But for now, we were home. We were alive. And we were… with the Archmage?
Isren straightened a fraction, though he still watched me with that unnervingly patient stillness. His gold eyes flicked over my face again, thoughtfully.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
“Like I got trampled by a stampede of Brakhounds,” I muttered.
“Excellent,” he said, far too pleasantly, as he folded his hands behind his back. “Your cognitive functions remain intact.”
I squinted at him. “Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be with Nevara? Is she—” I stopped before I could speak the worddeadinto existence. “Did something happen?”
“I’ve already tended to her,” he assured me. “I slowed the venom’s progression while Healer Amias prepares the antivenom. For the moment, I am… optimistic.”
He said it likeoptimismwas a perfectly normal thing to feel while the world disintegrated around us.
Well, I was thrilled someone could feel that way while we’d been drowning in monsters, untamed mana, political fires, barrels of heads, and a deeply concerning pattern of nearly dying at least twice a week.
Isren blinked. His mouth tugged into the faintest, softest not-quite-smile. A sad one.
My stomach sank.Oh no. Please tell me I didn’t say all of that out loud.
Draven’s voice slid through my mind.No. But your face left little room for interpretation.
Wonderful.
I sat up further in the bed, and Batty squeaked, offended, scrambling up my chest to sit on my shoulder. Her wings trembled with exhaustion, and her onyx eyes were full of an icy irritation that was fair, all things considered.
“Sorry,” I whispered.
Something massive shifted at my feet. I looked down and froze.
Lumen was stretched across the blankets as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him to be there. As if he had spent every night of his life sleeping in that very spot.
“You let him on the bed?” I asked.
Draven eyed the wolf with censure. “He refused to leave. Apparently, bringing you home injured again was a personal affront he wasn’t willing to tolerate.”
Lumen huffed, pressing closer to my leg in a very pointed, judgmental way.
Before I could respond, Draven carefully adjusted my pillows like he was afraid of jostling me too much, and handed me a steaming mug of tea. I recognized the scent, something floral and calming, and meant for shock.
Another wave of guilt washed over me as I wondered how long it had been since my sister was here.
Isren cleared his throat, and I returned my attention to him. We had waited so long for him to come, and now that he was here, I wasn’t even sure exactly what to ask. As usual, though, the expression he wore was patient.
“Were you able to see anything else… about my mana?”
He furrowed his brow. “I can’t imagine there is much you could not feel yourself that I could tell you. It is as we suspected, a great deal of power, inherently at war with itself.”
“But it is possible to control it?”
Isren let out a long, slow breath. “I believe that as long as two powers with this amount of strength are in opposition to one another, when you channel one, the other will inevitably lash out.”
It was a gentle way of sayingno. I could never control it on my own. A hollow feeling opened in my chest. I swallowed once, my throat suddenly too dry to do it again.
“Perhaps you might tell me about your journey to the Dragon, to shed some light on the situation,” he suggested kindly.
I tried to shake off the resignation settling into my soul, latching on to the small possibility of hope. “Where do you want me to start?”
