Crew begin to file up the plank.
“If you need me, you know where to find me,” Connak says to us and the cherry end of his cigarillo grows bright. “If you find the accommodations of the citadel less than inviting, you’re welcome to stay aboard. We can sling a few extra hammocks.”
“A generous offer,” Ryc says, exuding all the kindness and warmth I’ve come to expect from him. “Thank you, but we’ve traveled with everything needed.”
There will be no sleep until I find what I require.
That much I know.
“Of course,” Connak says with a departing dip of his chin. “Offer stands should you change your mind.”
He follows the last of his crew, returning to the ship. Cyran, wasting no time, sets ahead, and gives Eve a silent stare as he passes. Somehow, it’s a stare she understands.
With a nod, she steps back, jutting her chin toward Cyran. “Let’s find these archives,” she says, keeping her voice low.
Ryc releases my hands, and I take hold of his arm as we fall into Cyran’s wake. For a time, the four of us walk the length of the dock in silence. As we approach, the shape of the trees grows clearer, darker, their leaves more vibrant.
Thousands of red, star-like leaves coat the branches, and thousands more litter the ground. A few float upon the water, riding the ever so gentle waves until they’re brought back to the island.
Winter hasn’t reached Illa Ysari.
Here it still feels like the tail end of summer.
The influence of Aether, no doubt.
A few yards ahead, Cyran descends a short series of stairs, stepping onto the island. He stops, turning to wait for us.
No longer ginger root, but rather ginger mush, I toss the remnants into the water before reaching the steps, unsure how else to discard it. Each step closer to the island, the resonance in my chest grows. It blossoms from a low thrum to a vibration that settles into the depths of my bones.
My foot descends the last of the stairs and sets upon the leaf-strewn and dirtied path, and I freeze. The vibration sweeps through me, tingling against my scalp, and down the back of my neck.
Ryc, halted beside me, furrows his brows.
“It’s not the fog,” I breathe, clutching at the center of my chest with a hand. “Theland itselfisimbuedwith Aether.”
Illa Ysari doesn’t sit in a hazy cloud of wild magic.
It is asource.
A wellspring.
Acistern.
It’s in the trees, the fog, the soil, the air itself—itpermeateseverything.
Aether is soentwinedwith everything it touches here, it’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen—orfelt.
It sits heavy on my chest—loudaround my heart. The way it feels… it’s like I could…
Opening my palm before me, I reach into the cistern I’ve stepped into and a single, broad-petaled veilflower blooms. Its blue light growsbright—challenging the brightest stars of the universe—as my eyes widen.
“Ves…” Eve whispers from behind, expressing our shared astonishment in a single syllable.
With my breathy laugh and the slightest nudge against the magic reverberating in my chest, the flower dissipates, bursting into dark blue fog which tendrils toward the heavens.
“I was told Celesta could wield Aether,” I say, staring at my empty palm. “Maybe I can, too?”
“It would run in your blood,” Cyran says as he studies me. “And with the density of Aether here, it’s possible it’s easier for you to wield it here.”
