Heir of Stardust and Secrets (Mythic Spark #1)

17. An Unvarnished Truth

Chapter 17

An Unvarnished Truth

T he four of us formed a loose semicircle facing the crystal from a few paces away. The king drew my attention away from the beautiful structure as he spoke. “That day you pulled those spidery marks from us, Nyleeria, Tarrin noted how your abilities feel different than mine—and I think he’s right.” The king shifted his focus from me to his second-in-command. Unsure of what to expect, I did the same.

“I’ve been on the receiving end of Thaddeus’ spellcraft for centuries now,” Tarrin explained, “and it’s less…charged. But also, less connected.”

“I haven’t physically experienced your magic firsthand,” Nevander added, “but I felt something similar as I witnessed it. The only time I’m able to feel Thaddeus’ spells is if I’m on the receiving end, and even then, it feels different. When he casts, it’s as if he pulls in energy and sends it out again, but in another form. It’s quick and complete, like a jab in hand-to-hand.”

“I’m not sure I understand,” I said, wondering why these differences were important.

“Allow me to demonstrate,” the king said, readying himself to cast. “I want you to pay close attention to the energies and how they flow.”

He conjured a brilliant ball of blue-white energy and hurled it toward the crystal, which absorbed it with ease.

He did it again, only this time I noticed a faint aura of energy encased the king before it appeared to pulse energy into his body that flowed to his hands, forming another orb. Keeping my focus on that aura, a blue-white streak passed through my periphery and into the stone. As if on cue, the aura faded, as if depleted—or perhaps returning to its natural state. The most interesting thing, though, was how only a tiny fragment of power seemed to surge through him.

“Do it again,” I said, wanting to observe how it felt this time.

He did.

They were right. The energy flowing through him was subtle and swift, like a shooting star lighting up the midnight sky with its fleeting brilliance. It paled to the depthless well that thrummed within me. His power was less…alive. As if its signature was that of an inanimate tome as opposed to the pulsing vibrancy of life.

“Again,” I said.

I’d made him do it repeatedly, gleaning more information every time.

It truly was symbiotic. For him, magic didn’t exist; he had to create it by converting power through spells. Like a seed lying dormant until the right conditions existed for it to flourish, he gave it what it needed, but he himself had no such abilities.

With this newfound understanding, I reached for that place buried deep within me and wondered what it needed to spring to life. Something clicked, and I couldn’t believe I hadn’t realized it before now.

“I didn’t use a spell to move the leaf that day,” I said.

The king stopped and turned to me, brows furrowed. “Are you sure? I assumed you at least thought the words.”

“No. I mean, yes,” I amended. “ When I first tried, when it didn’t work, I repeated the words incessantly. But when you had me visualize being in the meadow, it was just…pure feeling. No thoughts, no words, no spells.”

“Is that possible?” Tarrin asked.

“I’d say no, but I think the rules as we know them no longer apply,” the king said, then took a moment to consider. “You truly didn’t use the spell?” There was more wonder than questioning in his words.

I shook my head.

“When she healed the two of you, Thaddeus,” Nevander said, “had you even taught her that spell?”

We both knew he hadn’t. He held my gaze as he said, “No. No I did not.” Different emotions warred in the king’s eyes, and there was something in their intensity that made me want to reach for a blade to fend off whatever truth he’d just unlocked.

“Shit,” Tarrin said, running a hand through his hair. My attention was instantly on him.

“What?” I asked, somehow knowing I didn’t want the answer.

“Nyleeria, humans can only wield magic through spellcraft,” he said.

“And?” I asked, not understanding his meaning.

The three of them just stared at me, either hoping I would understand on my own, or letting this knowledge sink in for themselves.

“Would someone please tell me what’s going on?”

“Do you remember what I told you about humans versus fae when it comes to magic?” the king asked.

I did. They were two sides of the same medallion, but never shall the two meet. Then it hit me like a thousand bricks, and I had to force calm into my veins as a vice tightened around my chest; I was neither side of the damn coin.

“My body isn’t compatible with my magic…and the spark isn’t compatible with spells. That’s why spells don’t work, but not using them almost killed me.”

I stood there frozen, now knowing I was truly and utterly fucked .

Anger, helplessness, rage, and countless other emotions struck me all at once. The king moved to comfort me, but I pulled away. Turning from them, a scream of raw frustration and fury ripped from me.

Tears were frustration’s next form, and with every second that passed, it felt as if that leaden cloak of grief I’d somehow held at bay was back with a vengeance as it pressed down on me, evicting any vestige of hope I’d been harboring.

Bleary-eyed, I looked up at the king. “Please tell me you have a plan. A way around this.” There was no hiding the defeated desperation in my voice that painted every word with the helplessness that clawed at me.

The king held my gaze, and in a heartbreaking tone, he said, “Nyleeria?—”

“Please,” I sobbed before he could finish.

