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Authors: Clover Autrey
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extended to his sister. “It has to be.”
Hidden within those words filtered abject misery and shame and everything clicked. Bekah understood exactly what drove Shaw Limont to remain with the witch. It had nothing to do with being evil or seeking power for power’s sake. “You hope to find a way to save her.”
This time, he did look at her, shifting only enough to peer over his shoulder.
Bekah went on. “What better place to search for a cure from a witch’s accident than right under the witch’s nose? You could have escaped Aldreth, yet you’ve remained.”
His lip twitched. “’Tis not as simple as that.”
“Isn’t it?”
“No.” His head lowered. She didn’t think he was going to say anything else, but he did. His voice strangely quiet.
“When we were children, Col fell into a hunter’s trap in the forest and trying to get him out, Edeen tumbled in after him. We searched for them for two days. I was but a child myself and ‘twas my first taste of real fear—losing them. And I vowed to myself that I would not lose them again.
“Yet I have.”
His words held her with the fragile strength of a spider’s web.
“Please tell me what you know of Col.” The glow of magic flowing from his palm moved as his hand slipped from Edeen’s forehead to enclose her still hand within his. “I am not the monster you think me. Please trust me to do the right thing.”
“Okay.”
His head tilted, drifting the ends of his dark hair across his bicep. His brows knit together.
“All right.” So she told him everything. She eased down the wall to sit on the stone floor, hand upon her side.
The lines bracketing his mouth deepened with each new piece of information she doled out, though he made no interruptions. She told him of the future, of the Sifts, of how they suspected he was their creator. And she told him of Alexander, just not exactly who he was to him. It was a bit unnerving how intently Shaw listened.
“Seven centuries.” His voice echoed across the cave walls with the heaviness and despair of dirt shoveled onto a pine box six feet down. “Seven centuries my sister is imprisoned in this dark slumber.” He paced away from the stone alter the young woman slept upon and curled his fists to the sides of his head.
“But Roquemore Giordano will be able to awaken her,” Bekah offered hopefully.
Shaw whirled, dropping his hands. “I’ll go to Toren and force my sorcerer brother to open a rift and bring this dragon vampire here to awaken her now. And scoop up Col from this…this Sea-at-tall .” He was angry. At her? Or fate in general?
“Can he do that?” Without the magic of their clan supporting him, did the sorcerer still have the juice to open a rift, let alone two, that far in the future? Could he open one at all?
Shaw’s frown deepened. “’Tis uncertain,” he admitted.
“Can…you?” She squinted up at him. It was some sort of rift that had pulled Col away from them, an unstable hole had been ripped in the fabric of time and space, while Shaw had used his magic against the witch’s on Crunfathy Hill. The force and combination of their magic had torn open several rifts and Col had been sucked into one. Fortunately it had been to a time in the twenty-first century and not simply a hole that led to nowhere.
“No.” Shaw’s voice was the quiet shush of a vault door closing.
Bekah tilted her head, looking him over. He had tried. She could see it in the way his hands fisted and the thinning of his lips as he pressed them together. He had tried to open a time rift to find his brother. The ties of their blood would have taken him right to him anywhere in time that Col would have landed. If he’d been able to create a rift. Which he’d tried, but hadn’t succeeded in.
Probably several times.
Why had he failed? Alexander was certain that opening rifts was inherent in Moon Sifters. It was part of why the Sifts also had that ability, though on a shorter leash. The monsters were
Hidden within those words filtered abject misery and shame and everything clicked. Bekah understood exactly what drove Shaw Limont to remain with the witch. It had nothing to do with being evil or seeking power for power’s sake. “You hope to find a way to save her.”
This time, he did look at her, shifting only enough to peer over his shoulder.
Bekah went on. “What better place to search for a cure from a witch’s accident than right under the witch’s nose? You could have escaped Aldreth, yet you’ve remained.”
His lip twitched. “’Tis not as simple as that.”
“Isn’t it?”
“No.” His head lowered. She didn’t think he was going to say anything else, but he did. His voice strangely quiet.
“When we were children, Col fell into a hunter’s trap in the forest and trying to get him out, Edeen tumbled in after him. We searched for them for two days. I was but a child myself and ‘twas my first taste of real fear—losing them. And I vowed to myself that I would not lose them again.
“Yet I have.”
His words held her with the fragile strength of a spider’s web.
“Please tell me what you know of Col.” The glow of magic flowing from his palm moved as his hand slipped from Edeen’s forehead to enclose her still hand within his. “I am not the monster you think me. Please trust me to do the right thing.”
“Okay.”
His head tilted, drifting the ends of his dark hair across his bicep. His brows knit together.
“All right.” So she told him everything. She eased down the wall to sit on the stone floor, hand upon her side.
The lines bracketing his mouth deepened with each new piece of information she doled out, though he made no interruptions. She told him of the future, of the Sifts, of how they suspected he was their creator. And she told him of Alexander, just not exactly who he was to him. It was a bit unnerving how intently Shaw listened.
“Seven centuries.” His voice echoed across the cave walls with the heaviness and despair of dirt shoveled onto a pine box six feet down. “Seven centuries my sister is imprisoned in this dark slumber.” He paced away from the stone alter the young woman slept upon and curled his fists to the sides of his head.
“But Roquemore Giordano will be able to awaken her,” Bekah offered hopefully.
Shaw whirled, dropping his hands. “I’ll go to Toren and force my sorcerer brother to open a rift and bring this dragon vampire here to awaken her now. And scoop up Col from this…this Sea-at-tall .” He was angry. At her? Or fate in general?
“Can he do that?” Without the magic of their clan supporting him, did the sorcerer still have the juice to open a rift, let alone two, that far in the future? Could he open one at all?
Shaw’s frown deepened. “’Tis uncertain,” he admitted.
“Can…you?” She squinted up at him. It was some sort of rift that had pulled Col away from them, an unstable hole had been ripped in the fabric of time and space, while Shaw had used his magic against the witch’s on Crunfathy Hill. The force and combination of their magic had torn open several rifts and Col had been sucked into one. Fortunately it had been to a time in the twenty-first century and not simply a hole that led to nowhere.
“No.” Shaw’s voice was the quiet shush of a vault door closing.
Bekah tilted her head, looking him over. He had tried. She could see it in the way his hands fisted and the thinning of his lips as he pressed them together. He had tried to open a time rift to find his brother. The ties of their blood would have taken him right to him anywhere in time that Col would have landed. If he’d been able to create a rift. Which he’d tried, but hadn’t succeeded in.
Probably several times.
Why had he failed? Alexander was certain that opening rifts was inherent in Moon Sifters. It was part of why the Sifts also had that ability, though on a shorter leash. The monsters were
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