“But it exists, and that’s the problem.”
“Only in your mind,” Elira said softly.
“So is it possible she influenced the pedestal?” Keegan questioned.
Elira considered and nodded. “It’s possible she influenced what Maeve believes she saw.”
I stared at her, trying to place that in the world I knew.
“Isn’t that worse?”
“Only if you believe magic is something that happens to you,” Elira replied.
I blinked and nodded.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“It means,” Elira said, voice steady and clear, “that magic has meaning now in a way it hasn’t for decades.”
I frowned slightly. “Magic has always had meaning.”
“Function,” Elira corrected gently. “But not exactly meaning.”
The distinction struck deeper than it should have.
“For years,” she continued, “magic survived. It hid. It fractured. It was used in corners and whispers and small, protective acts.”
I thought of Stonewick before the Academy stirred again. Before the Wards came alive. Before midlife witches showed up with half-buried power and whole hearts.
“And now?” I asked.
“Now magic is consolidating,” Elira said. “And intent matters.”
I held her gaze and nodded.
“Mariselle consolidates power into control,” Elira continued. “You’re consolidating power into connection.”
I almost laughed at that.
“That sounds too noble. I’m just trying to keep people safe,” I said.
“And in doing so,” Elira replied, “you’re redefining what magic is for.”
The idea unsettled me more than the mirror had because I had never thought about magic as philosophy. It had been a discovery for me.
But I hadn’t stopped to ask what it all meant.
Mariselle saw magic as authority.
So, what did I see it as?
I stared at the shelves of books, listened to Karvey and the others stomping on the roof, and glanced at Keegan, a man who’d been cursed and lived to tell about it.
“The Priestess wants you to question whether your path is stable.”
“Do you think she’s trying to make me afraid of myself?” I asked quietly.
“Indeed,” Elira said.
