Page 9

“It will take time.” He joins me on the bench, air magic swirling around him, caressing my skin in cool currents. “But with enough practice, you’ll be a master in no time.”

In no time.

The words sink into my stomach.

How much time does he think I have? How long does he plan to keep me here, trapped in these beautiful rooms with nothing but games, books, and artistic pursuits to fill my days?

“I brought you something,” he says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a narrow velvet-lined box.

I lean forward in curiosity, studying it. It’s not small enough to be a ring. A bracelet, maybe? A necklace?

“What is it?” I ask, taking the box and feeling its weight in my hand.

“Open it and see.”

I lift the lid, and nestled against dark velvet is a handcrafted, obsidian fountain pen that gleams in the soft light of the chamber.

“It’s beautiful,” I say, lifting it from the box and admiring my newest trinket. Something about it looks expensive. Dangerous. Magical. More so than anything else he’s given me so far—and he’s given me alot.

Aerix’s lips curve into that smile I’ve loved for longer than I care to admit.

“It isn’t filled yet,” he says, and then he reaches into his pocket again, retrieving a slim, empty crystal vial. “Retrieve your dagger.”

The world tilts. He can’t mean…

But Aerix doesn’t like hesitation.

So, I walk to the desk where I keep the weapon I was given in the Winter Court, when Riven sent me and Sapphire on those three deadly trials. The one I used to attack Aerix in the bunker. The one he promptly took away from me… then eventually returned, just in time for me to kill Henry.

But when I touch it, I don’t feel guilt, or shame.

I feelpowerful.

“The ink chamber,” Aerix explains, watching me closely, “is meant to be filled with your blood.”

My heart clenches.

“My blood?” I repeat.

“Yes, your blood,” he says, his gaze so intense that I tighten my grip on my dagger just so I can stay standing. “So that everything you create carries your essence. Your truth. Your soul.”

I stare at the tiny glass reservoir of the pen, my heart pounding so hard that I’m sure Aerix can hear it.

He’s watching me. Always watching. Waiting to see if I’ll flinch. Break. Refuse.

But I won’t.

So, with a steadying breath, I press the tip of my dagger to my index finger. The pain is sharp and clean, and blood wells instantly, bright crimson against my pale skin.

Aerix inhales. A sharp, almost imperceptible sound—like a man drowning in restraint.

He doesn’t touch me. He doesn’t taste. He just… waits.

Go ahead,his nod seems to say.

I can’t wait any longer. If I do…

I don’t think about it further. I just hold my hand over the tiny vial, letting my blood drip into the glass, watching it hit the bottom.