The red of his eyes haunted her while she slept, the battle between gold and crimson. There was something Ozik wasn’t telling her about his magic, and she got the feeling her motherhad died trying to figure it out. That perhaps Dominik had been working toward that answer, too.
It must have been tied to the necklace her mother had tried to send her. Vaasa had torn apart the office again, but to no avail.
When she walked into the back room of the greenhouse, Ozik greeted her with his usual professorial demeanor. “Good morning,” he said, as if nothing had happened the night prior.
She wasn’t certain if he was ignoring it or if he had no memory of the altercation. Her eyes dropped to his throat, which showed no sign of injury. Not even the faintest remnant of a scar. “Good morning,” she muttered.
He gave a puzzled tilt of his head but said nothing else. Instead, the lid on her magic opened as if blown by a strong wind, and the force shot into her with a terrifying velocity. Vaasa steadied herself, digging her feet into the ground, and Ozik caught sight of the movement. “Good,” he said. “Ground yourself.”
Vaasa fought the urge to double over. She forced her face into a stoic neutrality instead of the pained scowl she’d taken to in the mornings they worked together.
“Calm it,” he commanded.
Vaasa tamed the intensity of the force as if she had a tide all her own, smothering its power with a wave.
“Now, summon its physical form.”
Vaasa did as she was told, the two of them moving through the beginning exercises as if this was no different from strength training or blade work. Magic pulsed in the air, and the connection between her and Ozik grew steadier with each manipulation of the black mist around her. Their connection was strongest when she wielded Veragi magic like this. Mist danced up her arms and made it to her shoulders in seconds. It curled around her neck, and this time she didn’t flinch.
“Now summon a manifestation,” he said.
The magic in her body obeyed her will; it was easier than ever to call upon the wolf, to let it out of her body and into the world around her. Every day they trained together, she distinguished more of Ozik on the other side of their bond. His emotions coursed across it. She had never felt anything so intense—this sadness, this overwhelming grief. It was a feast to her starving power. Magic rang in her ears as the canine took shape, each tuft of fur defined, teeth sharp as knives. It growled, head low, nose almost touching the stony pathway. Tendrils of black mist licked the air around it.
She looked upon Ozik. Her rage grew in her, reaching for new heights, spreading into each of her limbs and up her throat, begging to get out. The wolf stalked, step by step, across the distance between them.
Ozik didn’t move.
The wolf sniffed at his feet. More details took shape: different shades of black and purple and blue and green, all shifting on the wolf’s fur as it circled Ozik’s legs. A corner of the wolf’s lip raised on a low growl. Sharp teeth with fatal incisors. She couldfeelit. In her mind, she pictured it lifting on its haunches, front paws slamming in Ozik’s chest and dragging him to the ground. The wolf widening its jaw, fangs gleaming as it clutched Ozik’s neck and sunk its teeth—
“Vaasa,” Ozik said calmly, drawing her attention back to where she stood.
The wolf was poised to strike, positioning itself with its head lowered and back raised, prepared any moment to leap at him. Razor-sharp teeth poked out as it growled louder. She wanted the wolf to attack him. She wanted to cause harm.
But she knew what leverage he held, and it didn’t matter what pain she caused him.
He wouldn’t die.
Vaasa dismissed the magic, and the wolf disintegrated into nothing but tendrils of smoke that floated on the air like a lost wind.
Ozik frowned. “You should have struck.”
He yanked Vaasa’s magic from her body, and she cried out, this time unable to stop herself from doubling over as his own manifestation took form. She could feel the Miro’dag in the greenhouse, feel where its taloned feet sat on the stones of the pathway, before ever looking up. But when she did, she saw those crimson eyes, and something in her cowered.
She was right back on that platform, Reid’s lifeless body in her arms, the blood of both their nations wetting the dirt.
“Stop,” she gasped.
But he didn’t. Ozik stalked forward with an angry expression, the Miro’dag just steps behind him. “From now on, you strike,” Ozik said, voice churning with words unspoken. Like an echo. He stopped just in front of where she stood and grabbed her chin, forcing her to lift from her cowardly, protective pose. With her core exposed, panic sluiced down her spine. She tried to pull away, but he shook his head in irritation. “You gave up your opportunity, didn’t you? This is the price of hesitation.”
“Ozik—”
“Do you want to end up like your mother?” he growled, then shook his head like a dog. His eyes held hers starkly, and then a red glow emanated from behind the gold as his face contorted in rage. Their connection dimmed, and Vaasa felt herself breathe, felt the pull on her own magic lift, as if Ozik had lost his grip on it. Whatever bound them was suddenly moving in both directions, an energy humming along that cord that she wondered if she could grasp. The strings that bound them were simply an instrument, so she strummed.
And there she was again—standing in that dark tomb, staring down at a pool of red. It churned and writhed, the water rippling,the glow of red growing brighter. It was precisely where she’d been the first time she pushed their bond this far. Power and rage simmered on the other side of the water. And then from within it, something wicked and ancient pulsed, and she saw…
Eyes.
They peered up at her as if she were staring at her own reflection.
