Page 55 of Duskbound (Esprithean Trilogy #2)

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

Laryk swept me up into his arms with the force of a storm, his mouth crashing into mine. The familiar scent of burnt amber and vetiver wrapped around me like a ghost—training sessions that nearly had me coming undone, heated glances across rooms, things whispered in darkened corridors. My body went rigid, waiting for that spark, that raging wildfire that had consumed me every time he'd touched me before. But where there had once been an inferno, now there was only hollow space. Not even embers burning in the distance.

A shadow writhed in my periphery and I winced, the weight of golden eyes pressing against my skin as I tore myself from Laryk's grasp.

Confusion shattered his features before his gaze caught the acid burns scoring my flesh.

"What happened?" His eyes went dark.

"Narissa." Her name tasted like poison on my tongue.

"She was in here?" Annoyance flickered across his face, breaking through that careful mask of command he usually wore. “That’s the third time this week. ”

"Don't worry. I sent her to bed. She won't remember anything."

“She hurt you,” he growled, eyes scanning me. “There will certainly be repercussions for that.”

“I’ll be fine.” I tried to assure him, tempted to bring up her claims but deciding against it.

"I knew you were alive," he breathed, and suddenly the exhaustion that had haunted his eyes when he entered transformed into something like hunger.

"I have so much to tell you, but I can't stay long." The words rushed out before I could stop them.

His brow furrowed. "What do you mean? You're here now." He moved toward me with that predatory grace I remembered, but I took a step back. The movement stopped him cold, his head tilting as he reassessed the situation. "You're home, Fia."

"I'm here," I said carefully. "But I can't stay."

"Why?" The word carried an edge of offense.

"I'm trying to explain all of it to you. Let me?—"

"How did you escape?" he cut me off.

I shifted uncomfortably. "I didn't escape, Laryk. I came here on my own."

He looked me up and down, brow creasing.

"I'm here," I said carefully, measuring each word. "But I can't stay."

"Why?" His voice carried the weight of months of searching, of grief. Confusion rippled across his features. He reached for my face, but I turned away from his touch. Something dangerous flickered in his emerald eyes.

"I have to talk to you about something important."

"Fine." The word was soft, but his jaw was set. "Continue."

"Riftdremar—the uprising, this war. The Wraiths. None of what we've been told is true." The words sounded mad even to my own ears, and I forced myself to breathe slower.

"Where are you getting this from? "

"The arcanite," I said, watching his eyes sharpen at the word. "It doesn't create essence—it stores it. Those towers—in Emeraal and Stormshire—were mined in Riftdremar. That's the entire reason the uprising happened in the first place."

He blinked, and for the first time since I'd known him, genuine surprise cracked through that careful mask. But wariness still lingered in the set of his shoulders.

I took a deep breath, watching him process. "Have you ever heard of a siphon?"

"A siphon?" The word rolled off his tongue like he was tasting it. "No."

"A person who can control the flow of essence." I lowered my voice. "Tell me, what is the King's focus?"

His eyebrows shot up at the direct question, but he leaned back against his desk, crossing his arms. "He can turn water to ice."

"Have you ever seen him do it?"

He went still, and I could almost see him rifling through years of memories. Finally, he shook his head. "No."

"Have you ever questioned the fertility of the Isle?" I pressed. "How not long after the rebellion, things started to change? For years, more miraculous occurrences after the last."

Something shifted in his expression then.

"I'm almost positive the King is a siphon."

"Why?"

"Where I just came from, where I was taken to that night in Emeraal—it's being drained." The words tumbled out faster now. "There is mass devastation, families suffering, land rotting—no food for the people."

"The people?" His eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Yes. They aren't Wraiths, Laryk. They're just like us." I stepped closer, willing him to understand. "The shadows are just a way to hide and protect themselves. All this time, they've thought destroying the arcanite was the answer, but it's not. None of this will end until the siphon stops."

"I knew I saw a figure," he muttered, almost to himself. He began pacing, running a hand through his copper hair.

"They're not some monsters filtering in from another world. They have lives, possessions, land. Children."

He stopped abruptly. "So you believe the King is pulling essence from their realm and depositing it into Sídhe?"

"It's not happening all at once. It's being done systematically—over the last decade at least." I watched his face carefully. "He's storing the essence in the arcanite and distributing it to Sídhe."

Laryk's hand moved down his face, dragging his sharp features in frustration. "I don't understand."

"I know it's a lot?—"

"Why did they take you?" His voice hardened, emerald eyes flashing. "What do you have to do with any of this?" Anger blazed across his features. "They took you away from me."

