“Don’t tell me you’re going to do what I think you are,” she said.
“What is it you think I’m doing?”
Her lower lip wobbled as her fingers curled into fists. “Let me ask you a question. Why have you been going to that tower room? Why have you been reading that book? You know it’s dangerous. You know what that book has done.”
He did know, but it didn’t shake his resolve, even though she was right in every way. He had no right going into the North Tower Library, reading the book Cora had left stashed inside a nightstand drawer. Seeking answers to the question that had plagued his mind over the past week.
In truth, he hadn’t learned anything new, but he had confirmed what Emylia had told him when they’d last spoken. It had all been there, just like she’d described.
“Why, Teryn? Why are you doing this?”
“Because I want Morkai’s army of souls.”
Her disappointment in him was plain, written in the downward curve of her mouth, the slump of her shoulders.
He shared some of that disappointment too. He’d wanted to wait until he could talk to Cora about it, but now he didn’t have time. He needed to act. If Darius returned to attack the castle, he’d be ready. He wouldn’t let him win. Whether now, later, or at the meeting at the border, he’d use this advantage.
“There must be a reason why I have this ability,” he said. “This connection to death.”
“Reason?” She released an angry huff. “What are you talking about? Do you think you’re part of the prophecy? You’re not. There is no special reason for what has happened to you, just a logical one. Blood magic comes with consequences, just like I’ve told you. You completed a blood weaving while you straddled the line between life and death. You forged a magical connectionwithdeath. It’s as simple as that.”
“Why, though? Whythisconsequence? Why does my touch send etheras to the otherlife?”
She flinched back at his words, demonstrating just how afraid she was of that very power. Then she shook her head. “We might never know. Maybe it’s because you succeeded at severing another ethera’s ties to your body—Morkai’s tie to the mortal world. Now you’re gifted and burdened with the ability to do the same for other spirits. To sever the chains that bind them here and free them.”
He clenched his jaw. “Then why can’t I use it for good?”
“Areyou trying to use it for good? Or are you lusting after blood magic for revenge?” When he said nothing, she closed her eyes. Finally, her expression softened. She turned a pleading look to him. “Just…take a moment, Teryn, please. Breathe. Connect to your heart. Don’t work blood magic on an impulse.”
He wasn’t acting on impulse. He’d been considering this for a week, weighing possibilities. Still, she was right about blood magic and its consequences. She knew better than anyone that what he wanted to do was wrong. Dark. Forbidden.
Reluctantly, he gave in and closed his eyes. Just like when he’d been trapped as a disembodied ethera, he connected to his breaths, his heartbeat, the rush of his blood, the pound of his pulse. Slowly, he began to relax. His muscles uncoiled, his heartbeat slowed, and the most delicious euphoria struck him. The euphoria of being alive. In his body. In control. It wasn’t an impassioned or impulsive feeling. It was real and steady.
He shifted his thoughts to what he’d been considering.
No doubts stood in his way. No guilt. No fear. No remorse.
“I’m doing it, Emylia.”
Teryn didn’t waitto see if she followed him out of the castle to the charred field, the folded piece of paper stained with Darius’ blood in his hand. Maintaining the same calm he’d felt after sinking into his bodily sensations, he crouched at the edge of the dead field, just like he’d witnessed Morkai doing the day he demonstrated the abilities of his wraiths. He’d been summoning his Roizan then, but Teryn did it for a different reason now.
He unfolded the bloodstained paper and pressed it against the charred soil. Then he watched and waited. There was, of course, a chance that this wouldn’t work. He couldn’t perform Morkai’s ritual exactly, only use it to inform his own actions. He didn’t have any leftover vials of Morkai’s blood, just this crimson parchment.
Yet soon a rippling fog crept over the field, much like it had when Teryn had first met the wraiths. Body parts began to materialize—arms, legs, heads, torsos—until the field was filled with hazy soldiers with empty pits for eyes.
Slowly, Teryn rose to his feet and faced the army. Their forms undulated, as if they struggled to maintain their hold on sentience. There was no ferocity in them, none of the violence they’d shown when Morkai had ordered them to fight.
Teryn would have to stir that ferocity himself.
“You lost your lives fighting for King Darius,” he said, his voice carrying over the field. He internally winced, hoping none of the castle residents or staff woke up to his voice only to find him talking to himself. Or would they be able to see the wraiths too?
He continued. “You died trapped between worlds, and because of that, you lost your heart-centers. Your connection to life and the otherlife. Morkai gave you a second chance at your lives as great warriors and promised peace when he’d accomplished his goals. Yet he too left you behind.”
Some of the wraiths’ forms ceased wavering and began to sharpen. Their empty eye sockets seemed to lock onto him, craving more of his words.
“Your former masters may have abandoned you, but I will not. Unlike those you served before, I can make good on a promise of peace. You feel it, don’t you? That yearning.”
Even more of their forms sharpened, and he tasted their yearning in turn. It grew ravenous. Palpable. The entire field radiated with it.
