Page 21 of Dark Rebel's Mystery

"The tarot cards themselves might be significant," he said. "They suggest she had some paranormal awareness. You probably inherited it from her."

Jasmine nodded. "That's one more reason I'm so hopeful she's still alive. Syssi was shown my mother when she asked to be shown Khiann. If my mother can also scry like me, but better, then all the puzzle pieces fall into place. She will help us find Khiann."

There was a long moment of silence as they all contemplated her statement.

"That's what I think as well," Syssi said. "I remember you saying something about the tarot deck being special?"

"The deck wasn't unique when it was first printed in the nineties. It was quite popular, but it's no longer printed. I've always wondered if she was trying to tell me something with those cards, but I'm coming to the conclusion that she didn't really leave them for me. I think she left those things behind because she had to leave in a rush or against her will. My father got rid of all of her belongings except for that box, probably thinking that I should have something of hers."

"Did your father ever explain to you why there was no grave?" Syssi asked softly. "No memorial of any kind?"

"He didn't say that there was no grave." Jasmine looked like she was on the verge of tears, which made Kian profoundly uncomfortable. "He just refused to talk about her. He could barely look at me because I reminded him so much of her." Shedrew a shaky breath. "I used to think that it was just grief and that he must have loved her fiercely, but I'm no longer convinced of that. The emotion I mistook for pain could have been anger. It's also possible that he thought he was protecting me by shielding me from the truth."

Kian leaned back against the couch cushions. "Everything is possible, and speculating is good because it provides us with several avenues of investigation. When you ask your father for answers, you will have a larger arsenal of questions."

"I wonder if he knew that she had special abilities," Syssi said. "You should ask him about it."

"I will." Jasmine pulled out her phone. "I should write it all down and memorize it before heading out to the cabin. I will probably be so stressed that I will forget half of what I intended to ask him."

"I can remind you," Ell-rom said.

"Thanks." She cast him a smile.

"You can allow yourself to hope," Syssi said softly. "The visions were clear. Kyra is alive, she's strong, and she's doing important work."

"But she was also hurt." Jasmine's voice cracked.

"She survived," Syssi said quietly. "She escaped and found her way to the resistance."

13

KYRA

Dust rose in small clouds with each movement of Kyra's young fighters. She stood at the center, her body a coiled spring of potential energy in case one of her students got hurt.

They were practicing basic defensive techniques, but sometimes people got overexcited and forgot that this was training and they needed to be careful not to injure one another.

"Your stance is wrong," she called to Malik, a gangly teenager whose enthusiasm outpaced his skills. "Feet wider. Root yourself like a mountain, not a sapling in the wind."

Malik adjusted his movements, awkward but earnest. He had potential—raw, unrefined, but present. These fighters would continue the resistance long after she was gone.

Even if the angel of death never found her, which given her twenty-some-year experience of effectively eluding him seemed likely, she would have to leave this base and move to another to hide the fact that she wasn't aging.

Kyra was going to miss them.

Some new fighters had been with her for months, others only weeks. Within them, the same fire burned—the desire to fight against oppression, protect their people, and make a difference. It was that fire that drew her to teaching, even though others in the camp were equally capable of providing instruction.

"Remember," she said, her voice carrying across the training ground, "your enemy will always be stronger. More heavily armed. Better equipped." She paused, meeting each student's eyes in turn. "But they are not smarter. They are not more determined. And they do not have our cause. They will run to save their lives while we will keep fighting until our last breath to save our families, our people. We are the shield that keeps them alive."

Kyra demonstrated the movement again, her body flowing from one position to another. The other trainees watched, most with admiration, some with envy, and a few with a twinge of fear. She pretended not to notice the whispers that sometimes followed her—stories of her impossible feats, rumors of her supernatural abilities.

Let them wonder.

Mystery was its own kind of shield.

"Watch how the body moves," she instructed. "It's not about strength. It's about understanding your movement, your breath." She adjusted a young woman's arm position. "Feel the flow of energy through your body. Let it guide you."

The amber pendant at her throat warmed slightly—a familiar sensation she'd learned to interpret as guidance and other times as a warning. Sometimes, she wondered if the stone was sentient in some way, if it had chosen her rather than the other wayaround. It had been with her since her escape from that place of horror and darkness, though the exact circumstances of finding it were lost in the haze of her fractured memories.

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