“I’d say no, but I think the rules as we know them no longer apply,” the king said, then took a moment to consider. “You truly didn’t use the spell?” There was more wonder than questioning in his words.
I shook my head.
“When she healed the two of you, Thaddeus,” Nevander said, “had you even taught her that spell?”
We both knew he hadn’t. He held my gaze as he said, “No. No I did not.” Different emotions warred in the king’s eyes, and there was something in their intensity that made me want to reach for a blade to fend off whatever truth he’d just unlocked.
“Shit,” Tarrin said, running a hand through his hair. My attention was instantly on him.
“What?” I asked, somehow knowing I didn’t want the answer.
“Nyleeria, humans can only wield magic through spellcraft,” he said.
“And?” I asked, not understanding his meaning.
The three of them just stared at me, either hoping I would understand on my own, or letting this knowledge sink in for themselves.
“Would someone please tell me what’s going on?”
“Do you remember what I told you about humans versus fae when it comes to magic?” the king asked.
I did. They were two sides of the same medallion, but never shall the two meet. Then it hit me like a thousand bricks, and I had to force calm into my veins as a vice tightened around my chest; I was neither side of the damn coin.
“My body isn’t compatible with my magic…and the spark isn’t compatible with spells. That’s why spells don’t work, but not using them almost killed me.”
I stood there frozen, now knowing I was truly and utterly fucked.
Anger, helplessness, rage, and countless other emotions struck me all at once. The king moved to comfort me, but I pulled away. Turning from them, a scream of raw frustration and fury ripped from me.
Tears were frustration’s next form, and with every second that passed, it felt as if that leaden cloak of grief I’d somehow held at bay was back with a vengeance as it pressed down on me, evicting any vestige of hope I’d been harboring.
Bleary-eyed, I looked up at the king. “Please tell me you have a plan. A way around this.” There was no hiding the defeated desperation in my voice that painted every word with the helplessness that clawed at me.
The king held my gaze, and in a heartbreaking tone, he said, “Nyleeria?—”
“Please,” I sobbed before he could finish.
It felt like we stood there for an eternity, unsure of what to say, what to do, until Nevander took a small step toward me and offered me a soft smile. “Nyleeria, may I ask you a few questions?”
Standing a little taller, I wiped at my eyes and nodded.
“Talk to me about your power. I need you to be specific. Tell me how it’s different from, or the same as, Thaddeus’.”
Sniffling, I gathered myself and did my best to focus on the task at hand. “The biggest difference, outside of the spells, is our power source,” I said. “His comes from outside of him, as if through some sort of aura. For me, it comes from here”—I raised my hands and held them to my chest—“like I have access to my own source.”
Nevander offered me a gentle nod in thanks and turned his attention to the king. “She’s different from the fae, Thaddeus; their source is from the Mother, not this.”
The king’s head dipped in agreement.
“When she healed us,” Tarrin said, “it didn’t hurt her. There might be a way.” My eyes darted between them, wanting more than anything for them to give me a reason to believe.
“Before you laid your hands on me, you took your shoes off. Why?” the king asked.
“I’m…not sure. I think the same reason I go barefoot, to let the Mother cycle energies. As if the excess just needed somewhere to go.”
“That makes sense,” Nevander said. “The Mother has dealt with ancient magic before—hell, she was created by the same stardust magic herself. Maybe Nyleeria’s counterbalance to all of this is the Mother.”
“Perhaps,” the king said, considering.
