Chapter 48 #2
“It’s a slow process,” Jassyn said. Lykor turned back hesitantly, watching him drag a hand through his curls, twisting one that was determined to land in front of his eyes.
“It depends on how extensive the web of coercion is. I…” he trailed off, eyes ticking around the clearing before orbiting back to Lykor.
“I have reason to believe the king had a hand in creating the wraith.”
Lykor flinched at the memory of Galaeryn mutilating his mind, experimenting with the compulsive magic. His reaction must’ve been all the confirmation Jassyn needed.
Jassyn folded his arms across his white leathers, shoulders slumping like he was trying to occupy less space. He glanced away when he spoke. “I’ll help you if you’re willing to tell me everything you know.”
Despite being the one who’d asked for aid, a wave of indecision rippled through Lykor like water disturbed. If he permitted Jassyn to delve into his awareness, he’d be defenseless—at Jassyn’s mercy.
The king had ensured Lykor would never be able to form mental barriers again by utterly eviscerating his mind. Everything would be on display, ripe for the taking—Aesar, the wraith’s location, and his future plans.
An icy fear crawled out of Lykor’s chest at the potential exposure, the armor around his ribcage constricting his air. Steadying himself with the grating of steel, Lykor crushed his gauntlet into a fist at his side.
They both had their secrets, but the offer was one Lykor didn’t think he could refuse. He wasn’t sure what business Jassyn truly had in the jungle, but the elf hadn’t demanded an explanation for his presence either.
“If…if you can assure me that all you will do is unravel the coercion,” Lykor finally said, his spine tensing from the risk, “I’ll tell you all I know of how the wraith came to be.”
Jassyn’s eyes examined his with a clever intensity. “But you’re not wholly wraith.” His arms abandoned their defensive, folded position as he hovered an orb of illumination over his fingertips.
Lykor decided to offer a fraction of his knowledge, to bridge some sort of trust. “Galaeryn returned a handful of my talents.” Voice wavering, he focused on digging the toe of his boot into the grass.
“I was among the first transformed into a wraith.” Not quite the truth since he’d emerged after the king had tortured Aesar, but unpacking everything concerning his other half was a tedious tale for a different day.
Another moment stretched too long. Lykor glanced up, the scars down his back twinging from the motion. Those fascinating eyes trapped him like a fly in honey, prolonging the awkward silence.
Breaking free and rolling the tension out of his cramped muscles, Lykor said, “In the dungeons, I learned what Galaeryn intends to do with the magic he’s plundering.
He’ll redistribute Essence—if he hasn’t already.
To the pure-bloods, creating arch elves of those who aren’t, augmenting the powers of those who are. ”
Aesar’s residual anger roiled in his gut at what his people had endured. Innocent citizens who’d been in the wrong place the night Galaeryn had become drunk on power.
As Jassyn’s calculating eyes absorbed every word, Lykor nearly felt compelled to mindlessly spew more.
“I think the king encouraged the breeding of half-elves to exploit as a source of magic.” Lykor gripped the blade at his side—the one he’d stolen.
“Collecting enough Essence will grant him immortality—”
“And he either hasn’t harvested enough yet or it requires replenishment over time,” Jassyn finished. Tilting his head, he idly trailed his fingers over a vine dangling from a tree. “What if we could work together? Our people could unite against the elves’ oppression.”
Now he sounded like the girl. “The wraith can’t stand against the king as we are.
” Lykor tightened his grip around the dagger’s hilt.
“We need an edge. Our own source of power.” He glanced at the surrounding jungle as it suddenly became eerily still.
“I’m taking my people away—hopefully to a place the elves can’t reach. You could come with us.”
The words slipped past Lykor’s flapping tongue before the thinking part of his brain had any hope of catching up. Heat stained his cheeks. He couldn’t believe he’d suggested something so absurd. To someone he didn’t even know.
Lykor averted his gaze, attempting to recover with an explanation. “As an Essence wielder, you could help the wraith.” Still wildly unbalanced, another inadvertent admission skidded out. “I was going to take your friend Serenna—”
Jassyn moved so fast that Lykor had no time to react. Pain streaked through his shoulder as Jassyn shoved him, crashing his back into a tree.
Instincts flaring from the impact, Lykor ripped Essence to his command.
Except…there was nothing there. His attention flew to a golden blade—a sister to the stolen one at his side—protruding from a weak point in his armor.
Black blood spilled over the hilt. Before he could tear the weapon out, vines erupted from the ground, wrapping around his wrists, legs, and torso, rooting him in place.
Shock mauled Lykor’s chest as he sucked in a broken breath. Jassyn had shaman powers too. Of course he fucking did. Lykor nearly laughed at his own sheer stupidity for not predicting this.
Jassyn drew himself to his full height. “Have you harmed her?” he demanded, towering over Lykor. “Where did you take her?”
This was about the girl? Lykor scoffed. “She came to me,” he hissed, writhing against the restricting plants. His agitation and fear careened into anger. “Release me.”
Lykor flinched when Jassyn’s hands rose to the sides of his face. His skin buzzed in alarm from the proximity. The vulnerability. Essence churned around them, a riot of whirling magic.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” Lykor snarled, extending his fangs. Every muscle strained as he struggled against the vines. Yanking in progressively more panicked breaths at the constriction, the jungle’s oppressive air threatened to smother him.
