She stepped forward, fingers tentatively hovering over the carved wood and glass. Lead and pewter bound the pieces, the entire surface a masterpiece of pressed materials, layered and curved into something that was almost art. Almost, because it punched her in the gut instead of inspiring any real emotion.
Brianna’s voice was thick as she stared at the ancient symbols, the undeniable words that pointed to the fathers of the Seven, a list of names. “How long has this been here?”
Aern answered, suddenly behind her in her state of sick astonishment. “It was brought here during the first ages,” he said. “It’s one of the only original artifacts left from the time of the prophecy.”
Brianna didn’t turn to face them, only stared at the name set into the Seven Lines’ history. One name. One of the Seven.
Eadmaer.
So the dark-haired man’s claim had been right then, he’d been telling the truth. Eadmaer was the father of the dragon line, the dark-haired man his heir. Her skin prickled, and she ran a hand over her arms. Or he hadn’t, she decided, he’d simply gained the knowledge he’d need to give her a convincing story. He knew the first thing she’d do was check the facts.
“What is it?” Emily said.
Brianna turned to say “nothing”, but was caught by the sight of a healthy Emily, skin nearly unblemished aside from the few marks crossing her arms. Her gaze fell to Aern, the flesh of his arms pink and healing. She reached out, taking his hand, running a finger over his skin. “You were burned.”
It wasn’t until that moment, the instant that everyone’s eyes were full on her, aware of something she’d completely missed, that she realized she and Emily hadn’t been hurt. They’d been cut, shallow slices caught during the fray, they’d been battered and bruised, dragged through the mud, but they’d not been burned. Aern had stood protecting Brianna in the center of a fire storm, but even within the shelter of his arms, she should have come away with at least some sign of it.
She glanced at Logan beside her, remembering his own damage, the hits she’d seen him take, the fire and electrical pulses that had torn and blistered his skin. He’d healed now, as had Aern for the most part, but given the extent of their damage from the fire, the degree to which the other Council soldiers had suffered, Brianna would have been one large skin graft.
Her eyes met Emily’s then, but her sister only shrugged. It was one more thing, another piece of the puzzle they didn’t have the answer to. “There’s something else,” Emily said, gaze cutting to Aern’s.
Aern drew his hand free of Brianna’s, clasping his own in front of his chest. “Wesley saw something pass between you and this Callan.”
Brianna’s stomach dropped, the guilt at her secret eating a hole in her. She had told them his name, told them he’d said he wanted to help, but that was all. Nothing about what he wanted, nothing about the bond.
“I assured him you were unaware of it, as I’m certain you are,” Aern explained. Brianna’s concern shifted into confusion, but he went on. “It seems this ability has given Wesley a sense of where the power is, and when he saw you with the shadow, what he felt was that the man had somehow managed to draw power from you.”
Brianna stepped back, faltered as if she’d been hit. Logan’s arm was immediately behind her, and she let him pull her into his side for support. They hadn’t expected her to take it so badly, not understanding the scope of her fear. To them, it was an explanation, a new clue in this mystery and answer to why she’d been so weak, so tired at every turn. Logan led her to one of the large padded chairs, sitting beside her as she processed Aern’s words.
Aern knelt in front of Brianna, Emily shifting her weight from foot to foot where she stood behind him.
“It’s his ability,” Brianna said. “Gods, why didn’t I see it before? He’s one of you, Aern, one of the ones who created your line.”
The air went out of the room, though they couldn’t possibly grasp the magnitude of the problem.
“He told me why he was helping us,” she admitted, hating herself for keeping the secret. “He said he was son of Acacius, descendant of Eadmaer and Desiderius.” She pointed to the shield decorating the Council wall. “Eadmaer, father of the dragon line.”
Emily stopped pacing, her form as still as the air. “Acacius?”
Brianna looked up, only then realizing that she’d drawn into herself, wrapped her arms around her middle and curled over them. She focused on her sister’s face, the starkness there.
“Acacius?” Emily repeated.
Brianna nodded, pulling herself upright. “You know it?” she whispered.
“Yes,” Emily said levelly. “From our mother.”
Brianna suddenly didn’t need Logan’s support; she was straight-backed, eyes locked with her sister’s. “No,” she breathed.