Page 7 of The Spark that Ignites (Shattered Soul #1)

“I can manipulate air particles.” The man examined his fingernails through his gloves like he could see the magic within them, and he said it so matter-of-factly, she had to blink several times to process it. “Smoke, mist, wind, you name it. A blessing from the majestic Kahlia herself.”

She rubbed her hand against the familiar throb in the grooved skin under her tunic. “The scars—what do they mean? After the war, all books of the Damned were burned. Talk of magic was forbidden. The King ensured it.”

Pulling down the other side of his collar, he revealed another scar over his heart. Like the other, it was no bigger than her fist, but this one resembled a six-pointed star, the tines warped and twisted. Emmery’s thumb traced her identical scar as her heart thundered.

“This is the mark of the Fallen. We call it a zvezda .” He gestured to the other scar of intertwined circles. “This is the mark of the Hollow or a cavae . The scars mean you’re one of us. Kenna . Born of fire. You’ve been chosen.”

She rubbed her temples, not sure if her head pounded from her welt or the overwhelming information. “Chosen for what exactly?”

“You’ve been chosen by the gods to bear the burden of magic. Or the blessing, depending on which god chose you.” Flexing his fingers, he examined his gloved hand again. “In our case, we’ve been chosen by both. Lucky us.” Sarcasm dripped in his tone.

Emmery studied the wooden floorboards pulling the threads of history from the far recesses of her mind.

The feud began long before the war but why she was born on this side of the gate to a human mother remained a mystery.

When Emmery was young, she hadn’t questioned it but as she grew and her magic pressed under her flesh, it became difficult to hide.

From the first moment a spark leapt from her fingertips, her mother urged her to keep it secret. So, she smothered it down.

Chosen? Blessing? Gods, no, it was a life sentence. A curse.

The man meandered toward the table, his hand outstretched toward the chair. “May I?”

She released a jagged breath. “Can I at least know your name first?”

His shoulder stiffened, unease flickering across his face, but he performed a tight bow. “Vesper Merikh of Ellynne. At your service.” He settled into the chair, his long, toned legs bumping the low table. He didn’t ask her name, and she didn’t offer.

The man’s pale eyes swallowed her whole as Emmery studied him.

He looked between his twentieth and thirtieth year like herself.

For her, over a century had passed and still no spots aged her skin; no laugh lines wrinkled her eyes or mouth.

Likely because she never laughed. But time moved without her, slipping like sand between her fingers as if life couldn’t touch her and she merely trudged through the days, neither here nor there. She merely ... existed.

“How old are you, Vesper?” she asked, readying for a smart-ass remark.

He raised a brow, stress creasing the lines of his face, possibly from the use of his name. “How old do you think I am?”

“I don’t look my age. I’m assuming you don’t either.” She thought back to the barkeeper and his concern for her, likely because of her young appearance. Her petite stature didn’t help.

“One hundred twelve.” He relished her shocked expression. “But I know I don’t look a day over twenty. You don’t have to tell me.”

Emmery’s heart stuttered because ... it wasn’t possible. They couldn’t be the same age. “You’re lying.”

“ Kenna lives are much longer than humans. Most can live a half dozen human lifetimes. Sometimes more.” He tugged a gloved hand through his hair before setting it on his knee. “It depends on the potency of human genes in your bloodline. Also, if you’re lucky enough to live that long.”

Maybe her father was Kenna , though Emmery never met him or Maela’s either. Her sister was conceived out of what she assumed was a non-consensual joining. Emmery tried not to think about it, anger burning in her veins each time she did.

She caressed the handle of her dagger. “So, Vesper ...” This time he definitely flinched at the use of his name—if it was really his name at all. “Tell me about the gate.”

“There’s not much to say. Those who bear the scars can gain passage.

But you need magic to cross the Iron Gate.

” He fiddled with the clasp on his gloves.

“To get past the Guardian, you merely need to know how to sweet talk him. Or bribe.” At her puzzled look he added, “Shortly after it was hidden away, it was sealed under a command from the gods.”

“I suppose you know how to find it. And defied the gods crossing it.”

He smirked. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

Emmery winced as pain drummed in her scars, her confusing childhood coming back to haunt her and lack of knowledge now proving to be a disadvantage. “My mother wouldn’t let me see the gates, let alone go near them, read any books or teach me anything about your kind.”

“ Our kind,” he corrected, narrowing his eyes on her hunched shoulders. “And she was likely trying to protect you. Karynthia isn’t exactly a paradise. Especially now.”

“Karynthia?” She tugged her mouth to the side. “I’ve never heard that name.” Emmery ignored the comment about the land beyond the gate not being paradise, not allowing herself to imagine anything else. Because surely no place could be worse than here.

Vesper quirked an eyebrow. “What do you call it?”

“The Land of Blood and Bone, usually. Demon’s Haven on occasion.”

He laughed and it was a nice, throaty sound—a genuine one that lightened her chest— but she didn’t let herself dwell on it. “I suppose those are fitting but I wouldn’t call us demons.”

“If we’re not demons, what are we?” It felt strange to use the term we .

Because as she sat across from Vesper, she didn’t feel equal.

It seemed he still had the advantage in this conversation with the air of certainty that blanketed him and the nonchalance in which he carried himself.

It was a confidence Emmery never had and likely never would.

He ran his long fingers over imperfections in the table.

“Demon usually refers to an evil being. We’re not born corrupt because we’re gifted with magic.

” He fixated on a particularly deep groove.

“We’re descendants of gods but we’re not inherently wicked.

Humans would be shocked to discover how similar we are. Most of us are at least half human.”

