Page 62 of Heir of Broken Souls (HOBF #3)

Chapter 62

Delilah

P owerless.

It’s a heady feeling, and a panicky one at that.

It consumes your heart, your mind, your lungs.

You’re useless against the tirade of it.

Because that’s the point. It’s panic’s way of alerting your body that you are useless against something you deeply crave to fix.

And standing in front of Knox, his eyes wide and glassy, tears spilling down his cheeks as his body remains stiff as a board, that’s all I can feel.

The cave has enthralled him. There’s no other explanation.

His court are panicking, their worry loud and wild, but mine is different. It always has been. It’s a silent assault, one that takes over my heart first, making the beat flutter at a rapid pace. It turns the slow and steady rhythm of my working lungs into a catastrophe of short and fast pants. It turns my hands clammy, my mind into a tornado.

Easton and Annie were the only ones who could ever tell. They could take one look at me and know my body was fighting against me. Now, Knox can too, the only one that truly knows my heart and mind inside and out.

Except he can’t help me come down from this panic.

I gently place my palms on his cheeks, continuing to ignore the chaos from his court. “Come back to me, Knox,” I whisper. “Come back to me, baby.”

My thumbs brush back and forth along his soft cheeks, snagging on the texture of his prickly five o’clock shadow.

Despite my outwardly calmness, my soul hammers wildly against his mind’s door. Running and throwing myself against it, thrashing it with my golden power. But something keeps him trapped within himself. I can feel the sadness leaking under his door and I want nothing more than to harm whatever is hurting him.

Removing a palm from his face, I slap my hand against the cave hoping to see what he does, but nothing happens to me.

“Knox, baby, please come back to me,” I say, begging this time.

My eyes burn with unshed tears. A mix of a whimper and a groan releases from my throat.

“Please,” I whisper.

His eyelashes flutter.

I stop breathing, frantically trying to keep brushing my thumb on his cheek, praying that my touch and the sound of my voice are bringing him back to me.

His lashes flutter again, his eyes clearing. Then he gasps, ripping his hand away from the cave wall as if he were burned.

Everyone crowds him, throwing out a thousand questions.

“What happened?”

“Was it magic?”

“Did someone infiltrate your mind?”

“Is Hazel back?”

That last question has me growling.

“Back off!” I bark as a fierce wave of protection slams into me. “Give him a second.”

Shame and guilt fill the eyes of his court members.

Turning to Knox, I feel the wave of gratitude he sends down the bridge as the door to his mind finally cracks open a slither. It’s all I need. Rushing through his door, I follow the trail of our past, the sanctuary he built in his mind, the shrine to our story evident. He paces within the replica of the clearing where we met.

He’s like a rabid animal.

His clothes are disheveled, his hair ruffled by his fingers running through it, and he won’t stop muttering.

I allow myself to be selfish as I fling myself and cling to him.

Sending wave after wave of calming energy down our bond, I try to fill him with light, with my golden power, allowing it to chase away the darkness plaguing him. But it doesn’t budge.

“Tell me,” I whisper, trying to keep the fear from my voice. “Show me.”

Those two words are the key.

Wrapping his arms around me, he clings to me, nestling his face in the crook of my neck. He exhales heavily, and a sob tears from his chest.

I hold his head to me, running my fingers through the soft strands of his hair.

“I’ve got you,” I whisper.

“I saw my parents…from their own eyes,” he murmurs into my hair. “I was looking at them from their memories.”

Shock thunders through me. Pulling back to face him, my heart clenches as his red-rimmed eyes lock on mine. It’s a look of both sadness and joy, seeing his parents’ faces again for the first time since they died.

I’m unsure of what to say. My mouth opens and closes until I finally settle on, “How did it feel?”

His chest heaves. “Like they were alive again, like I could step through that cave and hug them.” He chokes on his last words. “I miss them,” he admits softly.

Tears spring into my eyes at his pain. I kiss his cheek, unable to stop myself, as the unconditional love for him rises and needs an outlet. “Oh, Knox,” I murmur.

