I felt it too, an awareness prickling at the back of my mind. Monsters circling. Waiting. Testing the edges of the wards like wolves pacing a firelit camp.
Whether or not they admitted it, everyone within the palace walls seemed to feel it. The tightening of the air as if we werecollectively holding our breath, bracing for whatever horror chose to step forward next.
AnotherElderborne? A coordinated assault of Tharnoks and Brakhounds and Wretches? The Shard Mother herself arriving with tea and our final damnation?
At this point, anything seemed possible.
So we tried to occupy ourselves, to at least change the things within reach while we waited for Draven’s messages to reach his spies in the Wilds, for the runners or the phoenixes to reach the Archmage.
For Nevara to wake up.
Every day we visited her in the infirmary, watching Soren sit at her side in uncharacteristic silence while the inky venom staining her nails and hair crept slowly, slowly upward. Amias said we still had plenty of options, but it didn’t feel that way.
It felt like just another way the Court was crumbling, but we had no choice other than to wait.
So while Draven oversaw the wards and rebuilding of the palace walls, largely from his study, I buried myself in research.
I sifted through treatises on mana theory, ancient texts on Unseelie lore, reread the book on dragons half a dozen times, and searched for anything I could find about theElderbornethat might randomly decide to reawaken to terrorize us more than the other monsters already were.
I even convinced Draven to bring me to the Hall of Stars, to feel the unique combination of the Shard Mother’s own power, the ley lines, and the palace itself that came together to ward out access to the only hope we had of ending the frostbeasts’ reign of terror. No amount of mana could pierce through it.
So I researched that too, only to come up against a solid wall.
The only people who might be capable of breaking through the complex warding were the Sirens, who never ventured this far from the waterfront, and the Elders in the Thornhart Herds,who lived and died on their refusal to interfere in the affairs of the other courts and dominions.
All my efforts would have been tedious and frustrating under the best of circumstances, but it was far worse under the constant threat of my mana imploding. There was no reason for it, no external factor, no time interval I could track. Sometimes I could keep the two sides of myself from attacking each other through sheer force of my will for minutes or hours at a time.
Even then, it was usually only after Draven had siphoned a great deal of the mana from me, something that wore on him more each day.
Still, those times were rare. Mostly, the internal war my mana was waging on itself spilled over in increasingly dangerous ways no matter how tightly I tried to hold the reins.
My body felt too small to contain the power warring inside it. I’d learned the warning signs, for all the good that had done me. The prickle down my spine, the tightening beneath my ribs, the vibration under my skin. But recognizing them did little to soften the impact when the surges inevitably arrived.
Draven’s concern grew with each passing day, as did the inescapable feeling that I was more of a burden now than ever before.
That feeling came to a head when word reached us about escalating monster attacks. The phoenixes came one after another at breakfast, each bearing news of frostbeasts and the wreckage they were leaving behind.
Draven crumpled the last letter in his fist, eyes going distant.
“You need to go,” I told him, ignoring the way Wynnie went deadly still at my words.
It was less of a question than a statement, but he shook his head.
“I’ll send Eryx out with a team and relocate some of the patrols nearby.” Even he didn’t sound confident in that plan.
The patrols had skilled warriors on them, but not for monsters on the scale the letters were reporting on.
“That won’t be enough,” I went ahead and stated the obvious, setting my tea mug down to prepare for the inevitable battle ahead.
He sat forward in his seat, eyebrows rising like he had heard my thought. “There is no decision to be made here. I cannot leave you, and you cannot go.”
Wynnie’s gaze flicked between us like she was following a sporting match, but she didn’t comment. Yet. Even if I could see the physical strain of staying silent in the deliberate way she chewed her frostberry scone.
“That isn’t just your decision,” I pushed back, but Wynnie finally lost her battle with holding her tongue.
Or abandoned it, rather, swallowing her mouthful of buttery scone in one bite and holding out her hand in protest.
“Evy, there’s bravery and then there’s common sense. It isn’t only you who would be in danger if you lost control of your mana,” she reminded me.
