Broken (25 page)

She pulled her hand away and cradled it back against her body. “I hate you.” She couldn’t think of anything else to say. As much as it hurt when he pulled it back into place, she had to admit it did feel better. She wasn’t about to let him know that, though. She was too busy trying to see his face through the stars that had returned to her eyes.

“You will get over it,” he said and then he flashed those stupid dimples. He knew exactly how to get to her.

Gregor, who still stood a few feet away with his hands on his hips, let out a huge sigh, grabbed his brown leather bag and moved toward the door. “I should take up residence in the castle with how often you two get injured.” Then he walked out of view.

“I believe I upset him. Perhaps I should have let him set your finger after all.”

“I don’t think so.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Was your father angry with you?”

“He did not approve, but he understood. He is only concerned for her safety.” He adjusted his shirt, cringing as it brushed against his skin. He looked away.

“You know better than anyone what infection can do to a person. Maybe you should take care of those before we go upstairs.”

“I will tend to them later.” He stood and offered his hand, his expression grave. “As for now . . . your friend awaits.”

Kira’s stomach clenched into knots. As they neared the top of the stairs, she could feel those same knots twisting and turning until they threatened to push her stomach right up into her throat. What if she couldn’t reunite their spirits? Or what if something went wrong in the process and Altaria was left in limbo, lost forever? And then there was the king—why did she feel like she was about to go before a firing squad?

The stairs leading to the king’s royal chambers were right before the door that led to Octavion’s room. The stairs curved upward until they entered a large room with a double set of doors at the opposite end. They were twice as tall as her and wide enough to drive a truck through. The wrought iron handles had a massive chain wound through them and heavy padlock as big as her hand.

“How does your father get out if the lock is on this side?” she asked.

Octavion raised one eyebrow and smirked.

“Oh.”

Octavion took a large skeleton key from his pocket and slipped it into the lock.

Kira put her hand over his, stopping him. “Wouldn’t it be safer for us to leap to the other side? I don’t want someone else to get in.”

“It can be painful to go through a wall or door, Kira. The roof of my cabin is nothing compared to a thick wooden door or stone walls.”

She looked at him and smiled. “How do you think Luka got me out of your lair and into the village? Yeah, it hurt, but I think I can handle it.”

He returned the key to his pocket and gently pulled her into his arms.

“Ready?”

“I think so.” She’d always been surprised by the difference when traveling with Octavion. This time was no different. It was as if his love protected her from the effects. She felt no pain, just a slight pressure on her chest and back, something she experienced all the time anyway.

When she opened her eyes on the other side of the door, she was taken aback. She’d expected to be in the kings sleeping chambers with Lydia in clear view. Instead, a long dark hallway stretched out in front of them. At the other end stood a tall window with thick red drapes open about two inches. The sliver of daylight provided just enough light to silhouette the benches and tables lining the walls. Tiny particles of dust danced around in the hazy beam.

“I apologize for the condition of my father’s quarters. No one has been in here to clean for quite some time.” His voice was barely a whisper.

It reminded her of haunted mansions she’d seen portrayed in movies. As they slowly made their way down the hall she thought about the sorrow his father had endured. The loss of not only his two brides, but also both his daughters—one turned evil and the other lying lifeless and alone. With the amount of dust on the wooden tables flanking the benches, it wouldn’t surprise her to know this place hadn’t been cleaned since before Octavion left Xantara with his sister.

On every table stood a large ceramic vase, each filled with the brittle remains of what were once fresh cut flowers. Their petals lay scattered on the tables and floor. The slight breeze they created as they passed caused them to dance around, leaving little skid marks in the dust.

She counted six doors—three on each side. In between each one hung a large painting. With the lack of light, she couldn’t make out any detail, but most appeared to be landscapes of the surrounding mountains and cliffs.

As they neared the last door, her heart began to race. Altaria seemed just as nervous as she was. Kira and Octavion had been walking side by side, not touching. But now she found herself needing his support. She took hold of his hand with her uninjured one. He gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Last chance to back out,” he teased, obviously trying to lighten the mood.

She tried to fill her lungs, but the dusty air caught in her nose and throat. As the urge to sneeze slowly crept into her sinuses, she put her throbbing hand up under her nose to control it. It came anyway—all the way from her toes. If there were any ghosts sleeping in these rooms, they were awake now.

Octavion chuckled. “I guess knocking is of no use. You have already announced our presence.”

A sudden warmth rushed to her cheeks. “Sorry.”

As Octavion reached for the door latch she felt every muscle in her body tense. She was having second thoughts, but only because she feared what she would see and how she would react. The image in her mind revealed a ghostly version of a girl she once knew with dark circles under her eyes and hollow cheeks. She tried to replace it with Lydia’s crooked smile and beautiful green eyes. She needed to save that image in her mind and remember Lydia as she used to be.

As the door swung open, Octavion gave her hand another squeeze and led them into the room. It wasn’t at all what she’d expected. For some reason she thought the walls would be covered in gold or at least adorned with some kind of royal tapestries. Instead it looked much like Octavion’s sleeping chambers only on a much larger scale—very impersonal, yet masculine.

His father—the king—stood a few feet in front of them, blocking Kira’s view of the bed. With his shoulders thrown back and his head held high, his stately countenance demanded respect.

Kira stepped forward and gave him as deep a curtsy as she could manage without falling to the floor.

He didn’t even acknowledge her presence. He locked gazes with Octavion, their identical strained expressions and silence could only mean one thing—they were arguing with their thoughts.

