“However”—Ky clears his throat—“I believe I uncovered a clue that has led me to believe the Void was created—by the Verity.”
I watch the faces of the council and crew. All hang on Ky’s words. He has earned the respect of the countess. Commands the room like the captain he is. He was born to lead. Born for the role he plays.
Though he doesn’t take his eyes off the countess, I know he hears my thoughts. He smirks. Rolls his shoulders back. “And if something was created, it can certainly be destroyed. It was you, Countess Ambrose, who told me I was looking in the wrong places. You said if I wanted to discover the origins of the Void and the Verity, I would have to search where one would least expect to find an event in history.”
I hear Ky’s next line in my head before it’s uttered. The answer is so simple. Of course that’s where the information would be. Why didn’t I think of it? All those hours I spent in the library. All that time consumed examining The Reflection Chronicles. I was researching facts, real-life accounts. But I missed what has been right there all along.
All fiction is drawn from fact. Look at my life. I never believed in Fairy tales. In true love or legends or myths. But it’s real. All of it. And it always has been. It was simply my perspective that had to change. My mind needed to open, welcome a new reality. And all at once, it does.
With a crooked grin Ky says, “I would have to search in children’s stories.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
All So Clear
This is getting good. We’re close. I feel it in the way the Verity warms my center. In how it pushes against the Void threatening to move past my arm. The war inside is tangible. Light versus darkness. Joy fighting sorrow. Life battling death.
I bite my lower lip. It takes everything in me not to burst from my chair and grab the book from Tide, which I’m certain holds a clue vital to our mission.
And he said there’s treasure. What waits for us at the end of all this? As far as I’m concerned, the destruction of the Void is treasure enough. What more is there?
“Retrieved what you requested, Captain,” Tide says. “Found a copy in the palace archives, just like you said I would.” He struts to Ky and plops the book on the table.
I glance at the title—Once upon a Reflection. Of course.
Tide backs away, leans against the glass wall with arms folded.
“Thank you.” Ky opens the book’s cover and flip, flip, flips the pages until he lands on a passage near the center. He holds a finger there as he says, “Before we left the Third I took a risk and filled Tide in on a few key points. If we made it to the Fourth, I knew we could face problems. With the Threshold water low, I wasn’t sure what to expect. Chaos? Suspicion? Recent events have put everyone on edge. As half the Void’s vessel I must be prepared for every outcome. But if anyone had diplomatic immunity, I knew it would be Tide.”
“Pays to be the son of a countess.” Tide smirks. Brushes off a shoulder with his knuckles.
His cockiness suits him in an I-know-I’m-awesome-so-why-deny-it? sort of way. I glance over at Ebony. She watches him, an effervescence in her eyes I’ve never before witnessed. Different from the way she’d flicker her eyelashes at boys in school. This isn’t the confident Quinn who believes she can get any guy she wants. This is my sister. Of all the people she could’ve imitated using her Shield, she chose Tide. And the way she stared at him on the ship? She is so in-like with Tide it’s not even funny.
Ky clears his throat and my attention transfers to him. He looks down. The book’s pages are yellowed, some of the corners dog-eared. Oh man, would that drive Mom up a wall and back if she saw. Dog-earing a book is equivalent to mortal sin in her mind. Will she return to the Second once we destroy the Void? Isabeau is still out there, revenge hot on her Trollish breath. One more thing to worry about. Even if we reach our goal, there will always be someone else to save. Always.
Will it ever end?
As if in response, Ky begins to read: “The Scrib’s Fate by Dimitri Gérard.”
Wait, what? The same guy who wrote the journal I’ve been studying?
“‘Whence I fell, he left me there.
Lost, nay abandoned; what did he care?
I needed him; away he flew.
I loved him so; he ne’er knew.
When I revealed my soul, my heart,
He turned away; I watched him part.
Without him now, darkness descends.
Where it begins, my light does end.’”
Ky turns the page and continues, “‘Once upon a Reflection, deep in the Garden of Epoch, there shone a light lovelier than any human eye had ever beheld.’”
The Verity! Has to be!
“‘No human had ever ventured into the garden, for all mortals carry darkness within their souls. And light cannot reside with darkness.’”
This is it. Ky’s theory on the Void’s origin is based on this very story. I’m so catching on to this allegory thing. Something Ky said when I arrived on the ship empties from a pocket in my mind. “. . . light cannot remain light if in love with darkness. It is impossible.” I scoot to the edge of my chair. Tilt my head. Listen.
“‘One day a man happened upon the Garden. With a sharp wit and brilliant mind, he was called to be a Scrib, and he knew in order to enter the Garden he would be required to answer the riddle of the Fervor Dragon who guarded its gate.’” He licks his thumb, flips the page. “‘No one had ever solved the riddle. Three attempts were allowed, and three wrong answers forever ensued. Each who came before him was eaten alive by the Dragon, the consequence of an unsuitable response, never to be heard from again.’”
Shudder. Sheesh. Why even try?
“‘But as a treasure awaited anyone who could get past the gate, many came and tried their hand, risking their fate at the gate of Epoch.’”
Ah, treasure. What else? I shake my head.
Ky licks his lips.
A thrill darts through me. “‘The Dragon’s nostrils flared and her chops watered as she crooned, “What is invisible, but may be held in your arms? Heavier than all the water contained in the sea, but light enough to carry? Surpasses time, but dies with a word?”’”
That’s the riddle? Really? It’s so simple.
“‘Three attempts were not necessary for this particular man. Oh no. He knew the answer, for it is what he had searched for all his days.’”
The words trigger something inside. But I can’t put my finger on it. Not yet anyway.
“‘“True love,” the man replied.’” Ky pauses. Thinks something for my mind alone.
My heart is putty in my chest.
“‘The Dragon huffed her disappointment, for her supper would have to wait. She moved aside. Her scaly tail was, indeed, the gate guarding Epoch. She swung it open and the man entered.’”
This is way cooler than the stories Mom used to tell. What else have I missed growing up in the dull old Third? I’m so getting my hands on that book when we’re done. I’ve a feeling there are more stories just as epic. And if they’re all true? Even better.
Shifting and combing fingers through his hair, Ky reads, “‘The Garden was more beautiful than the man had surmised. Colors he did not know existed decked the flora and fauna. Roses the deepest shade of night bloomed. Trees with bark the color of honey grew tall and towering. The air was crisp, sweeter than the most pleasant of perfumes. Everything was so clear, as if the man had been blind his entire life and was just now gaining his sight.’”