I hadn’t realized it was physical, something I could see. It’s beautiful. I glance up at him, and he’s already watching me.
“I did this?”
He presses his lips together and nods. “Yes.”
I lick my lips, hesitating. “Why you?”
“The tethers seek out a compatible and strong link.”
“Compatible?” I quirk my lips to the side. We’ve been anything but compatible.
“They’re rare, but I’ve never heard them be wrong.”
Am I softening for this shifter? I think I might be. As if he can hear my thoughts, a smile ghosts over his face, gone before I can fully register it.
“Pull on that blue thread, drag the magic into you… control it,” he says, all business again.
I do as he orders, and the magic consumes me. It lights me up like a damn Christmas tree. My back arches, and he holds me up, presses me to him. I can’t control it. It explodes out of me, the same way it did in the Undercourt and the dueling pit.
Students around us gasp and jump back as the magic bursts through our circle, but I barely register it.
I am the light. I am the magic. My body trembles, my legs go weak, and my world goes black.
FOURTEEN
LINDSAY
I wakeup to the sterile scent of antiseptic, the kind that immediately tells me I’m not in my own bed. My body is sore, aching in places I can’t quite remember, and my head feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton. I blink a few times, trying to shake off the lingering haze of magic that still clings to me, and groan as I sit up.
The room is dim, lit only by the soft glow of magical light. It smells like herbs and old stone. My throat is dry, and as I adjust, I realize I’m not alone.
An old woman stands beside the bed, her long silver hair twisted into a loose braid, sharp eyes watching me with a quiet intensity. She’s wrapped in robes so faded they seem to blend with the stone around her, like she’s part of the walls themselves.
She doesn’t speak right away, but her presence is commanding—familiar, in a strange way. Her gaze flickers over me, assessing.
“You’re awake,” she says finally, her voice gravelly, like it’s been used to speak ancient secrets. “Took you longer than I expected.”
I swallow, feeling disoriented. “Where am I?”
“The infirmary,” she replies shortly, tapping the side of my cot with her bony fingers. “You’re lucky. That kind of magic overload isn’t something to mess with.”
I nod absently, trying to remember what happened. Combat Casting, Raiden, trying to control the magic—it all comes back in a rush, but then it’s gone again, slipping through my fingers like smoke.
“How long was I out?” I croak.
“A few hours,” she says, her eyes narrowing. “You’ve got a strong connection to that magic, child. But you’ve got to learn control before it controls you.”
I blink at her, unsure if I’m imagining it, but there’s really something oddly familiar about her, even if I can’t place it.
“Who are you?” I ask, frowning.
She looks at me for a long moment, then gives a low, throaty chuckle. “Name’s not important right now. But I’ll answer for your peace of mind—Matron Isolde Cray. I’m the one who makes sure you heal when you burn out with magic or get injured.”
“Matron Cray,” I repeat.
She gives me a sharp look. “It’s a lot of magic you’ve got running through you. Not something you can ignore. I’ve seen it before, but only with those who’ve got a strong tether with the Veil. And you, child, are tangled up in it.”
I frown, trying to make sense of her words. “Tether with the Veil?”