She stepped to one side to get a view of Lydia, but Octavion squeezed her hand a little harder and pulled her back.

“Wait,” he whispered, then continued glaring at his father.

But patience had never been Kira’s best quality. Unaware of her nervous behavior, she tapped her foot on the floor. She didn’t even realize until Octavion broke his concentration long enough to chastise her with his eyes.

She shifted her weight to the other foot and silently tapped her big toe inside her shoe. It didn’t seem to have the same calming effect for her anxious nerves. When she started fidgeting, Octavion squeezed her hand again. He squeezed them so often she’d lost the feeling in her fingertips. She tried to pull free of his grip but he wouldn’t let go.

How long could they possibly have this conversation? Octavion said they’d already discussed her seeing Lydia—what else could they be talking about? She watched as their facial expressions changed from anger to frustration and back again. She was about to express her own opinion when Octavion let out a big sigh.

His father turned to face her. She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to do the whole curtsy thing again or not, so she just stood there, waiting for further instructions from whoever spoke first. The king didn’t make her wait long.

“You will not speak of this to anyone. Do you understand?” His eyes pierced clean through her. They were deep blue like his son’s, and she could tell he was angry because of the threads of yellow and thin pupils, but there was something else there, a quality she couldn’t quite identify. It made her wonder exactly what his talents and gifts were—perhaps he could read minds or hypnotize with his stare. She lowered her eyes.

“Yes,” she managed.

“Your betrayal has cost you dearly, son. My trust does not come easily.”

Octavion’s jaw tightened. “It is not necessary for you to repeat your words for Kira’s benefit, father. I am well aware of my treason.”

Treason?
Kira suddenly had a knot in her throat. She hadn’t given much thought to what this might mean for Octavion. He’d sacrificed the trust of his own father and possibly his crown so there would be no secrets between them.

His father took a step to the side and motioned toward the bed. Kira’s eyes were still down. As anxious as she was to give back Altaria, she couldn’t seem to move.

Octavion pulled her close, putting his hand on the small of her back. He gave a gentle nudge forward. “Kira, it is all right. You may see her now.”

She slowly raised her eyes. The burning that settled in her chest started to catch flame again. “Calm down, Al,” she whispered. With each small footstep her heart skipped a beat. Two more steps and she would be next to the bed and have a full view of Lydia’s face. She hesitated, blinked and took a deep breath.

“Kira, maybe we should . . .”

“Shh . . . I’m okay.” She pushed away from him and took the last two steps on her own.

There were no words to describe the shell of a woman she saw in front of her. The drawn and empty face, pale and completely void of color, was not Lydia. Her thin lips were so dark, they looked bruised. The circles around her eyes made her skin look transparent—the narrow veins clearly visible underneath. Even her once-golden hair hung dull and colorless around her face.

Tears flowed down Kira’s cheeks as a painful heartbeat hammered against the inside of her ribs. When Octavion’s warm hand touched her shoulder, she spun around and fell into his arms.

“I know,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around her.

“She can’t . . . die,” Kira sobbed. “We have to . . . do something. We have to figure this out and give Al back to her.”

“We will,” Octavion said.

Kira turned toward Lydia again. Octavion brushed her hair back away from her neck then bent down and whispered in her ear. “Tell me what to do and I will do it.” His warm breath rushed down her neck like a soothing balm.

“I don’t know.” Lydia seemed so fragile, so broken. Kira took both Lydia’s hands and tried to summon any powers that may remain in the Crystor, but she felt nothing. “Al, try to go back,” she whispered, but only a cold chill ran up Kira’s spine. She dropped Lydia’s hand.

Kira caressed the tiny band of silver, useless and dull. She hadn’t thought about it until that moment, but if what Octavion had said about the Crystor was true, that it could only be removed if one of them died, then Kira should have known Lydia was still alive.

But then . . . what about Serena? She’d assumed the Crystor had been removed from Serena’s wrist after she died, but if she lived, how did it get on Kira’s wrist? Did Octavion lie about that too? Did he just tell her it was dangerous so she would stay bound to Lydia? And more importantly, if he was a powerful Jayde, then why hadn’t he tried to fix the Crystor so she could heal herself and Lydia?

“I have a question about the Crystor . . . and Serena,” she whispered. Kira turned around to find Octavion’s stature stiff and his jaw ridged.

His father sat in a chair several feet away watching them. When she mentioned Serena’s name he slid to the edge and appeared to listen more intently.

“What do you want to know?” Octavion asked.

She didn’t want to be the one to tell him Serena lived through her ordeal. She didn’t want to see the look on his face when he realized the woman he
truly
loved still lived in the village. But she needed to know everything about the Crystor. Giving Altaria back may depend on her being bound to Lydia. If it no longer held any power and they weren’t bound, then Lydia and Altaria would remain separated forever.

“Well, I was curious about something. Is it true that the only way I can take off the Crystor is if one of us dies? Is that how you were able to take it back from Serena?”

“Yes, that is the only way. One has to die.”

“So . . . if Serena were still alive, there’s no way you could have this—no way I could be wearing it?” She held her hand up so he could see the Crystor more clearly.

“Right,” he said. “Why are you asking me this?”

Kira straightened her back and braced herself for what she needed to do next. Then she looked at the King. “If you don’t tell him, I will.” She made sure her tone was firm so he’d understand exactly what she meant.

The king stood, his face contorted with rage. “How dare you address me in that tone? You will leave
now
,” he roared. He crossed the floor, stopping within arm’s reach of Kira.

Octavion jumped in front of him, the muscles in his back swelling as he moved. “You will not touch her, Father.”