Chapter 12
LYKOR
Freed from the memory, Lykor shuddered a rough exhale. The storm of his heartbeat vibrated with a charge, his entire being poised to protect Aesar from the king. Stifling the wild urge provoked by the vision, Lykor detached his mind from the buried past.
Focusing on the chambers in front of him, Lykor watched Kal tense, eyeing the rending billowing through the room.
Dispelling Aesar’s lingering fear, Lykor cracked his neck and surrendered the hold on his magic.
Feeling flooded back into his limbs in a prickling rush as he comprehended the significance of possessing a Heart of Stars.
They were the key to freeing the dragons the Aelfyn had chained in the war. Galaeryn had one Heart in his possession, and it was possible he’d already located more.
There was a reason the king had targeted Aesar during that first staged “wraith attack.” Aesar had learned too much of what Galaeryn and Elashor attempted to conceal—though Lykor had yet to discover what the dragons could offer.
WHAT WOULD IT MEAN FOR THE WRAITH IF WE COULD FREE THOSE BEASTS FIRST? Lykor nearly shook Aesar out of sleep to question him, but realized the answers didn’t matter.
If the king’s reaction to Aesar’s curiosity of the dragons was any sign, then the creatures and the relics were important. With loathing engraved in his bones, Lykor would retaliate and snatch away anything that Galaeryn desired—just as the king had ruthlessly stolen everything from the wraith.
If his people could somehow ally themselves with the dragons—if any were still alive—they might have a chance at survival. First, they’d have to collect the Hearts if the king didn’t already possess them all and uncover wherever the Aelfyn had chained those beasts.
Lykor had no doubts that any remaining dragons were somewhere on the other side of the world. Surely they would’ve been discovered long ago if they dwelled in the mortal realms.
Lykor veered his attention back to Kal. He’d never voice it, but he grudgingly acknowledged the benefits of Aesar’s intervention—at least Kal was still present to manage the trivialities.
“Set Mara on organizing the search for the Heart that Aesar thinks we might be sitting on,” Lykor ordered, rolling his shoulders to banish Aesar’s lingering wave of dread. “Have her double the crews excavating the collapsed chambers around the Slag.”
Trapped in a whirlpool of responsibilities, Lykor considered what to do if the restless generation discovered his plans. He didn’t have time to sacrifice by addressing the various factions sowing seeds of dissent.
“I don’t want those ‘reavers’ on the Heart’s trail,” he told Kal, clenching his claw like he could prevent the wraith’s former unity from slipping through his fingers.
“Busy them with patrols and keep knowledge of the Hearts between us. If the warriors are losing respect for me, perhaps they’ll be more inclined to listen to you. ”
Kal grunted, turning to leave without a parting word.
“Wait,” Lykor said, seized by an impulse.
Stalking to his captain, Lykor flared Essence and began ripping talents out of his own chest, severing abilities from his Well.
Unlike the king siphoning magic against his will, offering power freely had no agonizing effects.
Pooling his magic, Lykor started to assemble a globe containing illumination, telepathy, and illusion—those talents he could live without.
He couldn’t conceive why having all eight talents mattered—he’d never been an arch elf like Aesar.
So drained from shouldering the burden of caring for his people alone, Lykor hardly cared if his physical form balanced between elf and wraith as he shifted from his arch elf appearance.
Galaeryn had broken and remade him too many times to count.
Even after becoming whole again, his wraith claw had still persisted.
Lykor accepted the irreparable damage to his body.
Kal’s jaw went slack, eyes widening in alarm. He scrambled backward toward the door when a radiant orb of light hovered above Lykor’s palm.
Kal held his claws up as if to fend Lykor off. “I already told Aesar I didn’t want—”
Ignoring his protest, Lykor shoved the abilities into his captain’s chest. Kal collapsed to his hands and knees as the invasion of light fractured through his veins like fissures cracking through ice.
“Stars scorch you,” Kal swore, lurching back to his feet. He swayed, his hair shifting to a bronze hue. “You never should’ve stolen Essence from that elf. I’ve come to terms with the loss.” Igniting his magic, Kal clutched his chest, wresting the power from his Well.
Snatching his wrist, Lykor yanked away Kal’s arm, halting his efforts at withdrawing the talents.
“You will keep those abilities and make yourself useful,” Lykor growled, his claw tightening around Kal’s now-elven hand, all traces of the wraith talons eradicated. “Surely you see the advantages of both of us having Essence.”
Kal’s crimson eyes blazed into his from a face reminiscent of the elf that Aesar remembered—his body like Lykor’s now, in the middle of the transformation between elf and wraith.
Skin crawling where they touched, Lykor flung Kal’s arm away.
“Do I need to spell out the benefits for you?” Frustration gnawed on his nerves.
Everything he did for the wraith was met by Kal’s combativeness and scorn.
“You can communicate with the warriors telepathically and illusions can conceal us in daylight if the humans continue pushing closer to our patrols. And then there’s whatever fucking use you can find for illumination. ”
“Fine.” Kal’s glare burned a hole through him as he yanked on his boots and crouched to lace the leather ties.
“I’ll leave a portal open near the surface lifts for today’s rotation,” Lykor said, catching his reflection in a dressing mirror.
Familiar scarlet eyes framed by midnight hair scowled back at him before he turned his attention to his captain.
“I’m taking the wraithlings out to forage their goats.
It might be the final time we can do it safely with those humans encroaching.
I want Fenn’s squadron with us patrolling our mountain pastures.
Have him organize the scouts to hunt on the outskirts. There should still be migrating elk.”
Ignoring him, Kal strapped knives next to the crossbow on his back. Sheathing his longsword at his hip, he pivoted, leaving Lykor alone in the silent room.