“You’ve had years to make these preparations,” she said drily. “And my guess is, you can perform that ritual in your sleep, you’ve imagined it so many times. So what is the hold up?”
“The hold up is timing and the fact I have recently losttoo much blood. I will have to be careful about how I proceed, and be judicial about how I craft my blood circle. I cannot skip any steps, and this cannot be rushed.”
“So maybe, instead of giving us a lecture, you should be…” she flapped her free hand at me. “Magicking.”
I lifted my eyebrows. “Magicking?”
“Yes, you know, whatever it is you powerful, gifted people do with your power. Just go…do it.Quickly.”
I dipped my head, hiding my smile. “Even if Gravelock is storming the castle, even if he has his hands around my throat, this process cannot be rushed. Every step must be perfect, every single word must be right. And for this to be work, I need time.”
“How much time?”
“Seven hours.” I said, recalculating once more, on the off chance the number might somehow come out different. It did not.
“I really need twenty-four, but I can do this in a minimum of seven. Maybe six, if absolutely nothing goes wrong.” I felt the weight of Lyrae's stare like a physical thing, could sense the mountain of questions building behind those intelligent eyes.
“And you’re right. I have run through this a thousand times. I’ve practiced and memorized the ritual, I’ve reenacted the casting of the spell so many times, I could do this in my sleep.”
“I knew it,” she muttered.
“But I need every single second you can give me. One mistake and my blood will not bind to the magic, and if the Triune goes back into play, we’ll never get another chance.”
“Well then,” she straightened up, her shoulders set in the rigid line of a soldier heading to battle. “I suppose we’d best get to it, prince.”
41
LYRAE
Iwatched Rooke’s crows fly straight into the oncoming storm, the snow swallowing up their small, dark forms like a voracious goblin.
“Fuck, it’s cold.” I muttered. “I swear to the gods, every winter seems to get worse. We’re in the south, I thought it was supposed to be warmer down here.”
“I said the same thing only a few days ago, and you nearly bit my fucking head off.” Ryland slanted me a look, his stare accusing.
"Well,” I shrugged. “I hated you then. Didn’t see the purpose in keeping a mortal enemy all warm and toasty.”
In truth, I was plenty warm, bundled up on one of Rooke’s heavy fur-lined capes, which held in the body heat and smelled like petrichor and thunder. I couldn’t stop burying my nose into the collar and inhaling, filling my lungs with…him.
Feeling like a thief the entire time.
The wind carved down from the north like a blade, shaving the lake into a plate of frosted glass. Snow chased behind it, fine as ground bone, obscuring the opposite shore. From the battlements, I couldn’t even see the whole of Frostveil Keep—just this hump of frost-bitten rock in themiddle of an iced-over world—waiting for Lord Gravelock to appear with his army.
My mission, such that it was, was a miserable failure.
There was no denyingthatbitter truth.
The union of these artifacts could usher in a new age, or lead to cataclysmic destruction—tearing apart the fabric of reality, bringing eternal darkness or unrelenting chaos across all realms.
I came here to stop that from happening.
Yet here I was, ready to raise my sword to protect the very Dark Prince I was supposed to kill, so he could do the very thing I was supposed to prevent.
I could just imagine Torin’s withering stare of utter disappointment.
I was also acutely aware of the glass globe hanging on the chain around my neck, the fact Zephryn and Tristan were only one call away.
Sitting next to Ariel, I’d stared at the little device for too long, had very nearly whispered my plea for help into the heart of that glowing orb, but…
