Ve'Rah Daa (The Ephemeral: Book 3)

Chapter 42

As Valerie chased Koji off with her arrows, I fell to my knees at Will's side, gathering his dusty, broken body in my lap and kissing the top of his head.

He clutched the arm I'd looped around his torso, giving my wrist a feeble squeeze. Then he closed his eyes and released a long, shaky breath.

Too close, the embrace said. Too damn close.

I tried not to look at his busted knee, but even in my periphery, I could tell the limb was bent at unnatural angle, and I feared he wouldn't be able to walk properly for weeks, possibly months—assuming he made it out of here alive.

The others joined us in the center of the living room, and Mason's shield of light enveloped us in a dome of translucent, glowing mist. The swirling matter was not unlike the trail of white smoke seeping from my clavicle, and a million questions assaulted my brain.

"You sure know how to make an entrance," I got out as Torian crouched to inspect Will's knee. I raised my brow at Valerie. "And you. I thought you were in Averly?"

The archer dragged the king's unconscious body to the inner edge of our dome. "I had to be here," she said with a tight smile. "I couldn't let him win."

We both knew she didn't mean Regulas.

"I'm glad you made it, Val," Will told her through his pain, the only man aware of what she'd overcome.

Her smile softened at the sincerity in his voice, the understanding on his tongue. "Me too. It took one day at home for me to realize it wasn't where I oughta be, so I followed the army's trail across the Gorge." She jerked her chin at the boys. "Then I ran into these unpunctual welts just south of the palace."

Cinder, muzzle soaked in Two-Ton's entrails, left to stand guard in the corridor, and I peered at Mason again and his glowing palm. "Speaking of..." I gestured to his puzzling display. "How?"

With a snort, Mason used his free hand to lift the bottom half of his shirt, and his exposed abdomen put a cold, hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Thin streaks of blood stained the bandages hugging his ribcage—streaks that formed the edge of a very familiar design.

My wide eyes trailed back to his unapologetic face. "You didn't."

"He did," Torian muttered.

"It's the second rune in Ayla's journal. The one previously assigned to Will...or so we thought," Mason explained, dropping his shirt. He and Eagen traded knowing looks. "Turns out the pattern was never shared with Godric—because it's what Trevor used on himself to become the original spirit delegate."

Will tensed in my arms, and I glanced at Torian in shock. Delegate?

Judging by the medic's resigned expression, I sensed he'd attempted to talk Mason out of it more than once.

I shook my head, still reeling from the magic pouring out of my friend's hand. "How's this even possible?"

Just a week ago, we'd feared no living mages existed in this world, and now Mason was standing here claiming to be the commander of all spiritual energy.

"Eagan's how," he said, squeezing the boy's padded shoulder. "After Isaac translated Ayla's instructions, Eagan confessed to inheriting his parents' abilities. He was able to perform the delegation ritual all on his own."

My mouth parted, and I stared at the bunker dweller in awe. "...You have the gene."

Guilt shimmered in the boy's brown irises. "My uncle made me swear never to tell. It was for my safety—that's why he didn't say anything before. But...after reading the journal, he agreed it was the right thing to do. He said it would restore honor to our family. Make up for their mistakes."