The Last Tears of a Phoenix Series Books 1-3 by J.P. Cianci

Author:J.P. Cianci [Cianci, J.P.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Fire Crystal Publishing
Published: 2016-01-26T06:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY

We’re all quiet as we travel through the cave and out into the open again. Advisor Noel leaves us with the guards and makes his way across the bridge, his head hanging low. Once he is out of earshot, the group explodes into chatter.

“Does anyone know what Tristan has?”

“Did you see what he did with those crystals?”

“Look, I caught one, it’s black. How’d he turn it black?

“What does it mean?”

“I thought the king was a human that ruled over humans.”

“Does anybody have any idea what he is? Could he be immortal?”

“What other powers does the king have?”

The group continues to speculate, but I wonder about the advisor. He seems so young to be in such a powerful position. The king seems to trust him without reservation. I wonder why that is. I know Tristan told him why we’re here, but how can he know that our journey will extend beyond here?

Advisor Noel’s head is still down, and a smaller and slimmer figure follows slowly behind him. The person has their head down also, but is cloaked in fabric that is not as fine as Noel’s. It is a dingy brown hue that is ratty and covered with dirt.

“This is…what was your name again?” the advisor asks his companion.

“Lena,” she says quickly.

“Don’t be rude, Lena. Acquaint yourself with our guests.”

“May I do so in the caves please, Advisor?” she asks politely.

“No, you may not,” he answers with equal civility, though he is clearly flaunting his power.

The girl hesitates.

“Come now, Lena. The quicker you make introductions, the quicker you can retreat into the caves,” he sings.

The girl raises her head and shakes off her hood. A long mane of glossy brown hair tumbles out. It is her most attractive feature because when the hood falls away, it reveals a face that is scarred and burned. She squints and whimpers as her face immediately turns red. I cringe, but I don’t look away.

Her hand, covered in a matching brown glove, reaches within her robe and she extracts a crystal in the same shape as the king’s scepter, only this one is six inches long and one color.

“My name is Lena P’etra, and I am claimed by the charoite crystal,” she says. And as if in response, the deep lavender crystal with black-and-white striations catches the sunlight’s rays at its diamond-shaped tip and dazzles before us.

I try to focus on the crystal, but I’m drawn to Lena’s eyes. They stay focused on the charoite, and I don’t know if it is the sun that is causing this crystal marker to twinkle, or if she is commanding it to, but it is not the only thing that sparkles. The top right tips of her pupils oscillate in faint gold and bright white, almost like stars, so that she has a true gleam in her eyes.

She lowers the crystal and tucks it back into her robe. Her face is red and covered in sweat, and she looks desperately at the advisor, but his face is obscured by the hood.

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