Golden power shone like stars, and an echo of him boomed in my chest, my knees softening, everything inside me wanting to bow low to this male with the blood of the gods running in his veins.
And the Triune breathed. One enormous inhale I felt to my very soul.
Then a wave rolled out like an unseen tide.
The clouds above shuddered as Rooke’s new power roared away from Frostveil in a perfect circle, a wall of churning, roiling energy flying in all directions, like the Triune was glad to finally be set free.
Like after being in hiding for too long, that ancient force couldn’t wait to change the world.
As the magic passed, ice turned to dark blue water, chopped by little whitecaps kicked up from the force of the blast, that frozen expanse melting and melting, until the wave crashed against the far shore, hills softening with long, swaying grass, black wasteland turning green, saplings springing up in spindly clumps.
Ryland straightened sharply, his head whipping to Rooke. “Gods, how far will this reach?”
“Only to the border,” Rooke assured him, arms trembling slightly from where he gripped the staff. “My family’s magic is confined to this realm. I don’t seek to extend my reach any further.”
Zephryn’s broad shoulders twitched, and he looked to the sky, like he wanted to take to the air and circle this metamorphosis to make sure what we were seeing was real.
A second wave pulsed out at Rooke’s command, this one softer, deeper, sinking into the awakening land.
And life followed.
Tiny flowers—white and blue and delicate gold—burst through new-green grass, their tiny petals trembling enough for me to think of Rooke’s mother, for him to look my way and maybe think of her, too.
Small, tiny things made up a kingdom, Anaria had once told me.
Trees shuddered up from the softened ground, until a forest loomed on the right side of the lake, thick and wild and ancient, with twisted trunks and dripping moss, leaves unfurling in citric yellows and pinks and corals, drinking in light as the clouds cleared away.
I stared, unable to breathe, as the Shadowlands changed color.
Black to brown to green to…everything.
A wary deer—fluffy coat still dotted—gingerly stepped out from the edge of those woods, blinking in the brightest sunlight I’d ever seen in this realm. Then another followed, until a small herd grazed. Birds—actual birds—spiraled up into the air, filling the world with sound.
Not the lonely shriek of wind through broken spires.
But life.
Two crows speared toward that flock, then they were lost, dancing inside the eddying flock.
Rooke’s breath hitched, his hand landing on the balustrade. Hard, fingers curling around it, hanging on tight. His eyes were still closed, face drawn with concentration so fierce it looked like pain. The light from the Triune spilled across his skin, carving him into something almost mythic.
“Whoa,” I wrapped my hands around his arms to steady him. Probably not a good idea, given his power—all fifteen millennia of it—was not a gentle thing. A flood of icy cold power flowed into me like an ocean, and I knew this was only a trace of the Triune, while he channeled a thousand lifetimes of power, using his body as a conduit to force all this magic out into the world.
I turned my head, staring at Rooke, those strange, gold eyes, the Triune’s hum deepening, like the last notes of a song I heard all the way to my soul.
We were still staring at each other when the final wave rolled out.
This one kissed the Shadowlands with warmth.
Hope.
The kind that promised a new beginning. The same kind I’d felt three years ago, standing beside a queen who thought she was unready to rule a realm, yet became the best ruler I’d ever seen.
But then Rooke’s shoulders sagged and I was there, bracing him up.
And like a star that was finally spent, the Triune went quiet.
“Rooke,” I said sharply, “look at me.”
