Zander turned back and pulled an ancientscroll from inside his coat.
“Remy,” he said, voice taut with concentration. “Lay them out. Carefully. Skyroot, river crystal, bloodroot, and the flame ash.”
Remy nodded and moved to the table near the bedside. He opened the satchel and removed each item with reverence. The skyroot shimmered like pale wood soaked in starlight. The pure river crystal gleamed untouched, and the bloodroot pulsed faintly with living magic. Finally, he unwrapped the pouch andpoured the flame ash onto the surface of the table—its gold-tinged dust catching firelight as though it remembered what it had been.
Zander unrolled the scroll and traced his fingers along the ancient fae script, reading silently before speaking again. “Combine the skyroot and bloodroot first. Then add the flame ash. The river crystal goes in last.It activates the compound.”
Remy obeyed, hands sure and steady as he ground the ingredients into a small bowl, his movements practiced from years with Katama and the Order’s more arcane rituals. As the river crystal touched the mixture, the entire compound lit with a softhum, glowing faint blue and red—water and fire, united.
Zander stepped forward, inhaled once, then lifted his hands over the mixture.
Magic rose from him like a wave, not the quiet flickers he used in battle, but something deeper, ancestral. His veins glowed beneath his skin, his eyes briefly shining with mirrored light.
He whispered the incantation in ancient fae, the spell curling through the air like music and storm. The compound lifted from the bowl in liquid threads, swirling around his hands like ribbons of molten silk.
Zander pressed his palms together, then opened them wide, and the magic sank into the king’s chest, vanishing without a sound.
A tense silence fell.
Then the king inhaled.
Stronger. Clearer. The rasp still lingered, but it no longer sounded like death’s shadow in his throat.
Zander stumbled back, catching himself against the table, his breath ragged. His skin looked pale, the glow already fading from his fingertips.
Remy moved toward him, but Zander waved him off with a weak shake of his head.
“He’s resting comfortably now,” Zander said hoarsely. “But we’ll need to use more of the vial soon. The spell isn’t permanent. It only buys us time. Please have Kaelith put him back in stasis.”
“And if we run out before we find the caster?” I asked quietly.
Zander’s eyes met mine, exhaustion carved into every line of his face.
“Then my father won’t survive.”
Chapter
Nine
We stepped out of the king’s chamber in silence, the tension of what had just happened still clinging to our skin like smoke. The door clicked softly behind us, sealing King Emlem in that quiet room full of fading incense and the echo of magic.
Zander looked like he’d been hollowed out—his shoulders sagged, his steps slow, each breath a small battle. He didn’t speak, but I could feel the toll. His magic was flickering low, like embers trying to stay lit after the storm.
I turned to Remy. “I’m going to take Zander to his room,” I said gently. “He’s exhausted. He needs to sleep.”
Remy opened his mouth, probably to make some sarcastic remark, but then stopped. He looked at Zander, really looked, and even he couldn’t miss how the prince’s hands trembled, how his eyes had lost their sharpness.
“Fine,” Remy muttered. “I’ll tell your squad you’ll be back soon.”
“Thank you,” I said, and Remy nodded, already turning toward the Ascension Grounds.
Zander didn’t protest as I slipped my arm around his waist and guided him through the halls. His weight leaned into me just enough to show he needed the support, though he’d never ask for it.
When we reached his room, I helped him to the bed, where he sat with a quiet groan. He looked more like a man who had held the sky too long and was finally allowed to set it down.
“You’re not going to sleep in your boots, are you?” I said softly, kneeling to undo the clasps.
He didn’t argue.