It felt like we stood there for an eternity, unsure of what to say, what to do, until Nevander took a small step toward me and offered me a soft smile. “Nyleeria, may I ask you a few questions?”

Standing a little taller, I wiped at my eyes and nodded.

“Talk to me about your power. I need you to be specific. Tell me how it’s different from, or the same as, Thaddeus’.”

Sniffling, I gathered myself and did my best to focus on the task at hand. “The biggest difference, outside of the spells, is our power source,” I said. “His comes from outside of him, as if through some sort of aura. For me, it comes from here”—I raised my hands and held them to my chest—“like I have access to my own source.”

Nevander offered me a gentle nod in thanks and turned his attention to the king. “She’s different from the fae, Thaddeus; their source is from the Mother, not this.”

The king’s head dipped in agreement.

“When she healed us,” Tarrin said, “it didn’t hurt her. There might be a way.” My eyes darted between them, wanting more than anything for them to give me a reason to believe .

“Before you laid your hands on me, you took your shoes off. Why?” the king asked.

“I’m…not sure. I think the same reason I go barefoot, to let the Mother cycle energies. As if the excess just needed somewhere to go.”

“That makes sense,” Nevander said. “The Mother has dealt with ancient magic before—hell, she was created by the same stardust magic herself. Maybe Nyleeria’s counterbalance to all of this is the Mother.”

“Perhaps,” the king said, considering.

“Could it be as simple as me starting smaller and building up my tolerance?” I asked.

“Simpler than making a feather float?” Tarrin quipped with a raised brow.

“But that’s the thing,” I said. “It wasn’t just making a feather float, was it?” I sent a pleading look to the king.

“She’s right, it wasn’t.”

“How was it different?” Nevander asked.

“I didn’t just lift the feather, I brought wind into this room—the feather just happened to move.”

Nevander looked to the king in surprise. “She wielded air?”

“She did, indeed. Although I missed it at the time.”

“Let me try again, knowing what we know now,” I said and readied myself.

“No!” all three men said in unison.

“By the stars, Nyleeria, how is that what you got out of this conversation?” Tarrin asked incredulously; the other two seemed inclined to agree.

“Hear me out,” I said, hands raised. Skepticism marked their faces, but I ignored it and trudged on. “There’s nothing we’re ever going to be able to do about me being human, and the fates have a twisted sense of humor if the spark was put in my body only to be rendered useless. I can’t imagine that, after gods know how long, the spark incarnated only to remain dormant. The idiocy of that makes me believe there must be a way. As I see it, I either figure out how to use this damn spark, or I die trying. If that happens, then it can find another host to insert itself into—preferably one that’s not as useless as I am proving to be.”

“No. We can’t risk it, Nyleeria,” the king said.

“What exactly can’t you risk?”

“You.”

The simple word stopped me short, but there was too much at stake for us to get cold feet. If the fae had their way, then we were all destined for the same fate in the end. No, we had to move forward. There was no other way.

“We all know that I’m no good to any of us if I can’t find a way to control this, and what happens to the twins if…” I choked on the rest of the sentence, unable to voice it. I took a steadying breath. “If another war knocks on our door, gods know how many more will end up like my parents, or yours. And what if we lose and the fae enslave us, or worse, decide we aren’t worth the oxygen we breathe?” The fears I hadn’t consciously let myself consider, the ones that threw me from sleep, were now given oxygen and felt more real than ever.

Resolved, I squared my shoulders, and faced the king. With wobbly knees, I said, “This isn’t your decision to make. It’s mine, and I’m not giving up—with or without your help.”

Nevander bristled, drawing my attention to him. He looked down his nose at me with cold fury as he said, “You’ll mind who you’re talking to.”

I didn’t shrink or cower at his tone or any of the raw strength they possessed. No, this was too important to me. It wasn’t about them anymore, about pleasing them; it was about me, about my purpose in all of this. About saving my family—what was left of them—and never letting that type of travesty happen again.

A moment passed before I broke Nevander’s unrelenting stare and addressed the king once more. “Your family was killed in the last war. Killed , not brutally murdered like mine. You didn’t have to avoid stepping on your parents’ entrails, or stare into their butterflied chests that displayed their stilled hearts like some sick, twisted masterpiece. You didn’t have to bear witness to their lifeless eyes—the ones that inexplicably echoed the agony of their final torment, as if the afterlife was powerless to soothe their pain.” My body shook from the impossible words that drew unending streams of tears—each one steeped in the nightmares that regularly ripped me awake with the ear-piercing screams that were swallowed by the stillness of the night. “You didn’t—” The king’s warm, gentle hands wrapped around mine.

He brushed my cheek lightly, liquid instantly gathering where we connected. “Okay,” he said, his expression pained for me. He held my gaze and then said again, more gently this time, “Okay.”