Nothing.
The crown in my grip crumbled to dust. The chalice in Wickett’s hands turned to ash. Lucette’s blade dissolved like mist.
And mercifully, my power came flooding back.
The connection to Silas was immediately restored. He was above the dome, screaming fury that echoed in my bones. “The binding happens now, Rune Weaver.” Tiberius snapped his fingers. “Make the circle.”
Every instinct I had screamed to escape the trap I’d chosen for myself. But I was as stubborn as I was foolish, it seemed.
“Aperio,” I whispered, drawing on the magic that lived in my bones.
Silver light erupted from beneath my feet, racing outward across the arena grass in thin, blazing lines. The earth split as the magic seeped deep into the ground, connecting symbols etched between the outer and inner boundaries, script that spiraled in the language the Furies had brought to this world.
When the light faded, we stood inside a masterwork of magical architecture carved directly into the arena floor, the kind of spell circle that took witches hours to plan out by hand with candles and chalk or salt and painstaking measurement. The kind that required ritual preparation and steady hands.
The kind a Rune Weaver was known to do in seconds.
The Oracle stepped forward. Her blonde hair hadn’t moved an inch, and her long white robes were perfectly unwrinkled as she crossed the broken ground. In her hands, she carried a small wooden box. And when she opened it, my breath caught.
Runes. But not carved from ordinary stone or metal. These were cut from something else. Something I’d never seen. Blackas midnight and shot through with veins of silver that pulsed like heartbeats.
“Starfall stone,” the Oracle said. “Fallen from the space between worlds. The strongest material for binding magic ever discovered.”
This was the kind of thing that existed in legends—in stories told to frighten children about the old magic and its price. Not here, in front of us.
“Each of you will take a rune,” she continued, extending the box. “Place it in the circle. Speak your true name. Give your blood.”
Again with the fucking blood magic. Didn’t these people know anything? I held my tongue watching as Wickett went first, selecting a rune that seemed to hum with approval when he touched it. He placed it in the circle’s northern point. “Wickett Demetrius Veyne.”
Blood from the cut on his palm fell onto the starfall stone. It absorbed the offering greedily, the silver veins brightening.
Lucette took hers to the eastern point, dripping blood as the song grew louder. “Lucette Fira Varrow.”
Pip fluttered to the northeastern point, her tiny hands struggling with the weight of the rune. She pricked her finger on her miniature blade, and even that small drop made the stone pulse with hungry light. “Pip Lunaria Willowbend.”
Calder was next. No hesitation as he drew his blade across his palm, stepping to his place. No emotion in his voice. “Calder Thaddeus Grimm.”
My turn. The final rune was warm, almost alive. I carried it to the southern point, my hands shaking despite every effort to control them. “Syneca Morrigan Black.”
My blood hit the stone, and the world shifted. Not physically. Magically. Like reality had just stepped sideways and left us all somewhere else entirely.
The five runes glowed brightly enough to hurt.
Silas yanked on our connection.
Stay back.I pushed the thought toward Silas through our bond.Whatever happens, stay back.And though he hated it, he was beholden to my command.
His fury crashed into my mind like a hammer.
I know. But not yet. Please.
Tiberius stepped forward, something gleaming in his hands. My heart stopped.
Vitoria’s dagger. Silver and deadly familiar, with the three interlocking circles carved into the hilt.
“The blade will serve as your focus,” he announced, placing it in the circle’s center. “Your blood, her weapon, fury-born witness.”
The Oracle began her incantation, words in the old tongue falling upon the final starfall stone in her palm. But just as the magic began to build, Tiberius’s voice cut through hers.
