“Don’t get too excited,” Frisk chided. “He’s a sleepy fellow. Has to nap every hour or so to keep up his strength.”
My spirits deflated, but Frisk was chuckling.
“The false queen doesn’t know that, though,” Frisk said slyly. “Come on, we need to keep moving.”
We reached the top of the stairs and burst through the door. When we entered the echoing entrance chamber above, I froze as something shimmery caught my eye.
A glowing blue thread.
I stopped, my heart hammering in my chest as I drew closer to it. It extended all the way down the hall, nearly translucent. If not for the glow of the sun streaming through the stained-glass windows, I might not have seen it.
“Eira,” I whispered.
Frisk faltered at that, whirling to face me. “What?”
“I can see her thread.”
“What does that mean?”
I didn’t have time to tell him about my discovery of magic. Instead, I channeled my power and stretched my mental awareness toward the thin string. It was already fragile, as if only the finest strand was holding it together.
She was dying.
But I was a life weaver.
My pulse racing, I pressed my magic into the strand, envisioning layer after layer wrapping around it, thickening it, strengthening it…
“Hunter,” Frisk hissed.
I ignored him, my eyes closed and sweat beading along my brow. I couldn’t afford any distractions.
One wrong move, and I would accidentally kill Eira instead of save her.
Live,I willed the thread.I command you to live.
Light shone against my eyelids, and Frisk gasped. I didn’t dare open my eyes, though. I kept my mind focused on my task. On Eira.
Magic seeped out of me, draining me. I hunched over as the sensation of a heavy weight on my back dragged me lower and lower.
At long last, I felt the power within me fade. As I reached out again, Eira’s thread was sturdier.
She was still alive. For now.
Panting, I opened my eyes to find Frisk gaping at me.
“She’s dying,” I said, gasping for breath as if I’d sprinted a mile. “My magic is keeping her alive, but it won’t last forever. Come on, I can follow her thread to find her.”
To his credit, Frisk didn’t ask any questions. He merely trotted after me, his paws clacking on the marble floor.
The thread weaved down the massive hall, and we rushed past several elegant paintings of snowy landscapes, and one regal portrait of the late king. I stopped as Eira’s life thread slid through the double doors that led to the throne room.
She was in there. And Calista was likely with her.
I couldn’t avoid this forever.
Turning to Frisk, I said, “Stay out of sight. Calista doesn’t know about you, and I’d like to keep it that way. Just in case she has something sinister waiting for us.”
“If Snow is in there, I’m coming,” Frisk insisted.