Emmery scoffed. “Try telling King Silas that. He’ll have you strung up by your toenails and dangling over a pot of boiling water before the words leave your mouth.”

He disregarded her comment. “ Kenna were created through the procreation of gods and humans. It’s a shame lust for power overtook the ability to exist peacefully. It’s why we closed the gate.”

“Humans claim the war started because your kind attacked them,” Emmery argued, though she didn’t believe the stories.

It had to be fear that sparked it. After all, what did the Damned Ones have to gain from attacking humans?

With powerful magic at your disposal, overthrowing a monarch would be child’s play and they’d never attempted.

But the genocide of the Damned Ones began years after the war.

Emmery hadn’t even been twenty at the time.

Most retreated over the gate but she couldn’t leave her sister and taking Maela to a dangerous war-torn land was foolish.

Shortly after Maela died, Emmery searched for the gate, but it’d been hidden from the human eye and evidently, hers as well.

For nearly a century, Emmery had searched high and low, digging into any literature that hinted at Kenna traditions and whereabouts.

But after King Silas burned all the books, there was nothing to discover.

So, she searched every corner of the continent, listening to any conversations or whispers of the gate's whereabouts, but she always came up empty.

“ Our kind,” Vesper corrected again, and let out a choked laugh.

“And that’s rich, coming from that prick.

” Leaning forward on the table, he closed the gap between them, and Emmery shrank back.

“Your King, not King Silas but his grandfather, wanted nothing to do with Kenna . But when Queen Melantha left him and ran off to Karynthia to seek magic, he declared war. Thought she was coerced into taking a bargain. What he didn’t know is that she sought it out.

She wanted power. And, well—” He shrugged. “She got it.”

Emmery rested her dagger on the table trying to remember that far back.

There were countless claims and the message from King Elron had been simple: kill the Damned Ones.

No exceptions. It was never disclosed why, only that the gods demanded it and to please Pellius, the four gods, and the following of Hallinth, they must be purged.

“They said she was killed,” Emmery muttered almost to herself.

“Maybe she was as good as dead to him.” Vesper appeared far too comfortable as he leaned back with his arms crossed over his chest. “She’s still very much alive. Made a deal with Deimos, the God of the Hollow, and he granted her magic.”

Her mind raced because if it were that easy wouldn’t everyone have magic? “Do the gods just do that?”

“Deimos only makes bargains with those he considers worthy. Someone he can get a worthwhile exchange out of. Unfortunately for us, she didn’t have good intentions for its use.”

Emmery spun her dagger with her finger, her insides twisting as if a string was attached to it, winding her tighter with each turn.

If it was true, the war stemmed from misunderstanding and bitter resentment from a heartbroken king.

All the bloodshed, lives ruined, losses . .. the sacrifice of her life—

It was because of his vengeance. All this time wasted on it. All her time. All her damned life.

Emmery wanted to scream. To pound her fists and cry to the gods for this injustice.

Vesper ran his finger along a groove in the table, like he could feel her wounded soul within the gouged wood, as his eyes flicked over her face. “It’s been tough for you, hasn’t it?”

It was an understatement. She knew she looked like a damn mess but was the sorrow painted on her face so obvious? Emmery turned away from his fleeting look of sympathy and rubbed a hand across her aching scars. “I don’t want your pity.”

“Do they hurt?” At her puzzled expression, he nodded at her chest.

Ah, her scars. Emmery sighed. “For as long as I can remember.”

“That’s good and bad.” He speared a hand through his grey hair. “The good thing is your full powers are waiting. The throbbing means the gods have deemed you’re ready and are beckoning you. There’s a rite of passage that follows. A trial.”

She wrung her fingers together. “And the bad?”

“There’s a price for everything. Nothing is given for free. Nothing is entirely fair. The trial can be gruelling. Some have died but it’s different for everyone. Tailored to whatever the gods please. Magic isn’t awarded to the weak and never given without return.”

Her stomach clenched as she studied her hands. A deadly trial where people have died ... the sparks were more an annoyance than anything. “But my magic is ... weak.”

“Not weak.” He offered a sympathetic smile. “Incomplete.”

Incomplete . The word sang through her in a soothing melody.

So, she wasn’t completely useless after all.

The urge to experience what her magic could do rose like a dangerous tide. What would real power feel like? Would she be able to control it? What if her magic brought a sense of ... belonging? A force greater than herself to believe in like her mother had preached.

Flexing her fingers, she grabbed her dagger once more. “So, if nothing is free, what do the gods ask in return? What’s the cost?”

Vesper waved his hand in dismissal and drawled, “Only part of your eternal soul.”

Anxiety simmering in her gut, Emmery gaped at him, but he grinned.

“I told you,” he said, his voice low. “Nothing is free. Nothing is fair.”

She gnawed on her lip as the air shifted, pulling taut between them.

And in that space were unspoken intentions and scribbled words on that scrap of parchment still tucked in her cloak pocket.

Emmery could practically see those words written across his face as Vesper cautiously stared back.

Because he could feel it too—the turn in conversation.

“Now is when you make good on your promise and tell me how to get across the gate,” she snapped.

“I don’t remember making any promises, Sparky. I said I can get you across. Not that I would. Besides, did you think I would simply hand over the information?”

Her stomach plummeted as she stood and pointed her dagger at his throat, not knowing what to do with it. She couldn’t kill him and ruin her only chance of getting across the gate. Regardless, her knuckles whitened around the handle. “Tell me what you want,” she demanded.

Barely seeming to register the blade, a wolfish smile spread across Vesper’s face. “I would like to make a bargain.”