Seren squeezes her eyes together, as if her desperation can force the threads to form a Gateway.
From across the Nymerian panorama, flecks of light—of magic—float delicately across the night sky, summoned by Seren’s call. From the trees that stretch across the mountainside, the flowers that bloom through the gardens, the river that weaves through the Elarion city, the light dances and whirls, towards the half-formed Gateway.Towards Seren.
“That’s it, child. Call on your allies. They don’t always take the shape of people, but the elements,” Mavyrn croons, spurring Seren on with her encouragement.
But Seren doesn’t acknowledge her. Her eyes relax slightly, as if entranced by the spell she’s binding with her will.
Teddy nudges me softly. “She’s searching for magic,” he whispers. “She’ll feel us in a heartbeat. What do you want us to do?”
If I knew what Mavyrn’s motives were, I’d have a clearer fucking answer. “Wait. See what happens,” I order, though I’m not exactly sure what we’re waitingfor.
Then, Seren’s Gateway presses outward, the threads forging a ring.
“I’m doing it!” she exclaims, her eyes snapping open at the Gateway of Threads before her.
“Where is the Gateway leading to, witchling?” Mavyrn bites, encouragement gone and replaced by the hard-edged instruction of a mentor.
“I— I don’t know,” Seren admits, face falling in defeat.
“More threads! Pull on more!” Mavyrn commands.
Seren’s eyes press together with force, and that’s when it happens?—
The Gateway collapses into nothingness, the spell interrupted, broken by?—
“Teddy!” Seren gasps, and he kicks the door open with the toe of his boot.
“You stupid fool!” Mavyrn admonishes with the brusque tone of a perturbed grandmother. “She was getting it!”
But Teddy is in no mood. He stalks across the balcony, eyeing Mavyrn with an expression that borders on murderous. The Arcanist retreats a step, but her enraged face doesn’t falter. Teddy’s broad frame blots out the light, casting her in shadow. He leans over her, his burnished-gold eyes fixing on her, “I don’t fucking trust you, and you do not have the authority to take Seren anywhere without my permission.” His voice is a low growl.
Right now he’s both the General of War and Seren’s protector, but I see something the others don’t. I see the broken man who lost everything, and refuses to do so again—not after Taali.
Mavyrn moves to speak, but Seren’s bloodied hands wrap around his forearms. “I asked her to help me,” she pleads and soothes desperately. “I asked her to teach me, Teddy. I need to know who I am—what I can do!” Her voice breaks on the last word, her brow still slick with sweat.
Mavyrn is helping Seren—and it doesn’t make any fucking sense.
But Teddy’s eyes are already narrowed to slits, his hands flexing with the ache to brandish his axe. He always does it. I’d know the hunger for blood anywhere. “You’re already enough, Seri. You don’t need this crazy old bat filling your head with shit that furthers her own fucking agendas,” he snarls, though there’s a hesitant softness to his tone I only ever hear him use with her.And Taali.
“She hasn’t said or done anything other than what I asked her to show me,” Seren soothes, her hands gliding up his arms, her chin tilted all the way back to hold his gaze.
“That’s what she wants you to think, Seri,” he breathes, his tone shifting from feral rage to exasperation.
But she ignores it. Her face lights up with a buoyant smile that spreads across her face. “Did you see it, though? I made a Gateway!” she squeals gleefully, her unbound golden curls hanging in an unruly mass across her face.
He pinches the bridge of his nose, but a small smirk breaks the hard line of his mouth. “Yes, Seri. I saw. Very impressive,witchling,” he teases playfully, flicking her nose with his finger and pressing a chaste kiss to her forehead.
But my eyes fall on Mavyrn. As she moves for the door. I reach for her arm, firmly gripping her elbow before she slips away. Leaning in close, I drop my voice low and cold—my words reserved only for her. “Stop playing fucking games—you won’t like how it ends,” I growl.
But before she can reply?—
“Please excuse the hour, Your Majesties,” a Shade in gray robes peeks through the heavy oak door. “The Archivist bids you attend him at first light before the dawn meal. He has retrieved a Memory Orb from the Vault that he’s waited for many years to share with you, Your Highness,” he bows low in Elyssara’s direction. “And the Codex, of course, requires your attention, too.”
He says the words with a tightness that unsettles me, his darting eyes confirming my suspicions.
“And one more piece of information Queen Ilyra wanted delivered immediately,” the Shade adds, his voice tight.
“Out with it,” I urge.
