Page 37

A tiny white blossom rested in his palm. The same flower he’d shown me on the beach at Lar Keiren.

My heart thumped painfully. My mind grew muddled, my memories bending and overlapping. “You…” I heard myself croak. “I’ve seen that before.” But my recollection of the flower was strange. Like sand sifting through my fingers, the more I tried to remember it, the faster it slipped away.

Jordan’s voice was quiet. “I showed it to you before you were ready, Lord Varick. But I promised King Laurent I would protect you in the Wastes.”

“I don’t need protection,” I growled, my eyes glued to the flower.

“Not from others, no,” he said. “But perhaps from yourself.” Jordan closed his hand around the flower, and when I looked up his blue eyes were soft. Apologetic. “You’re willing to see Queen Given’s flowers now, but you didn’t want to see them in Lar Keiren.” His smile was as soft as his eyes. “Don’t think too hard about it.”

My chest tightened with anger. “I don’t like people fucking with my head.”

“I assure you, I didn’t. Denial is almost as powerful as magic, Lord Varick. And just as dangerous.”

He was just a boy, I reminded myself. Half my age. But who the fuck really knew? He looked innocent and inexperienced and he was neither of those things. I didn’t like it. And once upon a time, he’d pretended to be my friend.

I didn’t like that, either.

Given spoke, breaking the tension. “When I saw Avenor and Vara, she begged him to use his gift. She asked him to ‘speak it into being’ but he refused. He said he gave the last of it to her.”

Jordan nodded. “She spoke of the Making. Avenor knew Midian would have stolen it if Midian possessed him. In Midian’s hands, the Making would have destroyed all of Ter Isir. The demons can’t create anything. Their plane is the opposite of ours. Devoid of warmth and life. And they lust for what they can’t have. That was the elves’ great error—desiring power when they already had so much. Avenor’s last act as king was to give his gift to his wife. I’m sure he thought the child Vara carried would inherit it. But the Making waited for the right person.” Jordan held her gaze, his blue eyes steady. “The gift is yours twofold, Your Grace. You inherited it. And it was given.”

No one moved in the hush that followed. Even the energy that filled the room seemed to hold its breath.

At last, Given shook her head. “I wish I could accept what you’re saying, Jordan, but…” She drew a slow breath, then released it on a sigh. “You speak of creation, but I’ve never created anything.”

“Never?” he asked lightly. “Not even when you venture between the planes?”

“He means the Middling,” I said gruffly. As much as I didn’t want to agree with him, he was right about that. I looked at her. “You changed the sky when you took me there. When we—” I shut my mouth before I could describe all the things she’d done when we fucked in the clearing. I believed her when she claimed she’d been willing, but I could never forgive myself. That was a shame I had to carry. But I’d carried heavier things. As long as she forgave me, that burden would keep.

“It makes sense,” Jordan said. He looked from me to Given. “Helen’s reports said you had nightmares. That you dreamed of a tall, elven man in a grassy clearing. You’ve slipped in and out of the Middling since you were a child. I’m not surprised you changed it while your mind was between waking and sleeping. You’ve been practicing the Making your whole life, creating a space where you feel safe.”

“But I wasn’t dreaming when Varick and I hid there from Midian.”

Jordan was undeterred. “You must have surrendered your will enough to let go and embrace your gift.”

Her eyes widened. “Yes,” she rasped. “I…” A blush stained her cheeks. She darted a look at me. “We…”

“Had sex,” I said tightly. “Midian forced the issue.”

She frowned. “Varick—”

“You abdicated your will,” Laurent supplied. As all eyes turned to him, he nodded matter-of-factly. “The closest I get to the gods is through the Rite of Destru. It’s a total surrender. I leave everything behind. My crown, my clothes, even the tiniest specks of dirt under my fingernails. And I drain myself. I have to die to reach the godsrealm. The only thing that comes close is an orgasm. In those few seconds, you’re happy to die. You give up all control. For one brief moment, you touch the gods.” He shrugged. “I don’t see why this Making would be any different. If, as Jordan says, it’s primitive magic, this makes sense to me. There’s nothing more primitive than sex.”

Jordan looked at Given. “Perhaps there’s a reason you’re the wife of the High Priest.”

“I’m not the High Priest,” Laurent snapped.

Jordan’s gaze was mild. “Of course, Your Grace. My mistake.”

Given was quiet as she seemed to absorb everything. After a moment, she lifted troubled eyes to Jordan. “If I have this incredible gift, why am I having so much trouble when I farsee? When I was in Aberwas, I traveled to Laurent by accident. And we all know what happened when I visited Rolund. I blend places together, seeing things that shouldn’t be there. And then before I can stop it, I’m there.”

Jordan smiled. “Magic, like prophecy, won’t stop for anyone. If you dam it up, it will simply flow in another direction, and not always in a way you expect.”

Given’s lips parted. “Did Igrith steal that from you, or did you steal it from her?”

Jordan laughed, a rich sound I wasn’t sure I’d heard before. “Only a fool steals from Igrith.” His smile faded. “I’m a seer, Your Grace, not a farseer. But I know that suppressing gifts can backfire. The more you tell yourself you can’t farsee, the more disastrous the results are likely to be. The Sight functions in a similar way. Plenty of seers have attempted to stifle their visions. That path leads to madness.”

She made a disgruntled sound. “So you’re stuck with your gift whether you like it or not? And I’m stuck with mine?”