“Little one—”
“Get out of my head!”
Zephyra retreated at once, behind that ever-present wall that Signey had erected, a wall that Elara had yet to learn to maintain but for which she was grateful. She pressed her face against the pillow and cried until her throat felt scraped raw, until her body stopped shaking and she no longer felt seconds away from screaming. Instead, she was hollow and exhausted, but that numbness was a relief. At least she could sleep.
“Hello? Elara? Hello?”
She sat up, scrambling for the drake figurine. The flame wasnow consistent, a deep red, and from its depths she heard her sister’s voice, edged with annoyance.
“I swear to Irie, if you don’t answer today, I’ll take the next drake to—”
“I’m here! Faron, hello, I’m here.” Tears gathered at the corners of Elara’s eyes again. “I’m here. You have great timing.”
“I’ve been calling every hour, but your figurine wasn’t switched on, so I couldn’t reach you. Why haven’tyoucalled yet?”
Elara swallowed back another bout of crying, explaining to her sister what she’d discovered about her ability to summon. Faron was silent for perhaps the first time in her life, but it was a horrified kind of quiet, as though she couldn’t fathom a life without their magic. Elara wouldn’t have been able to imagine it, either, if she hadn’t been living it.
“All right,” Faron finally said. “All right, well. I’ll let Aveline know. And we can set up a designated time for us to call you, so—so, there’s that. Do you think you could talk just after dinner every night?”
“Probably. I don’t know what the curfew is yet, but I’m sure there is one.”
“We have a plan, then. How are you otherwise? Are they keeping you in a dungeon? Are they feeding you? Did they go through your things?”
“Sort of. Yes. No.” Even though she still felt too raw for laughter, Elara couldn’t help smiling at her sister’s antics. “Hearthstone Academy is a fortress on an archipelago, surrounded by Riders and dragons. Apparently, we’re going to the Langlish capital this weekend, but my Firstrider hates me, so I don’t know why.”
“The Summit ends this weekend, so the commander will be back. Maybe you’re going to see him?”
“I think I’d rather be in a dungeon.”
Faron laughed. “I miss you. I wish I could tell you that I already know how to bring you back, but…”
“It’s only been a few hours. I wasn’t expecting anything.”
“I have a lead. I just… Well.”
As Faron explained what she had learned about the voice she’d heard at the Summit and the potential he had to solve their problems while creating many more, Elara stared at the cream bedsheet in concentration. She had never heard of a fourth god, and it wasn’t for lack of research. There had been a time, many years ago, when she’d thought she might join the temple instead of the military, when her respect and awe for the gods who had kept her parents safe through the revolution had manifested in a religious fervor.
“Did you tell Reeve? He can see if there’s anything in Aveline’s books about this.” There was a short pause. Elara rolled her eyes. “Faron, go and tell Reeve what the gods said.”
“He’s been reading since we got here. I don’t think he’s even breathed.”
Elara’s smile widened. “That’s just one of his quirks. If you say his name enough times, he’ll listen. You won’t be able to help me if you don’t worktogether. I shouldn’t have to tell you that.”
“Fine,Mother, I’ll talk to the Warwick. Do you want me to get him now?”
Elara considered it and then said goodbye instead. Reeve would immediately be able to tell that she had been crying, and she wasn’t ready to talk with him about her loss of summoning. He understood her, but he wouldn’t be able to understand her connection with Iryan magic. And, right now, she didn’t want him to try.
The flame retreated into the Justice figurine. She set it on her side table, tracing the jagged lines of its head with loving fingers. She wasn’t alone. Not in any way that mattered. And everyone was counting on her to do more than lock herself away in her bedroom, weeping, even if she wasn’t quite sure yet what she was looking for.
Checking one more time to make sure she couldn’t feel so much as a whisper of Signey and Zephyra in her head, Elara got dressed. For now, there was at least one thing she could do.
At night, Hearthstone was a haunted place, full of lengthening shadows and mysterious sounds.
The same grit that had carried Elara to war carried her through the endless symmetrical hallways, lit only by moonlight. She could hear her own breathing, soft and swift, as she traced a path toward the headmaster’s office. She could hear the rumble of the dragons that swarmed the archipelago on their own internal schedules. And she could hear a thousand reasons she should return to bed, reasons that pressed down on her shoulders with every step.
Reasons she had come too far to acknowledge.
It would be easier if she couldsummon. She missed the comforting heat of her ancestors’ souls mixing with hers. She missed their raw power and the confidence with which she could direct it. Iryan magic felt like home, as easy as breathing, but this magic felt like an invader, a virus without a cure. Langley had carved her open, removed a part of who she was, and shoved something new and frightening within.
