Chapter 7 Where Have You Gone?
Where Have You Gone?
Lucian
M
y skull pounds, sharp enough to make me consider never drinking again. Yet, when I glance at the few meager sips remaining in the bottle of vesi, I reach for it.
“Wendy’s looking for you.”
I look up at Calista, unaware of how long she’s been standing above me. The morning sun shines through the skylight of the combat room, harsh in my eyes. Leiholan is asleep beside me, and my fingers fall away from the bottle, hand empty.
Calista clenches her jaw as I rise, her hand resting on my shoulder—caught between helping me up or pushing me back down.
“Calista—”
She cuts me off. “I’m doing Wendy a favor.”
“It wasn’t my intention—”
She shoves me. I fall beside Leiholan with a grunt, and he stirs but doesn’t wake.
“Intentions?” she hisses. “What did you think would happen?” I shake my head, searching for some string of words, but Calista turns away. “Wendy’s in the woods.”
She storms out of the room.
Leiholan opens his eyes, squinting at me. “You sure do sound like a couple.”
“What? Me and—” I stare at him. “No.”
Leiholan chuckles, pushing himself up. “I’m messing with you, kid.”
I nod, forcing a smile as a flash of heat courses through me, pooling in my palms. Me and…
I couldn’t finish. It isn’t the idea of being with Calista that repulses me.
It’s the thought of anyone. Something thick sits at the back of my throat, stopping me from saying more—as if that space is already taken.
?
I find Wendy seated beneath Azaire’s tree, at the edge of the crater carved in the world. She stares into its depths before glancing over her shoulder. Without a word, she rises and moves to a patch of grass, tearing a handful from the soil. She lays it back down and hovers a palm above it.
The blades of grass do not knit themselves back together nor do they reach for the sun; instead, they lie dead on the soil. I stare pitifully as Wendy tries with all her might to retrieve her power.
By the time she finally drops her arms, they’re trembling, as if the weight of the air is too much to bear.
“It hasn’t come back.” Tears fill her eyes, and she stands, not looking up from the grass.
It makes no sense. I’ve never heard of a person losing their magic. If you lose your magic, you lose your life force. If you lose your life force, you lose your life.
“It will,” I say. There is no other explanation, not one that doesn’t end with her as a corpse.
Wendy reaches behind her back, grabbing a knife. She steps closer, and I step back. She once tried to kill me, after all. We’ve hardly spoken of it.
Wendy straightens, eyes widening as she watches me move away. “I’ve given it time,” she mutters. “Like you said.”
I glance at the knife, and Wendy freezes.
“No.” She shakes her head, eyes widening. “I’m not—I need you to stab me.”
When I stop moving away, she steps forward again, taking my hand and setting the steel down. I glance at the blade, half-expecting it to transform into a flower, as if this whole thing is some kind of mockery. But nothing of the sort happens.
I stiffen. “I’m not stabbing you, Wendy.”
“I can’t.” She shakes her head, a tear falling down her cheek. “My body won’t let me…”
“There’s a reason—”
“No. It’s not what you think. This won’t kill me.” She stares at the knife, turning her bicep toward me. “I have to know.”
This is the oddest request I’ve ever received. I can’t imagine what could have led her to this.
“Know what?” I ask.
Wendy stares at her arm, her lips quivering. She opens her mouth, but no words come out. Then, a meek whisper, “If I can still bleed.”
I follow her gaze back to her arm. That’s right. I may have blacked out during the fight with the Arcanes, but when I awoke, I saw her pull a knife from her thigh. There was no blood or wound.
Something did happen to her. Icarthus possessed her. She became the vessel—the mouth that told me the truth about my parents. As much as I’d like to deny it, it’s the only explanation for what she’s suffering now. The Arcanes—and I—are the reason. She deserves answers.
I grip the hilt of the knife. “All right.”
Wendy finally meets my eyes. With tear-stained cheeks, she offers me a single nod. I position the knife in my hand, holding it above Wendy’s bicep. As I bring the blade down, I wait for Wendy’s reaction—for her body to override her mind and protect itself, to push me away.
Instead, a loud gasp escapes her lips.
Wendy drops to her knees, horror etched in her gaze as she stares at grass. I fall next to her, searching for what she’s seeing.
“Wendy?”
She doesn’t answer. She holds the air as if something’s there, staring at nothing as though it’s a nightmare. Then, to my utter shock, she whispers, “Azaire?”
“Wendy?” I touch her shoulder, her empty arms trembling as if they’re holding weight. Could she be communicating with him?
“Azaire, stay with me!” Wendy cries.
“Wendy, what do you see?” I shout. Is he on some plane of existence beyond me, something only the Eunoia can touch? Is this why her power is going rogue?
Will I get to see my brother again?
Wendy doesn’t heed my cries. She sobs as I wave my hand over her gaze, not acknowledging the gesture. I shout her name. She looks up—though not at me. She stares across the crater, at something in the distance.
There’s nothing there.
“Ma?” Wendy’s arms drop, the weight disappearing, and she stands, running toward the crater. “Ma! I’m coming!”
I rise, reluctant to leave the spot where Wendy claimed to see Azaire. I stare at the emptiness, already mourning what could have been. But Wendy is here, alive and running toward her dream. Her death.
