Kairos studied me for a long moment. “And if I agree?”
“Then I’ll cooperate.”
Kairos shrugged. “Fine.”
I sat in front of Lioren, whose skeptical gaze skewered me.
Kairos waved at three objects on the table: a rock, a battered shield, and a glowing orb. “We drew them this morning. Same rune, different materials.”
He pointed to the rock. “Carved with a chisel, filled with powdered puffcap and ink.”
“Puffcap?”
“Mushroom. Grows in old forests.” He gestured dismissively. “Weak. Fades within hours.” His hand moved to the shield. “This uses faerie blood.”
“Right.”
“Runes are vessels. They hold whatever you feed them. Most of these barely qualify as a meal.”
I studied the rock, remembering. “In Skalgard, hybrids bought vials off the back-alley merchants. Little bottles with handwritten labels. Vendors swore it was real dragon bone, that it would make their runes stronger.”
Kairos made a disgusted sound in his throat.
“It did nothing,” I continued quietly. “One boy lit his sleeve on fire trying to draw a rune.”
Lioren snorted. “There haven’t been dragons in over a thousand years. What were they grinding into dust?”
“The seller claimed it came from an ancient hoard. Sealed in fireproof glass.”
Uther let out a low chuckle.
Kairos leaned forward, his gaze sharp. “What didyouthink?”
I met his eyes. “It was sad. They wanted power so badly they’d believe anything.”
Especially him.Vaeris had worn his half-human blood like a crown in public—the dark prince of Skaldir. But in private, he’d seethed over being weaker than pureblooded fae. Hated how the nobles dismissed him with polite smiles.
I used to comfort him. He’d rest his head in my lap while I murmured reassurances that patched over his pride.
“Break them,” Kairos barked. “Start with the weakest, work your way up. We need to see how different materials affect you.”
I eyed the three objects. Refusing would raise too many questions. And out there, I’d encounter runes I’d have to shatter. I needed to know my limits.
Still, my hands felt slow. Heavier. My stomach had been tight all day. Maybe I was getting sick.
I picked up the stone. Heat seeped into my palm—a warming rune, common in noble homes. Rheya and I stole them. We’d drop them in water buckets or line our clothes with them.
I traced the carved lines. My vision blurred as I focused on the magic, envisioning threads wrapped around a beating heart. They hummed against my skin. I hooked my fingers through the shimmering strands and ripped them free, stretching them taut.
One sharp jerk. They snapped.
Wind cracked against my wrist.
I dropped the rock with a hiss, cradling my hand. It throbbed. One simple rune and I was already hurting.
Kairos grimaced. His throat worked like he wanted to say something, but he stayed silent.
Uther rubbed his chin. “That was anticlimactic. I expected an explosion.”
