“It wasn't just the blade that was unusual, Your Majesty.” Vanoak looked around at the nodding knights. “Those warriors were altered by magic. It was obvious.”
“Indeed.” The King had my hand in his and pulled it further onto his lap, bringing me closer as well. Only when my shoulder pressed against his did he ease up.
Flushing, I looked from Vanoak to the King. “It's the same magic.”
“What do you mean?” Raventar turned my hand over and spread my fingers so he could rub his thumb over my palm.
Shuddering, I tried to focus. “Um, the blade. Nahel said it was made with silk magic. Somehow, he's discovered Bara's secret.”
“Perhaps Bara shared it with him,” Sir Lohawk said.
I shook my head. “Bara didn't share. His only partner lived across the channel in Rushao, and she's dead now. Nahel either stole the information or figured it out by experimenting with the ribbons he bought from Bara.”
“Experimenting,” the King murmured. “Experiments mean failures.”
“The warriors weren't healthy,” I whispered.
“No, they weren't. They were resilient but not well.” Raventar shared a grim look with me. “He's experimenting on his own men.”
“I didn't see any ribbons on the warriors.” Vanoak looked at the other knights. “Did any of you see them?”
They shook their heads.
“The scars!” I leaned forward. “They all had strange scars as thin as thread around their necks.”
“Silk thread.” The King narrowed his eyes. “He's embedded it in their flesh. But how does enslaving silk turn men into those things?”
“It probably wasn't enslaving magic,” I said. “In Bara's notes, he mentioned using the marrow of different races to gain their magic. He used Eljaffna for the slave ribbons, and Raltven for invisibility cloaks. And he had just started using Neraky bone marrow to make water-breathing masks. If Nahel had taken it further, he could have found a way to—I don't know—magnify the resilience of his warriors? Perhaps make them immune to pain?”
“What race would give him such magic with their marrow?” The King scowled, his stare turning inward.
I shrugged. “A powerful race.” I paused, remembering the feel of my attacker's skin. “They were cold.”
“A race from a cold climate, then?” Sir Foxren asked.
“In Tabaa, that's limited.” The King stared off into the dark forest. “Perhaps a mountain race.”
“The Ricarri?” Vanoak suggested. “They'd have strength to offer.”
“And metal magic,” I said.
“Metal magic would give them the ability to control metal, that’s all,” Foxren said.
“Wait.” I drew my hand away from the King as thoughts bombarded me. “We're thinking of them as if they're using a tool, whentheycould be the tool. The silk is inside them and so is the magic.”
“Metal magic resides in Ricarri.” Sir Lohawk shrugged. “It doesn't turn them into blue-veined monsters.”
“But the Ricarri were born with that magic.” The King sat up straighter. “What happens when you put metal magic into an Okon?”
“Metal meets air,” I murmured. “They have Air Magic as we do.”
“The combination is what creates those creatures.” The King crossed his arms and stared into the fire. “Metal and air. I think Nahel is playing with forces he doesn't understand. The combination may seem benign, but magic is a tricky thing. Even the same elemental magic can differ between races.”
“Like Lelurra and Okon.” I nodded. “Their god gave them a different version of the Air Magic that we possess.”
“Mix the magic of gods, and you get monsters.” The Dragon King shifted his stare around the fire. “If we don't stop him soon, he could infect the entire kingdom.”
I didn't want that either, but my concern was more personal than the King's. Nahel formed in my mind, his smile taunting and his wings spread like a conqueror's. I killed Bara to be free, but like a weed, another popped up to take his place. It was as if Bara were hunting me from the grave. Punishing me for daring to be happy.