Jassyn hesitated, fingers hovering next to Lykor’s temples before he grabbed him. A thought assaulted Lykor, diving into his mind. A command. Coercion. Show me where she is.
Lykor’s spine went rigid as telepathic power penetrated his skull.
The past repeated itself, drowning him in a whirlpool of horrific memories.
Galaeryn invading his mind. Breaking him.
Shattering him. Reforging him. Binding him with orders.
Rendering him powerless. Tethered and shackled to a cold stone table.
Alone. Left for dead time and time again after every transformation from elf to wraith and wraith to elf.
Recoiling from the flashbacks, Lykor furiously wrenched his awareness back to the glade. Jassyn clutched his face, impaling telepathy further into his brain, lodging the magic like a spike.
Lykor snapped his fangs in an attempt to reach him. To stop him. He had no other defense now than to tear out the elf’s throat. His pulse thrashed in his head as the coercion tunneled into him, burrowing into his thoughts.
“Get out!” Lykor barked, grappling the restraining plants with all his might.
Disregarding him, Jassyn’s fingers tightened around his face. Where is she? His eyes glazed over as he delved further, invading the depths of Lykor’s mind. What else do you know?
Lykor was a fool, believing this elf had wanted to help him. Jassyn’s true intentions were clear now—exploiting him to discover what the king had tucked away, concealed from the world.
“I am not a curiosity for you to poke and prod,” Lykor snarled.
An animalistic rage erupted at the helplessness. Lykor went wild ripping at the vines—a rabid beast chained, fighting for freedom. He was unable to toss Jassyn out, unable to assemble a mental barricade, unable to do anything but stand there as the elf rifled through everything.
Jassyn barreled through those obsidian doors where Lykor kept his memories concealed from Aesar. Nothing was hidden. Everything was on display. Aesar, the wraith, their stronghold’s location, the girl, the compulsion to kill Vesryn. Everything.
Jassyn released him, staggering back with a gasp. The surrounding plants wilted, slackening their hold on Lykor.
HE KNOWS. HE KNOWS EVERYTHING ABOUT US. WHAT HAVE I DONE?
“You…” Jassyn trailed off, face frozen in disbelief. Rapidly blinking, comprehension of all he’d reaped spun in those amber eyes that Lykor was going to rip out of his skull. “You’re—”
Lykor bared his fangs. Lunging forward, he tore free from the vines, sinking his canines into Jassyn’s neck. An explosion of coppery blood curled Lykor’s tongue, hauling bile up his throat.
Ice slithered out of his teeth. Lykor didn’t hold the toxins back—didn’t know how—didn’t care if the venom stopped Jassyn’s heart.
Lykor dodged to the side as Jassyn stumbled forward and collapsed, a boneless fish flopping to the ground.
Lykor spit profusely before yanking in a breath, inflamed by the assault. The violation. He savagely scrubbed his mouth as an uncomfortable swarm of emotions crawled over his skin like a horde of fleas.
The wraith would have to leave immediately. There was no more time. Not now. Not when he’d foolishly allowed this elf to get so close.
Wild with rage, Lykor’s chest heaved as he stared at the elf’s crumpled form, paralyzed by the venom. He ripped the blade out of his shoulder, flinging it to the ground.
Clarity returned to Lykor, one breath at a time. The elf wouldn’t be able to inform anyone of his secrets if he was dead…
No, Aesar answered, panicked and alarmed. And now, inconveniently, awake. He hauled rending away before Lykor could obliterate the elf, greedily clutching the talent. Withholding retribution.
IT’S A RISK KEEPING HIM ALIVE, Lykor snarled. DON’T TRY TO STOP ME. Lykor wrestled with Aesar, forcibly shoving him into his precious library, locking him behind the atrium doors. HE WILL DIE FOR INVADING MY MIND.
Like scruffing a pup, Lykor seized the back of the elf’s white leathers. Dragging his limp body across the glade, Lykor dumped him face down into the stream. Bubbles broke the surface as he floated along the water, releasing his last lungful of air.
As an afterthought, Lykor plucked the stolen dagger from his belt. Whipping it through the air, he impaled the elf’s shoulder, lest he try to use Essence to save himself.
Which reminded him… Lykor stepped forward, intending to siphon his power.
Aesar remerged, warring to reassert his control over their body to aid the drowning elf. But Lykor’s grip was too strong, his fury too bright. You’re no better than the king if you do that. Aesar’s accusation was quiet, but his words sliced deep.
AND HE’S NO BETTER THAN THE KING FOR RAVAGING MY MIND. IT’S A WASTE NOT HARVESTING HIS MAGIC FOR THE WRAITH.
Sensing Aesar rallying, Lykor pivoted, cleaving the air to tear open a portal. Uninterested in a battle of wills, he retreated to the Aerie, abandoning the search for the Heart.
He’d foolishly put the wraith at risk, but he wouldn’t make the same mistake again. And as punishment for stupidly seeking help, Lykor had endured another breach of his mind. It was no less than he deserved for having such an idiotic weakness.
For putting his trust in a stranger. Believing that he could be saved.
It was too late for that.