Page 102 of A Cage of Crystal

A searing ache pierced his heart.

He slid his gaze to Emylia. “Do you know about the curse Morkai placed on Cora? The one preventing her from bearing children?”

She shrank back slightly, shoulders stiff. Her dark eyes went wide, but she said nothing.

Teryn sat up straighter. “Do. You. Know. About. It.”

She gave a sharp nod.

“Tell me.”

“It’s…it’s not something you can change—”

His voice deepened, his fingers curling into fists. “Stop keeping things from me based on whether or not I can change them and justtellme, Emylia.”

Closing her eyes, she lowered her head. Her voice came out muffled. “I suppose it’s well past time for me to be judged for my sins.”

Tension radiated through Teryn’s ethera.

Slowly, she rose to her feet. Teryn followed, keeping his eyes locked on her hunched form. Her expression was wan, eyes distant.

“It’s my fault,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “Everything he’s doing. It’s because of me.”

It took all his restraint to keep his voice level. “Tell me what you know. Please.”

“I can’t. I’m too much of a coward to confess with words.”

“Emylia—”

“But I can show you.”

* * *

The illusionthat was Emylia’s temple bedroom fell beneath a sheer blanket of fog. When it dissipated, the tapestries and furnishings were left muted in color and clarity, while the light coming in from the windows seemed to shift between midday and early evening, then back again. When Teryn tried to focus on the details of the room—the pattern on the rugs, the designs on the tapestries—they’d change before his eyes. Whatever illusion he saw now, it had the same ephemeral quality as a dream.

“This is my memory,” Emylia explained, taking up post against the far wall. Her expression remained hollow, shoulders slumped either with sorrow or resignation. “Or how I remember it playing out, at least. Memories are weaker than illusions, but this is as close to the truth as I can show you.”

Teryn stood at her side, tense with trepidation. He had no idea what to expect or how her memories had anything to do with the curse Cora had mentioned.

The bedroom door opened and in walked another version of Emylia. She appeared to be a year or two younger than the Emylia he knew now, but perhaps it was the carefree smile, the sparkle in her eyes, and the buoyancy of her steps that made her seem so youthful. She wore a simple silk shift, belted at the waist with a red braided cord. A similar red cord framed her face, keeping her halo of black curls off her forehead, and ended in a bow at the nape of her neck. Her arms were full of leather-bound books.

Behind the Emylia of memory followed an older woman. She was tall with brown skin and short-cropped black hair. Her state of dress was slightly more elegant, her shift patterned with floral designs, and her braided belt was gold in color.

Neither figure paid any heed to Teryn and his companion. He and Emylia were merely spectators in this memory, not participants.

“He says he’s from Syrus,” the older woman said. Her voice was soft and slightly muffled, her tone inconstant, as if whatever magic Emylia was using to replicate this memory was unable to properly recall how the woman was supposed to sound. “He seems to be about the same age as you, and with the same fascination with books. For seven days, he’s been in our library, asking questions that our archivists don’t have answers to.”

The younger Emylia set her books next to her bed and turned back toward the woman. “What does this have to do with me, Priestess Calla?”

“The young man is in need of a channel, either an oracle or seer. Moreover, I need him out of our library, and you need to hone your craft.”

Emylia’s eyes brightened. “You mean I can practice channeling for someone outside of the temple?”

“Yes. I believe you are ready. The man’s search is of a nature that will provide you a challenge.”

Emylia cocked her head to the side. “What is he asking about?”

“The fae.”

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