I sigh, defeated.
Flipping to the final page, ink scrawled thick and certain, I look past the shapes on the parchment to the meaning beneath—meaning meant, it seems, for me alone.
A gift once squandered, worthy to none,
Sleeps in silence, though never gone.
Elements buried, magic to earth,
Awaiting the hour of rightful rebirth.
Bestowed upon unnatural crown,
Forever young, in beauty bound.
Until the world, through peace aligned,
Receives the gift the gods designed.
Through keeper’s flame and broker’s hand,
The spark returns to heal the land.
Not theirs to hold, but theirs to guide,
Till what was lost will once more rise.
My hands begin to tremble as I read. The recognition is soul-deep—resonant in a way that leaves me breathless. An unseen current hums, stirring beneath my touch. I rest one hand on Ace’s shoulder to steady myself and instinctively start to turn the book toward him.
I stop.
I remind myself—only I can truly see the words.
“Wait, Mira.” Ace reaches up, catching my wrist, guiding the page back toward him. His voice is no longer playful. “I can—” He swallows. “Gods, Mira… I can almost make out the words.”
Chapter Fifty-Nine
It was only a moment, a brief flash while I leaned over with the book in my hand, but Ace assures me without a doubt he was close to reading what was on the page. Whether fatigue grew too strong or whatever magic seemed to flow between us grew too weak—it faded as quickly as it occurred.
Minds still reeling with possibilities, I eventually tell Ace goodnight and insist he at least try to rest.
With a healer keeping watch through the night, and a promise that Tarris would not be the one tending to the bandage, Ace tells me goodnight with a glimmer of hope behind his eyes—an ember I hold dear as I make my way to my chambers.
A guard follows a safe distance behind me now. A silent shadow I suspect is going to be the new normal. They grant me space once I am secure behind doors, but they are never far. The sharp sting of betrayal still fresh, I remind myself there is little they can do when danger hides behind friendly faces.
Still, I do not shun the sentinels. The truth of my own nature still a closely guarded secret, they work to protect my believed-frail mortal life. Though in light of recent events, all those I care about exist in the same danger. Howmany objects imbued with dark magic are pointed in our direction? How many hearts have been turned away from reason, corrupted toward a hand that seems aimed at claiming power no matter the cost?
Vale sees the worry lingering on my face when I close the door behind me and move toward him. He rises, ready to spring into action if need be. “Is Ace alright?”
My demeanor shifts, realizing how my thoughts—so apparent on my face—have alarmed him. “He’s fine,” I calm him, “more than that, in truth.”
“Ace does tend to bemore thanquite often.” He opens his arms to me, and I begin to tell him about the prophecy, about Ace nearly reading the page.
“You should have seen it, Vale. The way his wound seemed to respond, the way he looked at the page, it was?—”
“Magic.” He lets out a low laugh, awestruck at the wonder our lives now seem to hold.
“But what of the prophecy?” he asks, voice steadying with solemn intent. “You said you felt it.”
