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A fter Morkai left the king’s study, Teryn rested his ethera. He had no desire to add more strain to his already failing body. But as soon as he awoke, drifting from his state of floating unconsciousness to bright awareness, he had but one thought. One need.

He opened his eyes and found himself in the illusion of Emylia’s temple bedroom. She sat cross-legged at his side, expression resigned as if she knew exactly what he was going to say.

“Show me the rest of your memories.”

With a trembling sigh, she nodded.

They rose to their feet. Emylia lifted her hand, and a fog rolled in, covering the floor, walls, and ceiling. When it dispersed, it left behind the muted tones of Desmond’s dark room at the inn. Teryn and Emylia stood at the far end while two figures sat at opposite sides of the small desk.

“Are you ready?” the Emylia of memory asked, an edge of excitement in her voice. “We’re getting so close, Des. I can feel it.”

Desmond nodded, but his expression held a hint of apprehension. “This is our last session before I return home to Syrus to report to my father. I hope what we’ve learned is enough for him.”

“How could it not be? We’ve done so much work on his behalf, more than he’s ever been able to do on his own, right?”

His lips quirked up at one corner. “When did you become such an optimist?”

“Only when it comes to you,” she said with a wide smile.

His face fell, voice deepening into a whisper. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, Em. I hate not knowing when I’ll be back.”

Her smile remained, but it no longer reached her eyes. “Then let’s hurry. I don’t want to spend our last night together working.”

He nodded and anxiously ran his palms over his thighs while Emylia closed her eyes. Desmond kept his voice low and steady. “Where is the mother of the true Morkara now?”

Teryn’s breath caught, knowing this man was asking about Cora. The woman he loved.

Emylia, crystal in hand, remained still while her eyelids fluttered. “Unborn.”

“When will she be born?”

“The year of the Great Bear.”

Teryn was startled to realize how long ago this memory must have been from.

Desmond rubbed his dark brows. “That could be three years from now, thirteen, twenty-three, or more. How many years from now will she be born?”

Emylia remained silent.

Desmond released a frustrated groan. “Fine. What will she look like?”

Again, silence.

He ran his hand through his black hair, sending wayward strands into his pale eyes. His expression brightened. “Wait. She is said to have the beauty of Satsara. What does Satsara look like?”

Emylia tilted her head to show her disbelief. “Just because the mother has the beauty of Satsara doesn’t mean they’ll look exactly the same. Besides, we don’t even know who she is. Every time I’ve channeled for information on her or Ailan, I get nothing.”

“Just try anyway. It could be a helpful clue.”

Emylia wore a skeptical frown, but she settled back into her trance. Soon her eyes began to dart behind her closed lids. “I see her,” she whispered. “At least…I think I do. She’s…beautiful.”

“And?” Desmond leaned closer to the desk. “What does she look like?”

“Eyes and hair as black as a raven’s wing. Golden skin. She’s tall. Slim but powerful. Pointed ears. Mother Goddess, Des! She’s Elvyn. A true, beautiful Elvyn.” Her voice was rich with awe. “I can’t believe I’m seeing one.”

Desmond’s face melted as he watched her. “She can't be any more stunning than you.”

She slowly fluttered her lashes open. “How am I supposed to get any work done when you compliment me like that?”

Desmond rounded the desk and pulled her from her seat. He brushed his hand along her cheek. “We’ve worked enough. Let’s make the rest of tonight about us.”

Emylia flung her arms around his neck and they dissolved into tangled limbs and heated kisses.

The true Emylia waved her hand, and the image was swept away in a blanket of fog. When it settled, Teryn found himself on the moonlit cobblestone street outside the inn. The Emylia of memory sprinted past sleeping storefronts, her dark hair flying wild in a mass of bouncing curls. She looked the same age as the true Emylia did now—a year or two older than she’d been in the previous memory. As she reached the door to the inn, she pulled up short. A figure stood just outside the door, back facing her, a long cloak hiding their form. Then the figure turned and revealed Desmond’s face beneath the hood. He ran to her and gathered her into his arms.

