“Here, this space will be protected. Our bodies preserved for the duration,” Zirzol adds, turning his violet eyes in our direction. “In the veil, it will be curtained, so to speak, from the rest of the realm.”
It’s hard not to notice his common tongue isn’t as clear as Cenviri’s. It’s not unintelligible, but he certainly isn’t as confident speaking it as he is Malbolge.
“And that will be enough?” Ryc places a hand over mine tucked into the nook of his elbow. “This curtain will be enough to repel the dead?”
Cenviri chuckles. “My new friend, we are intruding uponthem. Traversingtheirdomain. It does not matter how many shrouding spells I cast, they’re bound to take notice with time. We work against multiple clocks.”
It’s a truth I don’t like.
Errant souls are going to sense us like a warm breeze through an open window. They’re going to be drawn, wanting to escape the veil. The longer we linger, the greater the chance of the spell being overwhelmed by the dead. The quicker we can make this, the better. Less time for dead to accumulate around us, and for Vaelyn to send one—or a few—of my siblings.
It’s a small comfort to know Ylara is no longer among them.
“How long will this take?” I ask and Cenviri’s eyes meet mine.
“Hard to say,” he answers quietly with a downturned smile. “I’m confident in my ability, but you are the first Fated soul I’m attempting to mend. I’ve no means to make an adequate estimate.”
The answer settles right next to his earlier truth.
Ryc, Eve, Cyran… their first foray into the veil may very well end with them fighting for their lives if this ritual takes too long.
“That being said,” Cenviri continues, “I do wish I could tell you what to expect.”
“Expect me to survive,” I counter, my tone lacking warmth.
Again, Cenviri chuckles. “I hold no doubts you shall.”
“How many will be joining us in this endeavor?” Ryc asks and I peer up at him. He keeps his stare focused on the necromancer and the First General.
“Given the current…tensionsbetween Vaelyn and myself, all thirteen of my Generals will descend with us,” Cenviri answers.
“Bothil-akiv’aeFirst General and the king’s captain have agreed to veilwalk,” Zirzol says, his voice low.
Cenviri’s brows raise with the new information. “Let us hope that will be enough,” he says with a firm nod. “For the majority of us, we are to soul project into the veil.”
My mind flashes to the last few moments I met Cenviri in the hells—the glimpse of the darkened room through the portal he’d opened. His body knelt upon the floor in a ring much like this one.
“Il-akivwill have to reach the veil as one should,” Cenviri says, his voice shattering the memory.
Meaning, I have to die.
“Which is why this requires a life tether,” the necromancer finishes, and his lips work into a fine line.
“How?” Ryc asks and his eyes race to mine. “How will she reach the veil?”
Blunt apprehension and building anger strike me in the chest. Ryc’s protective instinct leaks through our bond as he fights to keep it hidden under a nonchalant mask.
Genuine remorse flickers across Cenviri’s features as he answers. “Her heart will be spelled to stop. Once her soul is mended, I’ll force her through the veil, and your tether will reverse the spell’s effect.” He pauses, drawing a deep breath. “It will be painful. For both of you. But remember, the death is temporary, despite the madness your bond will force upon you.”
Ryc offers a single, silent nod.
“If you are ready, let us establish the tether between you,” Cenviri says, pulling himself from the altar.
I’m not ready, despite the nod I give as I hold Ryc’s intense stare.
It shouldn’t, but the silence grows reminiscent of a reluctant goodbye. This willnotbe the last time we stand together in theliving realm. Following Ryc’s lead, we step over the runes and approach.
Cenviri withdraws one of the three daggers at his waist, setting it on the altar between himself and Zirzol. It’s a gleaming, curved silver blade, no longer than my hand. It’s not meant to kill or maim, it’s meant tocarve.
