Vesper stretched his legs out in front of him, flexing his claws. “Third from the left, second row.”
“Ah, of course.” Thistle opened the recommended drawer and pulled out a twisted, gnarled root, no larger than a quill.
My brows lifted. “That…stickis going to solve our problem?”
Thistle snorted. “Thisstickis going to confirm what it is we’re working with. Idleroot is one of the only plants in existence without magical properties of its own, which means it draws on the magic around it when activated.”
Quinn’s head tilted. “How can it show us the gifts?”
A broad smile stretched across Thistle’s face, as if she’d waited years for someone to ask her that very question. “Each gift has a signature, a color, a texture. The idleroot makes it visible.” She held the plant up to the light, turning it over in her hands before placing it on the table between Quinn and me. “Now, you’ll both need to take hold of one side with your right hand.”
Quinn’s spine locked. “Will it hurt?”
“Not at all,” Thistle soothed. “It will be less painful than an afternoon of Mav’s jokes.”
I considered taking offense, but thought better of it when I saw the way Thistle’s words had calmed Quinn. We both reached out and grabbed the root. It was rough and strangely cold on my fingertips. Thistle pressed two fingers to the pulse on my wrist and the same for Quinn, then murmured a throaty incantation in Old Avandrian—a language much better suited to spellwork than speech.
For a moment, nothing happened.
I looked up to find Quinn’s eyes searching mine. My headdipped in a gesture paired with a grin I hoped passed as reassuring, though I didn’t feel reassured myself.
The root twitched. Once. Twice.
Then it began to writhe like a serpent, emitting a high-pitched buzzing sound. My first instinct was to rip my hand away, but Thistle’s voice cut through my panic.
“Don’t let go!”
Light burst between our joined hands, illuminating the idleroot.
A single, shimmering golden strand stretched between Quinn and me.
The tether.
I recognized it at once; the same thread I’d seen in my dream.
Before I could speak, another light appeared: a thicker cord of silver, brilliant and spiraling. It looped around our wrists and the idleroot.
The two lights intertwined—the gold of the tether and the silver of the time-cord—braiding midair in a sun-struck weave that pulsed with power.
And though I lacked the words to describe it, suddenly I felther.
Quinn.
Her fear, hurt, and loneliness crashed into me, waves upon rock. The heaviness of it threatened to pull me under. The current of her emotions was so strong that I was powerless against it. There, hiding under all of it was a tiny flicker, warm and sure. Was this the hope she spoke of? Across from me, Quinn’s mouth parted. Her hand tightened on the root as if the same sensation had hit her, too. Was she sensing me? And what would this cosmic braid reveal to her?
Thistle’s eyes widened as she studied the shapes. “I…I’ve never seen anything like this.” She muttered another incantation. The light faded, and the threads disappeared in a puff of smoke carried away on the wind.
“What in the seven hells was that?” I asked, surprised to find my heart racing and my breathing ragged.
“That,” Thistle began, “I have no explanation for.” Her eyes stayed on the idleroot. “The Time magic is interlaced with the Tether magic. I’ve never seen gifts connect that way,” she went on. “Old. Strong. Whoever cast it must have been deeply gifted in the higher orders and didn’t fear the cost.”
“So, I’m not losing my mind?”
Quinn winced at my words, and I regretted them immediately. I’d laughed when she’d first told me. I’d dragged her out here like she was a puzzle to set on Thistle’s table and solve between tea and supper. The shame of it warmed my face and left a worse ache behind—the shape of a problem no longer imaginary.
“Not this time,” Thistle said with a patronizing pat on my forearm.
“Good,” I said. “Now, how do we break it?”
