King Malachi pauses at my side, pulling my attention. “Do you know what happens to stars that crash into each other? To realms that touch?”
I shake my head, staring at the cracks painted over Lyrichia and Vaelier from where the Well tears us apart. “I know we can’t survive it.”
“When two realms collide, they usually both die within a few centuries. In rare circumstances, one realm survives.”
“How?”
“If the magic within one is strong enough, it can resist the drain of the Well.”
“But the Well absorbs magic. If one were stronger, wouldn’t the Well drain that one first?”
“Smart girl.” King Malachi smirks, and I shift on my feet. “If the magic is strong enough, it can resist the Well just enough that it corrodes the other instead. And when the other realm dies and breaks off, the Well seals. The realm survives.”
“It’s been nearly three centuries since the Collision, and both realms still live.” It’s been two hundred and ninety-three years, tobe exact. “Does that mean both realms are strong enough to withstand it?”
The king shakes his head. “No. We’ve been lucky. Lyrichia and Vaelier were both stronger than most when they collided. It slowed the drain of the Well at first. But both are being claimed now. What will come of the Collision is inevitable unless Lyrichia can harness magic that can reverse the tides of fate. Magic that can make us strong beyond comparison. Stronger than Vaelier. Stronger than the Well itself.”
His blue eyes meet mine, and my chest tightens as I realize he’s talking about me.
“What do I have to do with any of this?”
An unsettling whisper of amusement ghosts his cheeks as he twists his orb between his fingers. “Lyrichia is nearly strong enough to push back the Well. I’m so close, but I cannot sustain it on my own. Not yet. But your magic?—”
“I don’t have magic.” I flinch, realizing I probably shouldn’t have cut off the king when he glares at me, so I soften my approach. “I’m not a necromancer.”
“No, you are not. What you resurrect is life, Elorie. Not death. Your magic heals; it nourishes. It grows. You have magic unlike anything many have ever seen or known.”
“How is that possible?”
“The powers of the half-Fae are lost in the lore, and without knowing who bore you, there is little I can answer with certainty.”
Who bore me.
I always envisioned my mother as the human villager my father described. Hair as white as snow—as white as mine. A single freckle on the tip of her nose, and a laugh that played like a melody.
How much of what he told me was a lie? She isn’t a woman who died a human death, as he said. For all I know, she could still wander a cell in that hellscape of a prison.
“You have the magic of life, Elorie. Paired with mine, we could save our realm.” The king turns to face me fully.
“And what of Vaelier?” I glance at the map. “What happens to their realm if our magic becomes strong enough to heal Lyrichia? Will it heal theirs as well?”
“As connected as we’ve become, we are still separate in many ways. Pushing back against the Well will force it to deepen its veins in Vaelier.”
“They’ll die.”
“As they wish we would.” The king’s tone is harsh, and I’m met with an irritated glare as I look up at him.
It’s understandable.
Lyrichia has been battling against them for a century. They’ve killed so many from our realm and shown no mercy. I shouldn’t feel sympathy for them.
King Malachi reaches for my hand, and a soothing warmth calms me. “Do you want to save your realm? To bring life back to our territories? Alyssium could thrive again.”
Thrive.
The thought of greenery in bloom and the morning glories returning to the prison perimeter makes my heart race. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and try to imagine the warm lap of seawater on my feet. Of the sun soaking the island.
My eyes flutter open, and I take a cautious breath. “I don’t know how to use my magic or how I can help. I didn’t even realize I had magic until the attack at the prison. I don’t know what good I’ll be.”
