The Evolution of Fae and Gods (Chronicles of the Stone Veil 3)

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 of all.

“I have no clue,” Boral replies, and by the nonchalance in his tone, it’s clear he doesn’t care if Kymaris succeeds in her ritual. He might have paid lip service to wanting to be free and out from under her reign, but he certainly doesn’t mind a horde of Dark Fae and demons pouring out to ravage the world.

“But,” he says, letting the word hang in the air. His gaze goes to Zaid. “I do know when the ritual will take place, assuming she collects everything she needs.”

Nope. I was wrong. This is the most important information we need.

“Well?” Zaid demands.

Boral uncrosses his legs, leans forward, and pins his hard eyes on his son. “I’ll share that with you if you agree to come back to me.”

And it’s now perfectly clear why Boral is here. He has information we’d never get access to, and he’s making his price abundantly clear.

But I don’t even get a chance to hold my breath in wonderment at what Zaid might do. There’s a complete blur, a rush of wind, and Carrick is no longer near me but at the couch.

He slows down just enough that I can see him jerk Boral up and then speeds back up in what looks to be a whirling, counterclockwise spinning motion.

Again, Carrick slows down, and, with legs spread and feet planted hard, he releases Boral, who goes flying right between Zaid and me, straight toward the free-standing fireplace.

Boral’s body crashes into one of the stone columns on the end that holds up the rectangular steel hood. With a spray of mortar and crushed rock, the column practically disintegrates from the impact, and the steel hood starts to tilt precariously without one of its four footholds.