I take a deep breath.Fourelements.Fourimpossible tasks.
And every one of them must be done by me.
How is this even possible?
A faint, almost hysterical laugh rises in my throat, butIswallow it down.WhatwasIthinking?Ican barely hold a silence spell together for more than a few minutes andIthoughtIcould work a weaving strong enough to bend time?
This is madness.Andyet…Idon’t look away.
AsIstare down at the page, something shifts in the air above theGrimoire.Ashimmer—faint at first, like heat rising from stone—and then growing stronger.Fourshapes begin to form, hovering just above the open pages.
They solidify slowly into crystal vessels–each one round and smooth and no larger than my fist–stoppered with a small cork that glows faintly with magic.
I reach for them without thinking.TheGrimoireis giving them to me for a reason–probably becauseIread the spell and its requirements.
The moment my fingers brush the nearest one, all four of the crystal vessels vanish.
I gasp softly, my hand closing on empty air—but they aren’t gone.Ican feel them somehow, not in my grasp but close…as though they’ve settled just beyond sight and are waiting.
Waiting to be filled with all the impossible elementsI’msupposed to collect.
A strange certainty settles over me then, quiet but absolute.IfIcomplete the tasks—ifIgather the elements—they will return.They’reattached to me now.
My heart begins to beat faster again, something sharp and dangerous flickering to life in my chest–hope.TheGrimoireseems to thinkIcan do this.Otherwise, why would it offer me the vessels needed to store the elements?
ButI’mnot done yet.Ilower my gaze back to the page, forcing myself to keep reading.Thereis one final section—the instructions for the working itself.
And this is when my heart really sinks because of course it can’t be done just anywhere.Thespell requires a place of power—a seat of authority where time and memory are anchored by authority and blood.
TheKing’sCourt–that’s where the spell must be woven together.
I stare at the words, my heart thumping dully in my chest.
The royal court.Theseat of the crown.AplaceIhave never seen and have no reason—no right—to enter.
And yet the spell is clear–unless it’s done there, the weaving will fail.
I read the final lines slowly, committing them to memory even as disbelief curls tight in my chest.
Unstop the four where crown holds sway,
CallEarthandFlameandSkyandSpray.
Name the hour you would reclaim,
And let the time bend to your name.
The words settle into me, heavy and final in my mind.Ineed to collect four impossible elements and take them to theKing’sCourtto make this work.
This spell isn’t a quick and easy solution–it’s a quest.Fourquests, actually.Fiveif you count somehow getting into theKing’sCourtto work the spell onceI’mdone.
AndIdon’t know howI’mmeant to take even the first step!
My silence spell gives a dangerous little flutter around me andInearly gasp.Ihave to stop thinking andmove.Ihave to close theGrimoireand get back to my bed beforeSisterAgathawakes and finds me here.
My fingers reach for the edge of the page…and that is when a voice behind me speaks, cool and sharp as a knife sliding between my ribs,
“So, little priestess…you managed to escape my curse.”
