Heir of Secrets and Fate (Mythic Spark #2)

Chapter 1

Shattered Porcelain

“You’re fae.”

Endymion’s words lingered in the silent ether as if reality refused to take hold.

My senses pulsed in uneven waves, as if I hovered precariously between the realm of dreams and the land of the living.

The familiarity of it was nearly as unnerving as the sensation itself, and I couldn’t help wondering if I’d trapped Endymion again—that this was nothing more than a dream.

That the moment with the Mother was merely a figment of my imagination as well.

Behind me, the boughs of the magical tree rustled in the cool breeze, the gentle sound dulling the oppressive quiet enough to pull my thoughts back to the present.

The Autumn Court’s second-in-command was still close, his presence enveloping me as the rhythmic cadence of his galloping heartbeat washed over me like the summer sun.

As if called by the melody, I lifted a hand toward his broad chest, which was adorned in the fine leathers befitting his rank.

Endymion’s gaze followed the movement, his head tilting a fraction in curiosity.

He didn’t move as I laid a palm against the smooth layers protecting his heart, the one that pulsed in beautiful synchronicity through the leathers against my skin—like the land rumbling beneath a herd of wild horses.

That sound alone pointed to the truth that this was a dream, for no human could hear such things.

Or at least not without their ear being pressed against another’s chest. Though, I had to admit that the air around us was still thick with magic, its scent of ancient wood and the promise of rain tickling my senses.

Perhaps the lingering powers were responsible for my heightened senses.

Or perhaps I’d finally snapped and lost my bleeding mind, getting lost in an illusion of my own making.

There were worse things than getting lost in a dream, I supposed. Truth was, anything was better than the waking nightmare my life had become.

Finally lifting my gaze from where my hand rested, I was struck by sapphire eyes alight as if they were drinking in the world’s wonders for the first time.

As I made to turn from their intensity, a shockwave of warm energy flooded me from where we were connected.

I sucked in a surprised half-gasp, the sensation as breathtaking as when I’d pressed my palms against the satiny bark of the Mother’s tree.

Endymion stiffened beneath my hand at the same moment, and a flicker of surprise ghosted his features before a slow smile graced his dusky-rose lips.

Needing to know once and for all if this was real or not, I slid the hand resting over Endymion’s heart across his chest in search of bare skin.

The corded lines of muscle down his arms shifted faintly beneath my touch as my fingers rounded his shoulder and traced the exposed contours of his lightly tanned arm with a featherlight caress.

A shudder ran through him at the same time that a quiet sigh of relief escaped me.

A dream. This was a dream. Certainty settled deep in my bones. In the waking world, I recoiled from another’s touch. It wasn’t even a conscious choice—just a failsafe triggered by…by him.

Gods, even the mere thought of the king’s name was acrid.

But I didn’t recoil now. Sweat hadn’t pooled on my brow; I hadn’t frozen in terror. Instead, the world went still, and relief as warm as a light summer rain swept through.

A dream.

Not fae.

Mother, I could have wept at the mercy of it. At knowing Endymion’s words hadn’t rung true.

My life was complicated enough with the king and Lord Wymond lusting for my power—for the spark my frail human body could barely contain.

If I was fae, what would they do to me if my body didn’t give out as easily?

Gods, what would my siblings have to endure if I could resist in earnest?

If I could survive everything he’d done that day?

The day he’d nearly killed Tarrin. The day his thirst for the ancient power coursing through my veins had consumed him to the point he’d chosen greed over my life.

My fingers dug into Endymion’s sun-dusted skin as echoes of that pain rippled through me. I closed my eyes, trying to center myself.

It’s just a memory.

I am okay.

He can’t hurt me here.

The grounding mantra broke as a sharp jolt of power surged through me, and as my eyes snapped open, my vision flashed white.

Hands braced on my knees, I panted and blinked against the light blindness, trying to reclaim my sight as it swarmed with dancing white dots.

The air was thick—muggy even—and a faint hum filled my ears.

With each blink, the world sharpened a fraction until I found a bewildered High Lord of the Summer Court staring at us.

Caius stood in what appeared to be his version of a study.