I chase her.
“Ma!” The word echoes through the split in the world. She’s a step away from falling into it. I pick up my pace, summoning shadows—dark streaks race through the air, coil around her ankles, and yank her down, inches from the crater.
On the ground, Wendy writhes, nails digging into dirt as she tries to claw herself up. Reaching her, I grab Wendy’s hands and pull her upright, trying deftly to drag her far from the crater as she claws at my face, scratching and screaming.
“Wendy, snap out of it!” I shout.
Her fingers rake over my lips, nails digging into my skin and drawing blood. Then, an elbow to my neck. My eyes water as my grip loosens, and Wendy runs straight for the crater.
She steps over the edge, and my shadows spring for her. They barely grasp her arms as she falls. The magic is heavy, like an anvil on my shoulder, as I force the shadows to defy gravity and pull Wendy up from the doom she’s falling into. With every ounce of my strength, I lift her.
When she lands on solid ground, I collapse, lying still in the grass. My chest tightens, my heart pumping sheer agony through my veins. The weight of my power chokes me, even in its aftermath.
Wendy glances around the place, finally taking in our surroundings.
“Where did they go?” she asks, breathless.
I exhale, lifting my gaze to the sky, resting my hands on my rapidly rising and falling chest. After a moment, I ask, “What did you see?”
Azaire. Where is Azaire?
Wendy sucks in a deep, shaking breath that turns into a sob midway. “He died,” Wendy says. “In my arms. And Ma…”
“They’re already dead.” I try to piece it together. Perhaps it was a vision, or she is breaking the barriers between the living and the dead. Perhaps it was an ominous third thing—we can’t rule anything out with the Arcanes at play.
“I know,” Wendy breathes. “But it was real.” She looks up, her eyes peeking out from the crack in her fingers. “As real as this, right now.”
?
When I return to my suite, I go straight to Azaire’s room. Yuki is absent, and I’m relieved. I need a moment of solitude.
I sit on Azaire’s bed, my gaze fixed on his desk.
When I close my eyes, he is there—writing, reading, enduring my endless commentary without complaint.
But when I open them, the desk is bare, without even the remnant of a book or journal.
The silence swells, and I turn my gaze to the armoire as the door swings open. Yuki steps inside, and I stand.
“Hey,” he says softly. If he’s surprised to see me in his room, he doesn’t show it. “Did you ever find what you were looking for in Ilyria?”
We’ve hardly spoken since that day when I found the silvers.
I’d like to go back and retrieve them, though Yuki doesn’t know that.
He believes I sought something to prove myself to the Folk, not the truth about my birth father.
Only three know I’m not Leiana and Labyrinth’s son: Cynthia, Lilac, and Wendy, who now holds Azaire’s place.
“I did, yes,” I say, my throat tight. “Thank you. I’ll see you around.”
As I reach the door, he says, “They haven’t found Eleanora.”
I stop and inhale. Fleur’s best friend. My old fling. She’s been missing since the day Azaire passed—the same day monsters breached the academy’s protective barriers. She’s dead; it’s the only explanation.
“Some people think a monster killed her,” Yuki finishes.
“Yes.” I offer a small nod. “That would make sense.”
“We should organize something,” he whispers. “A funeral… a—”
He cuts himself off, perhaps thinking exactly what I am: Something Azaire never got.
“We’ll talk soon.” I step out of his room and cross the suite to mine.
I sit on the unmade bed, feet planted on the floor as tears form. I let them come, almost forcing them out. It’s mechanical, a chore—something to release before I regain my senses. My emotions are like a cloud spilling over with water, with nowhere else to go.
I cry over Azaire. I cry over nothing at all.
For things I feel, yet can’t recall. When I finish, I strip off the day’s clothes and reach for something I’m only allowed to wear in private: leisure trousers.
I have broken plenty of rules, though most of my restrictions—like only wearing sleep clothes in solitude—have hardened into habits, too ingrained to shed now.
As I pull my trousers on, there’s an added weight that shouldn’t be there. I slip my hand into the pocket and flinch as my palm splits open. Blood trails down my wrist as I draw out a red dagger, gripped by the blade.
Amazement and awe hit me in equal measure. I hold the dagger to the light, blood rushing beneath my skin. It’s irreplaceable—this blade. This power. It’s identical to the ones I found in Labyrinth’s study. I forgot I had this; I can’t remember why I do.
The shadows in the corner stir, eager for my command. I focus on them, watching them rise with ease. This knife offers power. Power is the only way I can fix what I’ve broken.
I must find a way to get back into Ilyria unseen and take the rest.
I flex my fingers around the knife, and as I do another memory surfaces: my little silver wolf.
I reach into my pocket, the feeling familiar and played out.
The wolf is gone, and it’s not just something I’ve lost. My chest tightens, my heart aching with genuine, physical pain.
I crash to my knees, clutching my shirt as my throat catches, something stuck at the back of it.
A deep breath eases the discomfort but doesn’t lift the weight.
The wolf—what could I have done with it? Heat pools in my palm, and something orange flickers in the corner of my gaze. A laugh sounds in the same direction. I search my room, though nothing’s here, just like my wolf... there and then gone in an instant.
Haven’t I done this before?