Black fire surged back through the link, a shock so violent she cried out. The circle shuddered, light flashing. Kranon swore and slammed his staff down to stabilize the wards.
“You’re taking too much!” Elyria shouted. “Breathe, you need control, don’tforceit!”
Thaelyn gasped, trying to hold the energy steady, but it slipped like sand through her fingers. The Aether turned volatile, wild,burning her veins from the inside. The marble beneath her hands cracked.
Darian’s body arched off the bed, his mouth opening in a soundless scream. His heart spasmed once, then stopped.
“No!” Thaelyn reached again, desperate, but the magic rebelled. The circle fractured, runes splintering as blue light flared up the walls.
“Enough!” Kranon barked. He struck the floor, shattering the spell. The power snapped like a broken string. Thaelyn was thrown backward, crashing against the pillar.
She hit the ground hard, air leaving her lungs. The world tilted, spinning. She coughed once and saw the Queen kneeling over Darian, hands glowing white, fighting to hold what little life remained.
Kranon turned on her, eyes like iron. “You almost tore his soul apart.”
Thaelyn’s throat ached. “Can I fix it? Tell me how to fix it, please, I can?—”
“You’ll kill him.”
She forced herself up, knees shaking. “Let me try again!”
Elyria didn’t look up, voice quiet but firm. “Kranon. Let her.”
Kranon’s jaw tightened, but he stepped back. “Then she carries the burden.”
Thaelyn returned to the circle. Her palms hovered over Darian’s chest, trembling.Calm. Focus.
Nyxariel’s voice whispered in her mind, low, ancient, steady.You are not power, child. You are a vessel. Let it flow, or it will consume you.
Thaelyn drew a ragged breath and reached again, slower this time. She pictured the river Nyxariel had once shown her in a dream: moonlight on dark water. She opened the gate, not to control, but tofeel.
The Aether responded. She felt Nyxariel’s guidance and power stream through her.
Light spilled from her hands, softer, purer. The floor trembled again, but this time it held. Through the link, she saw Darian’s flame flicker. Then, slowly, stubbornly, she grabbed it.
The black tendrils recoiled from the light, curling into smoke that burned away in streaks of silver. Darian’s chest heaved. Once. Twice. Then he breathed again.
Thaelyn collapsed forward, hands shaking uncontrollably. Elyria caught her before she fell. “Good. That’s enough.”
But Thaelyn’s gaze had already shifted, past the Queen, to Thorne’s still form on the second cot. His shadow was restless, coiling like something alive, sensing what she’d done.
“I’m not finished,” she whispered.
“Thaelyn, no!” Kranon warned.
She crossed the chamber anyway. Her fingers brushed the edge of Thorne’s cot. The air crackled. His darknessbither, a reflex, defensive, almost sentient. She flinched but didn’t retreat.
“Thorne,” she murmured, voice breaking. “Please.”
The Queen’s chant began again, this time quieter, steadier. The runes reignited.
Thaelyn reached through their bond. It was like plunging her hand into fire. Flashes burned through her: Thorne’s rage, his pride, the night he kissed her, the pain he’d never spoken.
“Let me in,” she said.
Nothing. Only the roar of his power pressed back against hers.
She gritted her teeth. “You, stubborn, impossible—Prince!Let me in!”
