I lean closer. The tug in my chest pulses. Fortune’s quietyesripples through my mind.
Carefully, I lift one. The parchment is brittle, flaking beneath my fingers. My gaze snags on a phrase slashed through so hard the page buckled:
Speak from the soul.
Below it, scrawled in darker ink:
Add fire burst on climactic line.
Another note:
Increase theatricality. Reduce pauses. No weeping!
I stare at the page, throat tight.
Declan crouches beside me, bracing one hand on his knee. He picks up another fragment, brows pinched. “Are these scripts?”
“Spells.” I hold up a half-burned page, the ink faded but legible. The parchment is soft in my hands. Ash clings to the edges. “It’s written in dual voices.”
“Like a duet?”
The tug in my chest sharpens.Say it.Fortune’s whisper presses in from all sides.Speak it out loud.
My lips part, and the moment the first syllable leaves my mouth, something inside me clicks into place.
By fire’s command, let falsehood turn to ash;
Speak not for praise, but that thy soul be seen.
Declan shifts closer, his warmth brushing against my side. Without hesitation, he picks up the next stanza.
Let silence break ’neath truths too long concealed,
Let shadowed bonds be burned where lies have been.
No spark for show, nor blaze for fleeting cheer,
But light the dark with that which thou dost fear.
The torch flames stretch taller, orange spines unraveling like ribbons against the ceiling. Shadows convulse across the walls like startled birds. Sweat slicks my forehead, and my breath hitches from the way his dark eyes flick to me between lines, like he’s binding himself to me as much as to the spell.
I continue the next verse, though my throat feels dry.
Now let the flame of candor be set free,
And purge the mask that pride would bid thee wear.
Declan’s gaze lingers on me as he answers, his lips curving around each word.
Seek not for love, nor fleeting vanity,
But bare thy soul, and speak what lieth there.
The room glows bright, every surface bathed in gold. The parchment in my hands curls, its edges smoking softly but holding. Ash coats my tongue. Magick thrumsthrough the air, through us, and the sound of his voice beside me makes my chest ache.
Together, our voices blend into one.
When fire meets fire, the bond shall be revealed:
