The ribbon of power moved carefully forward along with me, brushing over the tangle of spell threads as if it was tracing its fingers over fine embroidery. I probed the texture, learning its weave and the places where it was bound the tightest. Sweat rolled down my back and my head throbbed, but I kept channeling the silver magic to wind among the threads to seek wherethey connected to the diary. This wasn't a thing of brute force. I couldn't fling a blade at it to end it once and for all. This manipulation took subtlety, though using power in this way felt amazing.
Then I saw it, clear as a fresh day in my mind, the place where the threads connected to the book. Triumph surged inside me as Ichanneledthe silver ribbon magic to that point. I knew that was the right term now. “There it is. Break it for me, would you?”
The silver tendrils lashed out, sliding between the threads like liquid fire, seeping into the spell's cracks in a way that felt almost too elegant for my mind to have commanded. Erisandra's glamour hissed in an eerie way before there was a small, almost polite ping.
The release echoed in the room, sending a ripple of energy across my skin. My eyes snapped open, and I half-expected the spell to retaliate. Maybe snap out and bite me.
But the thread of magic more or less exploded, shooting out in all directions. Some of it even smacked into me, thrusting me back against the sofa cushions before dissipating into the air, slithering back to wherever it came from.
The diary lay on my lap, free from Erisandra's glamour.
The twin ravens—no, theywereancient dragons curling toward each other with their wings and tails outstretched behind them—gleamed on the cover. I sensed they were waiting to breathe again, though I wasn’t sure why the thought occurred to me.
However, I was more interested in discovering what was hidden inside the book. I ran a trembling hand over the worn leather, puffing out a long sigh of relief.
“Finally,” I muttered, flipping the cover back and stared at a dedication,To my beloved Isodine.
Valera’s mother’s name.
Beloved, huh?
I flipped the page. Itwasa diary, and the first entry was dated over thirty years ago.
Before I could read anything, Farris scrambled from the bathing area with a flustered Faelith right behind, waving a drying cloth in the air. He hopped over and sat in front of me, his tail wagging at a furious pace. I took the drying cloth from her and buffed him well.
I swore he smirked before leaning over to gently nudge the diary with his nose.
“You like it now, do you?” When I first took it from the library, he'd clawed at it.
Lifting it, I gripped it tightly. Hugged it, actually.
The door to the hall banged open and Moira and Calista rushed inside the sitting area. They appeared so flustered even Faelith gasped.
“My queen, my queen!” Moira rushed over to me with Calista close behind, the latter clutching a packet that must contain treats for Farris.
Stark terror shone on their faces.
I dropped the book onto the sofa beside me and stood. “What’s wrong? Did something happen in the kitchen?”
“They’re attacking, my queen,” Calista barked. “We’re going to be overrun.”
Moira wailed. “They’re dying.” Tears ran down her cheeks.
“Tell me,” I barked, my heart freezing with terror. Had something happened to Merrick or the kitchen staff?
“It’s horrible. Horrible,” Moira said, her wild gaze shooting through the room before it dropped to the blades sheathed at my sides. “Protect yourself before it’s too late.”
“It’s already too late,” Calista moaned, wringing her hands.
“Tell me!”
“They’re attacking,” Calista said.
Faelith released a tiny shriek. “What do you mean?”
I gathered Farris into my arms, trying to soothe his trembles.
“They broke down places in the wall!” Calista said.