My heart dipped as my mind dredged up the king’s own study, the memory of towering, opulent bookshelves and grand windows now stained by the bitter truths unveiled by the fates themselves.

The same room where I’d sat beside him as he comforted me and told me he had a plan to get Cassy and Leighton—the twins—back.

Only now I knew he’d been the one who had stolen them away in the first place.

A wave of acrid bitterness rose in my throat, threatening to choke me.

The sound of Caius’ chair sliding across the pristine white tile jolted me upright, pulling me away from the dark memory.

His eyes widened, darting briefly to Endymion before settling back on me.

A flicker of something like shock—or maybe confusion—flashed before he masked it with the practiced ease all fae seemed to master over their infinite lifespans.

“Nyleeria,” Caius said in greeting, his booming voice betraying little of what had flickered a moment earlier. “It’s good to see you.”

“And you, High Lord,” I said, offering him an awkward curtsy.

Why had I just done that?

His mouth twitched up. “Please, there’s no need for such formalities—Caius is fine.”

I didn’t respond, still unsure why I’d been so formal in the first place.

As Caius closed the short distance between us, he shared a look with Endymion that seemed to hold a meaning I couldn’t decipher.

Did they know each other—truly know each other?

No doubt they’d crossed paths many times over the centuries, but the silent exchange between them seemed born out of closeness, not familiarity.

I shook the thought from my mind as the High Lord stepped close enough that I had to tilt my chin up a fraction to meet his eyes. He offered a welcoming smile as he placed a gentle hand on my shoulder in a kind welcome.

As if electrified by his touch, a bolt of terror tore through me, and everything seemed to still, like the fates themselves were holding their breath.

In a painfully slow movement, I looked down at the hand that connected us, then back to his face—his broad smile still bright, as if nothing had happened.

With each moment that passed in that timeless space, my world tilted, as though his touch were a boulder crashing through a cabinet of the finest porcelain.

Helplessly, I watched in slow motion as my fragile delusion shattered into a million jagged pieces—each one stabbing me with the truth.

This was not a dream.

I was fae.

“No. Gods, no,” I gasped.

Lady Time released her hold, and I staggered away in haste, needing to distance myself from Caius’ branding touch.

“Nyleeria.” Endymion took a quick, cautious step toward me, his countenance sharpening like a drawn bowstring.

“No,” I choked out, shaking my head. “No.”

He took another step, now closer than Caius.

I staggered back a few paces, desperate to put space between myself and this new reality.

Both of them stilled, eyes widening as my heel caught on something, and I tumbled backward.

Unable to catch myself, a sharp rush of air burst from my lungs on impact.

I couldn’t breathe; the air pressed in as if truth had stripped it of oxygen. Panting, I rolled onto my knees, palms pressed to the soft rug that had tripped my retreat.

In a flash, Endymion knelt before me.

“Nyleeria, what’s going on? Are you okay?” he asked, reaching for me.

“Don’t you fucken touch me,” I snarled, twisting out of his grasp—the vitriol in my voice shocking him, and me.

He froze, and Caius’ stunned glance between Endymion and me didn’t go unnoticed.

My shoulders heaved with uneven breaths as I clawed at my chest, fisting the light fabric of my shirt, my lungs straining for air.

My ragged breathing was the only sound, save for the rustling of summer beyond the open arches.

Neither of them moved, as if afraid of spooking a stray doe—or perhaps, in that moment, I was something closer to a wild beast.

You’re fae.

The words reverberated through me. And gods fucken damn it, I’d never been more terrified of two words in my entire life.

For what felt like an eternity, I just took in heavy breaths and shook my head in wild, helpless disbelief.

Slowly, my breathing steadied, and I unfurled my fingers from the fabric of my shirt—an ache settling into my joints from how tightly I’d clutched it. Endymion looked as though he’d finally taken a breath himself, his shoulders easing a fraction, though he remained still.

I glanced past him to Caius, whose expression twisted with something like sorrow.

He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, a sharp sound split the air.

I cried out, pressing my hands against my head as a cacophony of deafening noises crashed over me, like every sound I’d ever heard, or ever would, was thrust upon me all at once.

But louder than all the chaos was the haunting echo of Endymion’s words: You’re fae.