TYCHO
Despite the evidence right in front of me, I can’t quite believe what just happened. My dagger is in the dirt, and I want to slice open my palm to see if I can heal it again.
Then Mercy noses at my hair again, and I realize I don’t need to.
I kneel beside her injured leg, then run a palm down the swollen tendon. At first, nothing happens, but I remember Grey’s early lessons with Iisak—and later, Grey’s lessons withme, how magic can’t be rushed, can’t be forced. Slowly, I feel the magic in my fingertips, the sparks that felt so familiar when I had my rings, yet somehow feels foreign and new now. Mercy flinches when the magic begins to work, but I murmur to her and she settles.
In less than a minute, the swelling is gone. When I let go of her leg, she bears weight fully, then noses at my shoulder as if to thank me.
I let out a long breath, then look back across the fire. Nakiis hasn’t moved.
“How?” I say to him. “I’m not a magesmith. Truly.”
His eyes flick disdainfully to the king. “Did he give you the rings?”
“Yes.”
“Then he knew. He knew what it would do to you.”
I frown. “I don’t think so.” I pause. “The king wasn’t raised as a magesmith. There’s no magic here. There are a few books in the palace, but magesmiths were driven out of Syhl Shallow long ago. The scravers are on the other side of the Frozen River.”
“I know where the scravers are.”
I suppose he does. “Well, he’s been on his own since your father died. It took a long time to bind magic into the rings as it was.”
A cold wind blows through the clearing, making the fire flicker and sparks fly. “So your king kept my father as aresource.”
“No,” I say evenly. “I’ve told you before. Iisak was afriend.” He stares back at me impassively, and I add, “If the king needed a scraver on a chain, I could have left you in that cage in Gaulter, ridden back to the Crystal Palace, and told him where you were. Then he could have come to fetch you himself.”
The scraver still says nothing, so I make a disgusted sound and return Mercy to the tree where I kept her tethered. I’m thinking like a soldier again, making plans. If we have a sound horse, at least one of us can ride ahead to meet whoever Rhen sent.
If I can get the king to wake up.
I kneel by his side. His breathing is still shallow. I don’t even know where the injury is. His head? His heart? I put a hand to his forehead and try to summon the magic again.
“If you send magic through your body,” Nakiis says, “a small bit will always linger. But if you bind it with Iishellasan steel, the magic will be more potent.” He pauses. “This is elementary magic. When the magesmiths lived in Iishellasa, their children used magic-charged steel to practice before coming into their power fully. But rarely a human.” His eyes shine in the darkness. “For obvious reasons.”
I wonder what this means to the others who have rings. Jake and Noah. Lia Mara. Harper.
I put the thought aside. None of it matters now. The queen and the princess are at risk. If they are being held prisoner in Briarlock, then Jax, too, is likely at risk. A time will come when I need to make decisions on how to proceed.
I would have followed orders, Tycho.
As usual, there’s no one with me to give them.
And despite the magic at my fingertips, Grey has not woken. I press my palm to his chest instead. “Come on,” I whisper. “Wake up.”
“You cannot heal him,” Nakiis says. “He is not truly injured. As I said, he burned out his spark.”
Wind whips across my cheeks again, and I shiver.
“There’s so much magic in the air,” the scraver says. He stretches like a cat, his wings flaring. “Can you not feel it?”
“How do I get it back to him?” I demand. “Why hasn’t this happened before?”
“Magic calls to magic,” he says easily. “It may eventually find its way back to his blood.”
I want to punch the ground. “How long?”
