It’s no longer fluid. It’s solid. Glass-hard and thrumming with power that tastes like ancient graves on my tongue.
They’ve trapped me in a Faerie ring without magic. These bitches.
“Let me out!” I bang against the barrier with both fists. “I swear to every god in every realm, I’m never trusting you again!”
No reaction.
Maybe I’m dreaming. I pinch myself hard enough to bruise.
Nope. Alive. Unfortunately.
“You told me they couldn’t do this,” I remind her, slamming my palm against the invisible wall. “You said, back at the trial, you said forced removal of essence-deep concealment can destroy the bearer! You said they came within heartbeats of killing me!”
Morrigan blinks at me. For a moment, just a moment, I think she’s going to explain. Going to tell me what the hell is happening.
Then she smiles.
And doubles down.
The chanting intensifies. The smoky haze inside the circle thickens until I can barely see. And the tingling in my legs becomes burning.
“No.” I back toward the center of the circle. “No, no, no?—”
It hits like lightning made of liquid fire.
The same sensation from the trial. The exact same. Seelie light tearing at my skin, Unseelie shadows clawing at my bones, Wild magic burrowing into my essence with the force of trees growing through stone.
Except this time it’s not three courts.
It’s three goddesses.
And it’s so much worse.
I scream.
Not a battle cry. Not a defiant roar. Just pain. Pure, animal, ripped from somewhere deeper than my throat. The sound tears out of me involuntarily as the magic tries to peel back layers of my identity. Not just glamour. Me. They’re trying to separate who I am from who I was made to be, and the seams are fused.
There are no seams.
The glamour isn’t a mask I’m wearing. It’s my skin.
“Stop!” The word comes out broken, barely human. “It’s part of me now?—”
The chanting falters.
Through the haze of agony, I see Morrigan’s expression shift. Confusion bleeding through the storm-grey of her eyes. Her sisters exchange a glance that speaks volumes.
They didn’t expect this.
“The weaving has...” Badb’s voice carries uncertainty for the first time. “It’s integrated. Completely.”
“That’s not possible.” Macha’s black eyes narrow. “She cast it. She should be able to?—”
“I can’t.” Morrigan’s voice is barely a whisper. “It’s not mine anymore.”
The chanting stops.
But the damage is done.