“I missed you so much,” Emylia said, a wide smile stretching her lips. She lifted her eyes to his vacant expression, the sorrow tugging his lips. Her face fell. “What’s wrong?”

Desmond took her by the hand and led her inside the inn. They bypassed the dining room and wove through a narrow hall until they arrived at the same small room as before. “Father lied to me,” he said as he ushered her inside and closed the door behind them.

The Emylia of memory wrung her hands. Even Teryn could tell this wasn’t the reunion she’d been expecting. “About what?”

Desmond unclasped his cloak and tossed it onto the cot. He was dressed in dark slacks and a long black coat buttoned high to his neck. His hair was longer now, reaching several inches past his shoulders, and his cheekbones were sharper. He began to pace the room, hardly sparing Emylia a glance. “He can’t bring my mother back, even if he becomes Morkaius. He doesn’t have her ethera.”

Emylia tilted her head. “Her ethera? Why would he have her ethera in the first place?”

“I’ve been reading about the magic of the sanguina and ethera, trying to figure out what Father would need to bring my mother back. While there is no clear formula, I do know he would need her ethera. When I asked him about it, he tried to brush me off. But I asked and asked until he told me the truth.” He halted his pacing and met her eyes. “He lied to me. He never planned on bringing my mother back when he became Morkaius. He’s been using that story this entire time. Using me to find answers to his questions, to override the curse that makes him forget his past.”

With slow steps, she approached him. “Des, I’m so sorry. I…I did warn you that it wasn’t possible?—”

His gaze deepened into a glare, but it quickly softened. He closed the remaining distance between them and embraced her. She rested her cheek against his chest, her head tucked beneath his chin. “Yes, you’re right, my love. You warned me.”

She pulled away just enough to meet his eyes. “What did he say about the information you’ve gathered for him?”

His jaw shifted side to side. “He said it isn’t enough. He told me I have to keep looking until I find the Heart of El’Ara.”

“Are you still going to help him, even though you know he lied?”

Desmond shrugged. “I don’t know what else to do. He’s my father, and this is a matter of his birthright. A birthright that will one day be passed on to me. He can’t claim it without me. Not only has he been cursed to forget, but he is physically weak. He can’t leave Syrus the way I can, not until he has a clear destination. And that destination is the Heart of El’Ara. Wherever the hell that is, with its black mountain and violet fields. Have you found this place for me yet?”

She shook her head. “I’ve read up on flower varieties specific to different regions, unique mountain ranges. I’ve asked foreign visitors. There are several possibilities, but nothing certain.”

He closed his eyes, his frustration made clear in the tense line of his jaw.

“I’m sorry, Des. I’ll keep trying. You know I’ll do anything for you. And if you’re determined to continue serving your father, I’ll help. Always.”

Teryn tried not to wince at the desperation in her tone. How was she so enamored with the man that she didn’t see the darkness lurking in his eyes? The very real threat his quest posed? Teryn had seen love make a fool of his father, nearly tearing his country in two, and he’d given up a crown for the love of his brother and for Cora. But this…this was something else. Everything inside Teryn blared with warning.

The real Emylia stared at the floor, a hint of shame coloring her expression. She met his eyes for a moment, nodding as if to confirm his thoughts. That she too regretted this part of her past.

“Is that a promise?” Desmond said, drawing Teryn’s attention back to the figures of the memory. He clutched Emylia’s cheeks between his palms. “Will you do anything for me?”

Her throat bobbed, but she said, “Anything.”

The image faded, then shifted. The two figures were now sitting at the desk on opposite sides. Emylia held her crystal like she always did when preparing to use her sight. Closing her eyes, she said, “What would you like to ask this time, Des?”

His voice came out cold. Firm. “Find my mother.”