To get the hells out of this place, I had to use my time magic.
And Ihad to learn how to phase.
One step at a time, though. Get the grip on my time magic first, then tackle phasing.
Both were serious challenges for someone like me, who not only had no memories of what I’d previously learned but was also out of touch with her magic.
But I had to do it.
I leaned forward in my chair and focused on the stag beetle I'd found in the garden crawling across the table. In the subtle lights of the library, its amber-patterned shell caught the warm glow of the candles, making it look like a tiny piece of living jewelry against the dark wood. The creature crept along, completely unaware of the magic I was about to attempt on it.
Around me, the library held its breath. Floating books drifted between shelves, rearranging themselves, and candlelight trembled in the draughts that slipped through the towering stacks. The quiet felt watched, and even here, buried in the manor’s farthest wing, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being contained.
I drew in a deep breath, shoved my nerves aside, and focused on the spell I'd found in the book Arielle had given me.
It was one of the first spells a mage would learn at the academy to harness control over the elements of time.
"Kythara vel'neth, thaelon mi'dar. Seren'dor kalanis, veridian talar,"I muttered, doing my best to keep my voice loud enough for the spell to take, but low so no one would hear me.
In the common tongue the words meant: ‘Time bend and slow within my control. Let the threads weave beneath my will.’
I was trying to replicate the same thing I did in Morgäven when I slowed the magic around the sword. But this attempt was meant to be guided by intention rather than desperation, shaped by the spell's structure instead of pure instinct.
For a heartbeat, the spell worked. Magic thrummed through my veins while a subtle golden gleam surrounded my hands and enveloped the beetle. A warm tingling spread through my fingertips, like electricity dancing under my skin, and the creature's movements became sluggish.
Eagerly, I watched the beetle.
Each step stretched into a slow motion as if it were moving through thick honey.
My heart leaped with triumph as its left side stalled completely.
But then something shifted. The air crackled and fizzed. The beetle's antennae twitched, then suddenly, it lurched forward with surprising speed, as if breaking free from invisible chains.
Damn it. I’d lost control.
The poor beetle scuttled across the remaining distance of the table in quick, jerky movements, completely free of my magical influence. I caught it just before it could make its escape over the edge and placed a glass over it. I wasn't done trying yet.
I pulled in a deep breath and steadied myself. Mustn’t get frustrated or fret.
I’d known from years of reading my grandmother’s books that nothing slowed magical progress faster than frustration. Of course, back then, I shouldn’t have been reading her books or attempting spells, but I couldn’t be blamed. I was a mage, and I was only doing what I was born to do.
This spell wasn't working the way I'd hoped, but it was important I stayed focused and positive. Forget the impending timeframe and concentrate on what I needed to do. Getting upset was fruitless. It wasn’t as though I was used to any of this. I was running on a wing and a prayer.
The wing being the fact that I’d used this type of magic before. At least I knew how to connect with it.
I glanced at the large oak doors. I’d sought the refuge of the library for the privacy. And access to resources—like the map I’d managed to find. I’d tucked it between the cloth covering of my journal.
I’d come in here before nightfall, after spending the day finishing my second read of my journal, reviewing the spell book, and taking notes.
I knew I wouldn’t be disturbed as much down here as I would be if I were in my room. I was buried at the back of the furthest wing of the manor, where no one seemed to go.
I also thought no one would question me if they did go looking for me—which they most likely would. What they would see was me trying to do exactly as Wolfe instructed.
They would never guess that his weak little Ziyka was planning to make a run for it.
Weak.
No. I wasn’t weak. Not intentionally. There was a vast difference between weakness and being out of your depth.
