of magic, he couldn’t have done this. The pitch black crater was so vast that it could swallow a city, hold an ocean, more. He couldn’t have done this.
