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I shuffle off my knees to sit opposite him. The space is tight; our legs are stretched side by side, his feet near my thigh. “What were you planning?” I ask.

He closes his eyes briefly and rests his head against the dome.

I suck in an exaggerated breath of shock. “No plan either?”

His eyes narrow. “I would’ve done this—a smaller, less magic-consuming this—and prayed my aklos would find me.”

“I hope they find us both.”

“No promises they’ll find you in one piece.”

He shifts, nudging me slightly; my hand slides off my thigh to the ground, palm up. Quin’s gaze latches onto my raw, blistered skin, and his lips flatten. I quickly flip my hand and steer his attention to the water settling and clearing around us. Above, the air will be full of sound—the rush of new rivers and streams beginning at the passes that led into this valley. We can see the pinks and purples of the sky through the muddy water left behind.

Night is coming.

I shiver. How long can Quin maintain this?

“I don’t know how long,” he murmurs.

“How did you—”

“It’s what I’m afraid of, too.” Sweat pearls at his temples. His shudders vibrate through me.

“What if we hold our breath to the surface? Swim until we reach higher ground?”

Quin glances away. “I can’t...”

His leg.

“But you could...” He gestures skyward.

Even if I make it up there, the hills could slip into the lake at any moment. No. Here is the only option. “How do you gather energy?” I ask.

“My meridians are connected to air. I meditate in the freshest breezes of dawn, dusk, and during the night.”

“A certain lack of fresh breezes in here.” I bolt upright, patting the insides of my cloak.

At a raised brow, I brandish the glimmering opal I was given. “I have my root in earth magics.”

If I were to cultivate to become a warrior or such, I’d have to absorb magics from rich soils and rocks—plant roots. I haven’t used earth magic much, other than the odd blocking spell. It’s weak and useless. Luckily, vitalian spells work with any base—wind, fire, water, earth. As long as some spiritual blood courses through the veins, and the right herbs are absorbed, anyone can cast curative spells.

Theoretically.

There is still the issue of being allowed to. I squeeze the opal, cursing our king.

That king is Nicostratus’s brother.

Quin stares at me.

“What?” I say.

He hums.

“Right. I’ll channel its magic to you.” I stare a long time at the opal, inspecting it from all sides.

“You don’t know how to access its magic, do you?”

“I suppose fondling it like this isn’t enough?”