— No,he says.—Don’t you understand yet? The magic has always been ours. If you truly want it, it must be taken.
No. I don’t understand. I don’t understand any of this. My thoughts are too full of pain.
— Why do you think I hated her so much? Why do you think Xovaar hates magesmiths so much?
Only then does it click into place. Nakiis hated the first magesmith who trapped him. It’s the whole reason he’s resisted doing this at all. It’s the whole reason he didn’t want me to trap Igaa.
And this is what Xovaar has been after this whole time: a reclaiming of their magic— because magesmiths have stolen it to use it against them.
If you truly want it, it must be taken.
Now I understand. No wonder he hates it. No wonder he’s been so afraid.
And I don’twantto take it. It’s . . . it’s aviolation.
I’ve had too much taken from me. I don’t ever want to do that to another creature. Especially not one who doesn’t want to give it to me.
Not even while he’s ripping out my shoulder.
“I can’t,” I gasp. “I won’t. Just— just let me go. I— I can’ t—”
— You must. Or he will kill your king, and then he will come for you.
I don’t understand. Does he want me to? Or does he hate me for this? The ice seems to be forming its way into my shoulder. “Nakiis—”
— Tycho, you must take it. You must. Please. You must.
Even as he says the words, my magic is finding his in the air like strands weaving together.
But my thoughts are fading. The stars are flickering and going dim.
Nakiis shakes me. My head smacks the ground, and my arm flops limply. He presses those fanged teeth right against my ear. “Everyone here is counting on you, Tycho. Even me. If you won’t defend yourself, then defendthem.”
Everyone here is counting on you.
I think of Jax, forgoing sleep to work in the forge so we’d have more effective weapons. I think of Lia Mara, willing to sacrifice herself so Grey has a chance to survive. I think of young Nora, riding off with little Sinna tied in front of her.
I think of Nakiis, who dragged his broken body off the floor to spare Igaa any violation of sharing her magic.
Unfortunately, I don’t know what to do.
But maybe he just told me.
You fight so valiantly to save everyone else, but you have nothing left for yourself?
I thought he was mocking me— but he wasn’t. Maybe he was truly asking me.
Again, I let my magic scatter into the air, until my vision goes white again. But this time, when I sense the tendrils of his power in the air, I don’t push it away, I try to grab hold. At first, the wind swirls away, and I realize what he meant abouttakingit. But I dig deep, thinking of everything he’s sacrificed, of everythingI’vesacrificed. I think of my parents. Of my siblings. Of the way Grey pulled me out of the shadows in that tourney and put a sword in my hands.
And somehow, I find a well of strength in my gut, because I surge against Nakiis’s hold, flipping him onto his back at the same time as my magic seems to grab hold of his.
For one blazing, furious instant, I almost lose hold of it. I can’t tell if I’m losing consciousness or if the magic is just too overwhelming, but it’s like trying to grab sunlight or sound— there’s nothingtangible.But just as power begins to drift away, I throw all my effort at it. All of my will.
The day Grey and I rode recklessly across the fields to rescue Lia Mara, he was pouring magic into the sky just like this. Nakiis found me that night, and he was shocked that Grey sent all of his magic out of his body like a beacon. Then, I didn’t fully understand, but now I do. I can sense my magic, like a living thing outside my body, weaving through the air to mesh with the scraver’s.
And just like that, I get it. My magic lives in my blood. I had to work to learn how to send itout: to start a fire, to heal a wound. But Nakiis’s scraver magic isalwaysin the air, always outside his body, always there to be taken. I didn’t have to wait for him to agree— I could’ve taken it at any time, if I’d known. So could Grey. So could any of us.
No wonder he was always so wary. No wonder he was always so afraid of being trapped by a magesmith.