There’s nothing else to say, no comforting words to give. Just a sense of understanding as it hums between us. Between two people who have lost the ones they love the most.

I’m not going to say that they are always watching because we don’t know that. We don’t know what the other side is like for our kind and we never will until we die. So no, I do not comfort him with empty words and by the way his gaze remains on mine with a deep emotion swelling—love—I know I made the right decision to just sit and bask in the grief as he treads through it.

To just be his life raft in the endless sadness.

He takes a steadying breath, the mist covering his eyes clearing before he nods. Taking his lead, I blink rapidly as I come into the presence of my body.

Clearing his throat, Knox slides a hand along my lower back, holding onto me like his lifeline. Everyone’s eyes grow hazy, the only warning I get before my mind is bombarded with all that Knox was shown.

His parents—the sight takes my breath away.

I never saw any paintings in Knox’s estate of them. I wonder if it was out of pain—the memories far too tender, the reminder of his loss suffocating—but they are gorgeous and glorious. A strong pair, a beautiful couple, and the love shining in their eyes for one another is entirely clear to see.

Gods, Knox wasn’t wrong though. For any of it.

The throne rooms, the many tailored to a dedicated element. The meetings we see the king and queen present in. Only one thing comes to mind.

A governing city.

“Knox,” Lenox says softly.

The pain radiating off him matches that of his king—and chosen brother. Knox’s parents were as much Lenox’s. It’s obvious how much it hurts him to watch too.

“We were right, ancient magic is at play,” Knox says. “I believe the essence and memory of the cave has been erased from the minds of those that have ever entered the cave or even heard of it.”

Harlow frowns. “How is that possible? The magic needed to cast such a spell?—”

“Dark magic,” Knox practically spits the words. “That’s how.”

“What is it, exactly? Why would they want to wipe everyone’s memories?” I have a thousand more questions brimming on the edge of my tongue, but this one seems the most fitting. I have my own theory, but I need to hear it from him too.

He swallows thickly. “From what I gathered, this is where the governing royals congregated to discuss matters of the continent.”

My frown snaps into place. “Why would that have to be erased from their minds?”

“Something tells me we’re about to find out.”

Axel rubs the back of his neck. “How long ago do you think it was erased?”

Knox grimaces. “Gods, I have no idea when?—”

A scream ripples up my throat, bursting between my lips as my dragon pommel sword flies from my back. It lands at my feet with a loud clang, the metal striking the floor.

We fall silent, tense. Knox’s body stiffens, and he slowly unsheathes his blade.

“Has that ever happened before?” he asks dangerously.

Although I suspect he already knows the answer, I whisper, “No.”

The word snaps everyone into fierce focus, our questions forgotten. Despite the tiredness leaking from us all, it evaporates within moments. Axel takes up a protective stance in front of Elysia, suddenly adorned with two long blades while Harlow’s flames dance along her shoulders and her hands shift into sharp talons. Lenox bends low, ready to pounce.

“Demonic hounds?” Axel asks carefully.

Knox shakes his head. “They don’t have the ability to turn invisible.”

“That we know of,” Harlow retorts.

My dragon sword suddenly flies upwards, its hilt out to the side, as if waiting for me to grasp it. Following the pull low in my belly, I gingerly wrap my hand around it.

The sword flies forward, jerking me, and I yelp. Knox wraps his hands around my waist, keeping me in place as the blade tugs and tugs and tugs.

“What kind of magic is this?” I breathe.

“I don’t trust it,” Lenox mumbles.

“You don’t trust anything,” Harlow retorts. “I say we follow it.”

“Of course you do, it isn’t your blade that suddenly has a mind of its own.” As the words come out, I pause. It’s similar to my magic, like it’s grown a mind of its own. “There’s magic within it,” I declare with certainty I shouldn’t feel.

“Obviously,” Harlow drawls.

Ignoring her, I turn to Knox, who still holds me firmly in place. “Something woke it.”