He held up a hand to stop me. “Granted, I’ve had to build it up myself since then, but he gave me the tools I’d need to survive.” He leaned forward, a hint of awe unexpectedly crossing his features, and said, “I didn’t believe him. For all those years, I never thought it was possible. They were no more than legend,” he shook his head, “but even lore had them killed off so long ago. There was no living record of them, anywhere.” He moved closer, drawing a strand of my hair between his fingers. “You’re so like her, Brianna.”
I felt my jaw go tight, the wounds at my wrists pulling hard against their bonds. Morgan closed his eyes, taking in the scent of me. “I should have seen it then. She was so strong, so confident she knew what to do to win. I was a fool. How could anyone have seen the truth, have believed it? But it’s the only way. The prophecy makes sense now, because of the two of you.” His nose brushed my cheek, his breath slow and easy as he brought his lips to my ear and whispered, “Shadow.”
Chapter Sixteen
Secrets
I tried not to react to Morgan’s words, but the shock was too much to hide. A satisfied breath escaped him, brushing my skin. “Yes,” he whispered. “I know why you can do what you do, Brianna. I know how it is that you have the power to give us back our gifts. I know.”
He drew back so I could see his face, but kept his voice low. “And your sister, I understand now why she was the chosen. You are like two halves of a whole. The scales of justice, if you will.” He smiled at his analogy. “Tarian was right, Brianna. And I will have my due.”
His face tightened, and when he straightened in the chair, I could see blood welling in the grip he’d had on the knife. “It wasn’t as if I never expected my brother to betray me, Brianna. But the prophecy, my fate, is not his.”
“What are you talking about?” I replied flippantly, trying for some doubt to seep in, to at least give him pause, but it didn’t work. He’d already decided.
“Aern has the power if he has the chosen,” Morgan said. “But without it …”
He smiled again and my eyes closed in defeat. I could feel it. It was over. Everything we’d done to get here, gone. Morgan would win. The world would end in fire. In death.
Metal scraped across the floor and Morgan’s footfalls began to recede.
“If you touch her,” I hissed, “there will be no help from me.”
He stopped, turning back to face me. “Do you know how I escaped their inescapable prison, Brianna?” He slid his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “Brendan.”
He shifted the heel of his shoe on the concrete floor, giving me a moment to let that sink in. “Brendan was so distraught that you’d been taken, and under his care no less, that he rushed to my quarters and tore the door open. I don’t know what kind of little trick you played with the ginger boy, but you didn’t do it to Brendan. And the moment I touched him,” he smiled, emphasizing the ease of his sway, and said, “there is no better leverage than hurting someone you care for, Brianna. You will do as I say.”
The door closed behind me, leaving me in darkness. Alone. I stared at it, the names of those I had lost, those I was about to lose, falling helplessly through my mind.
Wesley.
Brendan.
Emily.
Aern.
Every soldier I’d met at the Division. The entire staff of Council. Every person that had ever helped me would be gone.
But there was one name that didn’t come, one name I couldn’t bear to think of. Because it was probably already too late for him.
When the door opened again, I had no idea how much time had passed. I stared numbly on as the man who’d been called Fisher approached, carrying a basin of water. He crouched beside me, a full arm’s length away, and sat the bowl between us. The damp cloth touched my face, trickling a bead of warm water down my neck. I didn’t look at him when I said evenly, “He wants me cleaned up for him. You didn’t do a good enough job.”
The man didn’t respond, trailing the cloth down my skin as he reached over the basin, arm fully extended. He was staying as far away from me as possible. And he’d come in alone.
I glanced at him sideways. “Where is the other one?”
He didn’t answer.
“Your boss, dark hair, GQ face?”
His eyes narrowed the tiniest bit, but he still didn’t reply, only moved to wash my other side.
I stared at my feet, smudged and dirty. I had full movement of my legs. I could wrap them around him, if he got close enough. If he were to just move within striking distance, I could snare him, a quick twist and snap his neck. Couldn’t I?
And then what? I’d still be tied here. A dead man lying at my feet. It didn’t matter, he wasn’t taking his eyes off me, wasn’t going to move closer. He would leave, without so much as a word. “Fisher,” I whispered, “you know who I am.”
The movement of his cloth faltered, but he didn’t reply.
“Morgan told you,” I said. “He told you all that I was important, that I was a prophet.” I wet my lips, desperate for water, and went on, “But he didn’t tell you what I see.”
The man shifted, drawing his hand back from me, creating more distance from what he clearly thought was danger.