"You saw what I did that night." I met his gaze steadily. "You hesitated," I added quietly, looking away.

Suddenly he was there, gripping my shoulders, scanning my face with new intensity. "I only hesitated because I thought I saw something—someone—through the darkness. A figure beside you." Desperation bled into his voice. "You have no idea how I've played that moment over and over in my mind—the regret that I feel. I should have run to you, should have fought through all of it to get to you."

"Don't feel sorry." I stared at the floor. "If you had tried to intervene, we wouldn't know anything that we know now. We'd still be clueless to what's really happening—the atrocities our King is committing."

He paused, and I could feel him searching my face for answers.

"They took me..." I swallowed hard. "Because I'm one of them. "

Laryk stared at me for a long moment before reaching up to tuck a strand white of hair behind my ear. "I don't care."

"We have to do something, Laryk. We don't have much time until the entire realm dies."

"They've killed us by the hundreds," Laryk nearly growled, eyes digging into mine.

"What would you have done, if you were them?" I asked, nearly begging him to understand—to grasp the weight of what was occurring.

He stilled, eyes strained as he shook his head. "This is a lot of information."

I leaned against his desk and sighed. "I know," I whispered. "But it's true."

"How can you be sure?" he asked, coming to stand beside me, never removing his gaze from my face.

"Because I've seen it. I've seen the devastation there." I tried to keep my voice from cracking but failed miserably. "This is the realm my father was from, Laryk. And it's all going to be dust soon. An entire half of me that I never knew until now."

He took my hand, fingers tracing over the Riftborne branding as a tear slipped down my face. "And your mother?" he asked.

"From Riftdremar. Both of my parents were killed because of greed— his greed. The King. I won't lose anything else to it." I turned towards him, my eyes burning.

He studied me, eyes scanning me up and down in the quiet as my thoughts raced. The seconds slipped by, then minutes. And I was going to drown in the silence if he didn't say something.

"I won't let that happen," he finally said, and there was something ragged in his voice as he reached up to wipe a falling tear from my cheek.

"Really?" I asked, my heart feeling like it might burst or crack, I couldn't be sure which.

He nodded slowly. "We can work together. We can find a way to stop this." He turned, pacing again with renewed energy. "It will be difficult?—"

"I've already destroyed the blood oaths in Luminaria." The words stopped him mid-stride.

"All of them?" His eyebrow arched.

"All of them."

A smirk tugged at his lips—the one I used to know so well. He strode back to me. "You're brilliant." He neared me, something soft shifting in his expression. "It's why I fell in love with you."

The words struck something hollow in my chest, leaving only distant sadness in their wake.

"The two of us together, think of what we could do, Fia." His voice dropped lower, more intense. "We can tear down this Kingdom and rebuild it however we want. Stop this theft, bring life back to that dying realm." His fingers traced my jaw. "Your power, Fia. Imagine what you could do."

I looked into those emerald eyes that had once meant everything to me, and I finally understood. Those words on those lips would have melted me months ago, they would have filled the void in me that years of isolation had carved out. Laryk did love me, in his own way. But his love was shaped by potential, by power, by what I could do for him. And I knew with a certainty it wasn't going to be enough anymore—perhaps it could have been, before, but not now. I deserved a different kind of love.

And so I took a step back, feeling the air between us turn to ice. "I need your help, Laryk. I need your help to right this, to bring balance back to this world, but not like that." My voice was barely above a whisper.

Pain flashed across his face before anger leaked in. "What are you saying?"

"I have to go back there. To Umbrathia."

"No." He nearly growled. "I just got you back, Fia. I can't allow you to leave again. You don't know what it did to me."

"I'm sorry, Laryk," I said, my voice a plea. I opened my mouth, then closed it. I didn't know what else to say—how to make the words form.

"Why are you behaving this way?" His eyes narrowed to dangerous slits.

"Because..." I trailed off as he raced forward, pulling me against him again.

"Stop, Fia. Nothing has to change between us." His arms wrapped around me, securing me against his chest. "I'll do whatever you need me to." The look in his eyes—the desperation caused guilt to churn through me.

Because it wasn't him. It was me. I was the one who changed.

His face lowered, breath heating my face right before his lips seared into mine once again.

Then shadows erupted.

Aether materialized in a surge of darkness, tearing me from Laryk's grasp and stepping in front of me in one fluid motion. But Laryk had anticipated the movement—his dagger already pressed against Aether's throat. The two men stood nearly chest to chest, Aether's towering frame forcing Laryk to look up, golden eyes meeting emerald in a clash of wills.