Page 47

I focused back on the memory, cursing myself.

“When our adventure came to an end, we walked back home through the woods like normal, until we heard an unusual noise, like soft grunting or a low mew. Curious, as boys are, we followed the sound to where a newborn fawn rested, still slick from its birth, its mother standing beside it, nudging its side gently.

“We went to leave them be, but the fawn stopped mewing, stopped breathing. And we watched as a glimmering ball of light, like a large diamond, parted from the fawn and rose into the air, hovering just above its lifeless body.” My throat grew thick with emotion, even after all this time. “The doe tried to nudge her baby again, then began to whimper.

“I couldn’t bear it. Before I knew what I was doing, I was standing in front of the fawn, wrapping my magic around its spirit, the essence of it bouncing gently against my own being. I didn’t know what to do until the ground at my feet began to stir, like One was calling to me, asking me to part the dirt and lay the soul within her.

“So that’s what I did. A proper burial for a life cut too short. All the while, the doe just stood there, quietly watching.”

I scratched my chin, not sure I should continue with the story.

“Go on . . .” Bryn coaxed, her eyes intent on me, on the importance of the words I was about to say.

“We made to leave, to let the mother grieve in peace, but where I’d buried the fawn’s soul the ground began to vibrate, and dirt began to rise, and from the earth came a fawn made anew,” I whispered. “The fawn’s former body turning to dust right in front of our eyes.

“I knew in that moment what I had done wasn’t normal. I’d never been told so specifically, but only because I’m not sure it had ever been done before. The Nine have rules, and tampering with life and death is among them. For healers especially. To extend a person’s life by use of magic is forbidden. They may heal, but only to an extent.

“Imagine what they would do to a child who had just resurrected another being.” I shivered at the thought. “I knew no one could ever know what I had done. I also knew I’d exposed my elemental control over both night and earth to Adrian.” I looked at Bryn sternly, needing her to understand the importance of what my magic meant to the rest of the world. “Magic-wielders of One have only ever specialized in one element. A dual-wielder, someone who can specialize in two, is unheard of in recent history. The knowledge of what I could do would be a scandal. A dual-wielder who resurrects the dead? I would be seen as a threat. And my mother had been queen at the time, the representative for One. I needed to keep her safe. I needed to keep everyone I loved safe.

“I trusted Adrian, but I couldn’t make him an accomplice to my actions. So, I betrayed my best friend. To keep him safe, I cloaked the memory from him. I’d never done it before, but my mother had once taught me that memories were among the things that could be cloaked by night.”

Bryn was breathing heavily. “So, Adrian doesn’t remember that day?”

I shook my head with shame. “No.”

“And it isn’t common to specialize in two elemental magics?”

“Correct.”

She slowed her horse, and I pulled Drag back to match her pace.

“The Nine seem . . . intense,” she whispered.

“They can be. But to maintain balance, their rules are seen as necessary.”

She studied the reins in her hands, her fingers scratching the leather. “That’s why you’ve shared all this information with me—The Nine, and the Earths. You plan to cloak my memories before returning me to Six, don’t you?” Her tone wasn’t one of anger, but of curiosity.

It’s impossible for me to cloak your memories, I wanted to say. But she wasn’t ready for the truth, so I stayed silent, allowing her to make her own assumptions.

“What other rules do The Nine have?” she pressed on.

“There are three main ones, and some minor ones about curfews and this and that, that no one bothers to enforce.” I ticked them off my fingers. “First, the portals remain a secret to all worlds, to eliminate chaos and keep the peace. Second, magic must be returned to the earth after two hundred years, to rejuvenate the earth for future generations to wield. And third, one you are now privy to, you must die at the end of your existence. No tampering with life and death, and no storing of magic. Immortality is the greatest crime.”

Bryn’s eyes grew wide. “Immortality is possible?”

I chuckled. “If you have enough power, anything is possible.”

“Unbelievable,” she whispered in awe. “Even two hundred years seems incredible. You’re lucky to live until eighty on my Earth.”

“Depending on the amount of magic you have, if you’re from an Earth with magic, aging is slowed. For those of us who proved triumphant in Delirium, we are pretty much frozen at the age of twenty-five, or whatever age we enter Delirium at. It stays that way until we return our magic. Then, once we return it, we age and die at a pace like your Earth. If you have smaller amounts of magic, like Sigrid, for example, she ages about one year physically for each decade she lives.”

“The magic preserves you in a sense, then?”

“Morbid terms.” I laughed. “But theoretically, yes.”

“So, you’re . . .”

“Twenty-five.” My lips twitched, fighting back a smile. “But technically, I’ve been alive for almost fifty-two years.”