know that blocks in the wall came loose. There needed to be a way to get back inside.
“And then you ran into the forest?”
“Yes.”
He crossed his legs. “There’s something you’re not telling me. I can feel it.” His voice was soft and seductive, making my head swim.
Wanting to change the subject, I stood and examined the room. Twelve paintings hung on the walls, each depicting a weapon of some sort. One in particular felt as if it had a life all its own. Moving toward the long, wooden pole, the elegant but deadly looking weapon mesmerized me. It appeared to be about five or six feet tall with intricate carvings along the entire length of it.
“I always wondered why I never found all twelve Krigers. It never occurred to me that one of them could be female. It’s clear you’re a Kriger. Not only can I feel your power, but you’re drawn to your weapon. That’s a bo staff.”
Forcing myself to look away from the painting, I felt the compulsion to touch it instantly vanish. Turning my attention to Morlet, my head suddenly felt like someone was squeezing it, and my eyes grew heavy. “I’m in a cave,” I murmured against my will.
Morlet tilted his head back, revealing his callous smile. “I’d like to be friends,” he purred. “What’s your name?”
“Kaia,” I responded, unable to stop my mouth from speaking. Forcing myself to look away from the king, my head immediately cleared. He chuckled. I moved to the bed and sat down, not sure where to look in order to keep my wits about me.
“You’re stronger than the others,” he mused. “I wonder why.”
Clasping my hands together, I bit my tongue to try to wake myself up in order to break my connection with the king.
“Since you’re being honest with me,” Morlet said, interrupting my thoughts, “I’m going to tell you something personal about me.”
Curiosity overruled practicality, and I unclasped my hands, waiting for him to continue. The only information I knew about the king was whispered stories told by my father or the few people I’d come across who were willing to speak. Those stories were violent nightmares of terror, destruction, and death.
“My name is Espen,” he revealed.
The words dangled in the air, teasing me. “I thought it was Morlet.”
“That is the name most people know me as,” he said, uncrossing his legs under his black cloak. “Morlet Forseve—the dark force. My birth name is Espen, although no one has called me that in years.”
“Then why did you tell me?” Did it make a difference what his name was?
“Because someone should know.” Scooting to the edge of his chair, he said, “You’re going to change everything. You will either be the death of me, or set me free.” He reached toward me. “Why do I feel us losing our connection?”
“I don’t know.” The air around us shimmered.
“There has to be a reason I can only communicate with you at certain times. It’s like there’s something preventing me from linking to you.” There was desperation in his voice that I didn’t understand. “Find out what’s blocking my ability to sense you,” he pleaded as my body faded away.
I woke up. Anders hovered above me, one hand on my arm. “What’s the matter?” he asked. “Another bad dream?”
“I don’t know.”
He released me and laid down, the medallion slipping out from under his shirt, dangling around his neck.
“The medallion blocks magic from being used on you?” I asked, pointing to it.
“It blocks whoever is wearing it from magic. Why?”
“We’re far enough outside the capital that Morlet can’t sense me, right?”
He nodded and yawned.
“Sorry I woke you up,” I whispered.
“You didn’t,” he mumbled. “I went outside for a moment.”
Both times Morlet managed to link with me, Anders had left me alone while I slept. “Can the medallion serve as a block for me even though I’m not wearing it?” Was being near it enough?
“If we were touching, it would.
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