I exchange glances, and Zaid straightens from his post at the fireplace.
“One of the twelve?” Carrick asks, his tone curious.
“She’s collecting Dark Fae, and she needs twelve,” Boral explains, which is something we already well knew—that she was collecting. We just didn’t know twelve was the number until now, and we knew at the least, she had eight based on the bizarrely disgusting ritual I had witnessed.
“Why is she collecting them?” his son demands, taking a step closer. His expression is awash with skepticism, but Zaid knows we can’t discount this.
Boral takes a moment to shift on the couch, recrossing his legs. “Apparently, she’s going to perform a ritual that requires twelve Dark Fae. But not just any of my brethren…”
He pauses for dramatic effect, trying to lure us in. We remain mute, waiting to hear what he will say.
Boral sighs that we’re not lapping up every word, and reveals, “They have to be original fallen.”
“Why?” Zaid pushes, although this is something we already knew from witnessing her ritual to summon the first eight. She had called them her original brethren.
“It’s all a bit sketchy, but as I said, I was meeting with Kaesar. We were acquaintances in the Underworld. Apparently, Kymaris performed a ritual to summon original fallen by sacrificing their progeny. Kaesar was one, his daemon son having been killed by Kymaris to pull him to her.”
The ritual I’d witnessed, and the information he’s giving, is on par with what I’d seen.
“Now, Kaesar has no love lost for his progeny. He didn’t care about that, but I have to say, it piqued my interest because I can’t imagine losing a son.”
This was said with such flagrant ass-kissing from Boral to Zaid that I swear there was a collective eye roll from us all.
“Back to the ritual… what is it supposed to do?” Carrick asks, taking Boral’s attention again.
“According to Kaesar, it’s called the ritual of confractus muros, and it’s designed to obliterate the veil between the Underworld and the Earth realm. Some dark sorcerer, Ozigeor, whipped it up for her, but it seems pretty farfetched to me.”
Either Boral doesn’t know Ozigeor is dead for nearly telling Carrick about the ritual, or he doesn’t care about the risk of betraying Kymaris to us. He doesn’t hesitate to continue. “It’s complicated, and Kaesar doesn’t think it can be pulled off.”
“Get to the point,” I demand, the first words I issued, but I want to make sure Boral knows I’m an equal part of this conversation. Carrick made clear I had power and importance, and I didn’t want to be a wallflower.
Boral’s gaze snaps back to me, and it’s clear he had discounted my importance as probably nothing more than Carrick’s toy. He eyes me speculatively, but replies, “She needs twelve original fallen Dark Fae. She only has ten so far.”
That’s two more than what she summoned.
“The ritual calls specifically for twelve like individuals—those would be original fallen like Kymaris—and one unlike individual.”
Carrick’s expression darkens, because he knows what that means, as do I.
It most likely means me… as I have a sacrifice to bear.
“But that’s not the hard part,” Boral continues, and I blink away any thoughts that I’ve now become a part of a ritual. “She needs power to do it, and she doesn’t have it right now. She’s apparently got her minions out questing for something called the Blood Stone that she needs to harness enough power to complete the ritual.”
Shit. Kymaris is out searching for the Blood Stone as we speak. We’re far behind, and the urgency that we might be facing impending doom at any moment makes my knees weak.
“Why does she need twelve original fallen if she’ll have power from the Blood Stone?” Zaid asks, which is a damn good question. I wouldn’t have thought of it.
“I asked Kaesar that, and he treated me to a little show.” Boral grimaces before continuing. “Apparently, Kymaris is giving the twelve some of her powers so they will be strong enough during the ritual. Has something to do with them being a chain through which the Blood Stone power will flow.”
“Giving them what kinds of powers?” I ask.
Boral’s attention comes back to me. “The scary kind,” he murmurs ominously in a blatant attempt to scare me.
“What kind?” Carrick barks, and Boral actually jumps slightly.
“The kind we were deprived of when we were banished,” Boral grits out. “Bending distance, minor magical powers to conjure, extra strength.”
“And does Kymaris know where the Blood Stone is?” Carrick inquires.
The most important question