And she was in trouble. I could feel it.
Tossing the half-formed figurine of a pomegranate to the side, I tugged a shirt over my head and left for the workshop. It was a little after midnight, and I knew Silas often worked late. He claimed his Alchemist magic was strongest under the moon.
Sure enough, when I strode into the room, I saw his brown-and-gray hair bent low over his table, those familiar glasses perched on the tip of his nose.
He looked up with a raised eyebrow. “Need another sleeping draught, Nox?”
I shook my head. “I’m not sleeping tonight.”
His features turned grim. “You’re going after her.”
There was no use lying. “I need something to make my magic stronger. Do you have a potion? Some sort of spell?”
My question seemed to catch him off guard. His wise eyes grew larger behind his glasses. “Nox, that is a dangerous request.”
I realized what it sounded like I was asking for.WhoI soundedlike. “No, no, not likehim. Just…something to make my magic come back quicker. It’s there; I can feel it, but it’s not at full strength yet.”
“And that’s why you shouldn’t take this on by yourself. Let’s make a plan, get a team together,” Silas urged. “Busting down doors and blowing up buildings isn’t always the route to go.”
“I’m not risking any of you getting hurt.” I crossed the room to the target practice area where we kept extra weapons and examined a pair of knives before shoving them back in their sheaths. “This is my doing. My responsibility.”
“You Shifters and your hot heads,” he said with a sigh. “You don’t even know where sheis. She could be—” He cut himself off, and I turned to see what the pause was for.
“Silas, what is it?” I moved closer to him. His eyes darted across his stash of herbs, blinking rapidly as he rubbed his fingers against his apron.
His gaze finally fell to me. “I think I can find her.”
“How?” I demanded.
“Can you get me something of hers? A strand of hair, or—or something she wore. Something that would have her signature.”
I didn’t bother responding. I stormed out of the workshop and headed straight for her chambers, already tuned into her scent. Wrenching the drawers of her dresser open, I was flooded with the smell of pomegranates and salt and sunshine. It opened up an ache in my chest, a yearning that threatened to break me.
I grabbed the first thing my hand touched—a gray sweater, the one she often wore when I visited her in the tower.
“Will this work?” I asked as I burst back into the workshop.
Silas took the sweater with one hand, his other busy grinding several herbs with a pestle. He laid it on the table, took the mortar, and sprinkled the crushed leaves onto the top of the sweater. An earthy, musty scent mixed with something spicy hit my senses.
Silas reached into the pockets of his apron and pulled out a piece of flint, then struck the side of a steel blade against it until it sparked. The small fire caught onto the bed of leaves, licking and spreading along the fabric of her wool sweater.
“Vidia,” he said under his breath.
I surged forward. “What are you?—”
Silas held up a hand. “Wait.”
I gritted my teeth and balled my fists at my sides. Flames danced in the air, consuming the herbs and sweater. The wool ignited slower than the leaves, the edges of it curling up and blackening under the orange haze. It left behind a dark, brittle ash that scattered as Silas leaned down, gazing in fierce concentration at the smoke.
He inhaled sharply, and I blinked. Where the flickering fire turned into smoke, an image appeared.
All the breath left my lungs.
“Oh, Devora…” Silas’s quiet sigh of distress made the vision waver.
There was a flash of red hair, black cuffs on pale skin, steel chains nailed to a cracked stone wall. I gripped the edge of the table and got as close as I could, taking in every detail with sharp focus.
Devora’s hands were held above her head by chains staked into the wall. Her arms strained as her body hung limp and her chin rolled along her chest, that fiery hair sagging down one side. Her shoulders were pulled so tight, I thought they were going to pop out of place. A small spot on the exposed side of her neck caught my attention—a red pinprick with dark lines branching from it.
