“Wait,” Vesper said, raising a paw. “What the seven hells is a dyad?”
“A dyad is a spell cast by weaving two magics together. In this case, Tether and Time. They are extremely rare because it necessitates two people uniting in alchemical spellwork—the joining of both magics into one intention.” He hesitated, then met my gaze. “Quinn is the only known subject of a successful dyad.”
“In the last few centuries?” Thistle asked.
“Ever.”
The word tolled like a midnight bell.Ever.We had moved beyond myth into precedent. The tether hummed low, as if to insist I was more than a diagram in the margins.
“Do you know how to break this—dyad, or whatever you called it?” Mav asked.
“No.”
The single syllable formed a pit in my stomach.
“No?” Mav repeated, flat.
“Not exactly.” Branrir bit at his lower lip and looked to me. “Do you remember who cast it?”
I managed a nod. “Edric Renaudin. Then the crowned prince of Avandria.”
Branrir gave a solemn nod. “Then the only one who can undo it fully and without causing any damage is him.”
“Uh, slight problem there,” Vesper said, brushing a paw over his whiskers. “It’s been three hundred years. Wouldn’t he be dead?”
“Very dead,” Mav echoed.
Dark curls shifted as Thistle angled her head. “What about an heir?”
Branrir tapped his chin. “A direct bloodline can reverse an ancestral spell. Yes…I presume it’s possible.”
“Now we’re supposed to…what?” Mav waved a hand around, trying to grasp the absurdity. “Show up in the capital? March to the castle? Knock on the king’s door and ask him to undo a centuries-old spell?”
“That’s one approach,” Branrir said with a dry chuckle. “If we can find him, if he’ll listen, and if he possesses the magical strength to manage it.”
“There are a lot of ‘ifs’ in that sentence,” Vesper grumbled.
Apprehension gnawed at my mounting nerves. “And if he cannot help us?”
Branrir hesitated.
Thistle filled the pause. “Then we try the other option.”
Vesper’s green eyes darted between them. “Which is?”
Branrir lifted a shoulder. “True love.”
Mav met my eyes, seemingly waiting for my direction.
“No,” I said, my tone far more decisive than I felt.
Branrir lifted both palms in surrender. “Had to ask.”
Thistle snorted into her hand, and Vesper let out a hissing sort of giggle.
After the verdict, silence stretched thin and taut. I could feel Mav beside me, sifting through what we had learned and resisting what we already knew. We had a destination now. Whether we reached for it with fury or with hope, the path had been charted. I exhaled slowly, centuries weighing at the back of my throat.
Branrir’s gaze drifted to my deteriorating gown. “You’re going to attract too much attention dressed as if you stepped out of a painting.” His eyes tracked the silver-threaded seams, the high waist, and the tattered hem. “It’s beautiful,” he added, apologetic. “But unmistakably old, and not the fashionable kind, the kind that makes people curious—toocurious.”
