Amelia’s body twitched for a few moments, the old woman’s face crinkling as though she had bad dreams, and then suddenly, all the tension eased off her face. Her features settled into a peaceful sleep, her spirit alone now in her rightful body.
Bryn gazed in wonder at the elderly queen, who had proven to be far tougher than anyone had believed.
I hope I should be as strong, she thought.
Then she felt another tug, softer this time, guiding her toward the open door. It was the same sensation as the finding spell, almost like a delicious scent leading her to a room full of fresh-baked cakes. Letting her spirit float along in the pull’s direction, she found herself slowly transported down the hallway, past guards chatting amongst themselves about the old queen’s daring move, and through the cracked doorway of her chamber.
Her spirit gave a great exhalation to see her true body lying in bed.
Her face was deathly pale, her chest barely rose with breath; it was clear why Declan Hytooth had been so concerned for her health that he’d interrupted the grand parlay. Rangar sat on the bed next to her, clutching one of her hands and, with his other, stroking her hair off her temples.
Elysander and Illiana loomed over the table where Illiana’s supplies were laid out, preparing a draught. “Quick, give her this to drink,” Illiana said, passing a bottle to Elysander. “Rub it on her lips, so she doesn’t choke.”
Elysander hurried to the other side of the bed and fed Bryn the elixir, sip by sip. At first, high up near the ceiling, Bryn watched them in fascination like they were characters in a play. Elysander had grown so strong and confident since leaving Castle Mir; Bryn felt in awe of all her older sister had accomplished. And Rangar . . . well, what else was there to possibly say about Rangar Barendur? How could she put into words the passionate feelings inside her chest?
Gazing down at him, Bryn studied him from a new perspective. Months ago, when they’d first reunited at the Low Sun Gathering, he’d been stooped and sulking, ashamed of his scars. Now, he held himself like a true king: back straight, shoulders proud, hair combed off his scars as though daring the world to judge him.
Her heart clenched with more love than she’d ever thought possible.
Illiana said to Elysander, “Where are the others? We can’t wait much longer. We need them to amplify the spell.”
The note of worry in Illiana’s voice made Bryn snap back to the present. Now, she looked more intently at what was happening in the room:
Illiana’s pinched brow.
Rangar’s clenched jaw.
Elysander’s pacing by the door, glancing out every few moments.
They’re afraid,she realized.
Just as fear started to curdle in Bryn’s chest, Prince Anter appeared at the door, out of breath. “I’m sorry. After King Marthin and Baron Marmose’s murders, there are guards everywhere. It was hard to get away.”
“Your father?” Illiana said.
“On his way.”
They waited with baited breaths until Queen Karin slipped in, wearing a black robe with a scarf covering her hair. “I had to use a shadow spell to get past the guards,” she said breathlessly.
A few painful moments passed before heavy footsteps sounded, and then King Otto finally appeared in the doorway. He shut the door behind him, looking grave. “We must do this quickly. The guards are suspicious—they found me in the halls and thought I was secretly meeting someone. They’ve started checking each room.”
“Quick, then,” Illiana said, waving everyone toward the bed. “Join hands.”
The five casters held hands near the bottom of the bed while Illiana rolled over Bryn’s body. She peeled off the bandages on Bryn’s back, then began to rub an elixir into the five fresh hexmarks.
“Mann desta ka ra,” the five casters chanted in unison.
Floating above them, Bryn couldn’t tear her eyes off her body. Every piece of her spirit wanted to sink back into her familiar skin. Yet she didn’t seem to be getting closer. She felt a strange, cold sensation, almost like a preternatural wind at the door—only instead of blowing her toward her body, it was wafting herawayfrom it.
“What’s happening?” Rangar paused the recitation to ask Illiana. “Why isn’t she waking?”
“Just keep chanting,” Illiana said with a note of panic.
Rangar did as bidden, but his shoulders were now set tensely. His eyes flashed down over Bryn’s body with fear in them. Another round of the chanted spell passed, and Bryn only felt colder, like her spirit was drifting even further from her body.
“This isn’t working,” Rangar hissed.
“I know it isn’t!” Illiana cried. “I told you this spell has never been done before!”
