Page 36

Ahead, the tall, wrought-iron fence surrounded the Temauten Congregation.

People filed into the building, although in fewer numbers than before.

Smaller clusters of men and women were dotted outside the entrance.

Her gaze darted from one unrecognisable person to the next.

She didn’t find anyone who appeared to be guards of Filip’s.

Perhaps Filip’s men weren’t there, which begged the question: did he know she’d taken the astral book, and if he did, would he have questioned it?

After all, she’d been at Kirovo Palace for training—taking a book to read wouldn’t have been suspicious.

And yet, her whirling mind considered the possibility Filip could’ve sent anyone to find her.

She didn’t know all his benefactors or the men in his employ—she’d had the opportunity to meet a handful of them at the announcement party shortly after her arrival at Kirovo Palace, and a while later at the Embassy.

Her vision blurred, tilting her on her axis as she struggled to grapple with her warring thoughts. Sucking in a ragged breath, she forced herself to focus on Damir’s image—a loving smile, an outstretched hand. Her north star.

Letting him guide her, she put one foot in front of the other and weaved her way between the gathered civilians of Murtei. Sunset cast a warm, orange glow over Khasapa House—spindly shadows from the iron fence stretched across the floor. A cool breeze chilled her cheeks as the temperature dropped.

She neared a set of double doors on the side of the building. A stone bench was placed beside it, overlooking a tended garden. Topiaries were carved into arrow points, rose bushes were round, and a circular fountain in the centre added to the peaceful ambience.

Smiling politely at the gatherers, she slipped past, then entered the building.

From this side, she ascended a separate staircase from the one in the main entrance.

When she reached the library, her shoulders relaxed, and she puffed out a sharp breath.

The library was more or less empty, besides the librarian, and a handful of lingering readers .

At the back of the library, she fixed her gaze on the black leather-bound book tucked into the glass-doored bookshelf. Casting a quick glance over her shoulder, she checked no one was looking, then grabbed a nearby stool.

Stepping up, she reached for the handle and gave it a tug.

Locked. Not to her surprise at all. She dug her spell book from the bag slung over her shoulder, then flipped through the pages, looking for something—anything—to unlock the door.

It wasn’t as if she could simply ask the librarian for a key. Could she?

Paranoia shot through her. What if the librarian was a spy? She couldn’t trust anyone. Her jaw clenched as a line of sweat formed along her hairline. After another brief glance over her shoulder, she returned her unblinking gaze to her spell book.

She found an interesting spell—a thistle vine strong enough to bend metal to its will.

Under her breath, she uttered the words, “ Rinorowlith .”

From the tip of her finger, sprung a thin yet sturdy green vine.

It sprouted and twisted, thistles shooting from its stem.

She held her finger in front of the lock and watched in wonder as the vine weaved itself into the keyhole.

A golden hue shone from the hole, a byproduct of astral magic, and the glass door clicked open.

An excited laugh escaped her mouth. She clamped her hand over her lips and shot another wary look over her shoulder.

Reassured no one was watching her, she pushed on to her tiptoes, then took A Practitioner’s Guide to Ancient Magic, Nether Edition, Volume I from its shelf.

Stuffing it into her bag, she quickly closed the door, then dropped to the ground.

She told herself it wasn’t stealing but rather borrowing the book to save her husband’s life.

As she weaved her way back through the tall aisles, she passed the librarian. “Good evening.”

“So, you came back after all.” She smiled. “I didn’t see you come in.”

“I came to browse your collection of fiction titles. It’s time for dinner now,” Adelina returned the politeness, then hurried out of the library.

She made her way back to the inn, unhobbled her horse, mounted, then rode out of Murtei, the cloak of the pine woods a welcome relief from potential eyes.

She hadn’t known if it was her paranoia alone, or if Filip’s men had been watching her all along, but she couldn’t take the risk of staying there longer than necessary.

Riding until the village disappeared into the horizon behind her, Adelina clutched the horse’s reins.

She tugged them gently, slowing the horse from a canter to a walk.

Deep in a pine forest, and with the sun setting, she was almost cloaked in shadows.

With a swirl of her index finger, she cast a wisp of light.

It hovered in front of her face, shining a warm golden, and expanded into a ball.

Spinning slowly on its axis, it provided her with enough light to set up camp.

She untied her luggage from the back of the saddle, then dumped it on the ground.

After leading the horse into the glade to feed on the dewy grass, she set about collecting twigs and sticks for a fire.

Once she’d built the firepit in the centre of the glade, she produced a flame with magic.

Holding her hair out of the way, she leaned closer, blowing on the flames, encouraging them to grow.

Happy with her work, she returned to her luggage, then grabbed a load of her clothing to use as a pillow. Her grandfather’s pocket watch tumbled to the ground. Crashing to her knees, she scooped it into her hands and brushed off the dirt.

“How could I have forgotten about you?” she whispered as she inspected the clockface.

Bringing the metal to her lips, she pressed a kiss to the cool surface.

It reminded her of home. A warmth spread through her, and tears welled in her eyes—for her mother, father, and sister, for Damir’s parents.

What she would give to envelop herself in the familiarity of Aramoor—her husband by her side.

As she lowered the clockface from her lips, a stream of light burst from the surface, startling her.

She fell back on her buttocks, almost dropping the pocket watch.

Clasping on to it for dear life, she steadied herself.

Her lips parted as she gazed upwards, following the stream of light through the treetops.

“What in the realm?” she gasped.

She swirled her fingers through the golden beam. A warm, fuzzy sensation danced up her arm and through her body. The stream of magic lowered and rested on her bag.

Frowning, she scooted towards it, then withdrew A Practitioner’s Guide to Ancient Nether Magic, Volume I . Barely grasping it, the covers flung open, powered by the magic from the pocket watch. Dozens of pages fluttered until they halted on one, three quarters through .

At the top of the page, she read An Astral Sorcerer’s Guide to Talismans.

Sucking in a breath, she absorbed the words.

While an inanimate object may be used to control one’s magic, a talisman has many other beneficial properties.

An astral sorcerer may choose to store a sum of their magic within an object of their choosing.

During the Great War of the Wielders, many sorcerers hid their magic in fear of being enslaved by the other half of their soul: nether sorcerers.

Her breathing hitched. The thought of people like her being pressed into servitude made her stomach heave.

Such talismans have the power of finding their way back to astral sorcerers, even if lost for generations, so they will never be far away from their own kind. The sorcerer may then choose to absorb the power stored within the talisman or protect it.

Her hand grasped the enchanted talisman around her neck. In her other hand, her grandfather’s pocket watch lay in the centre of her palm.

Adelina returned to the passage.

While astral magic is not hereditary, it is not totally uncommon for multiple people across generations of the same family to possess such a magic.

She checked the book for the dates associated with the Great War of the Wielders.

A breath caught in her throat. Less than a century ago.

The pieces fell together inside her mind.

Her grandfather was involved in the Great War.

He’d been an astral wielder and had hidden his power in the pocket watch.

Filip had spent the last decade searching for an astral wielder.

The only way astral wielders could ensure their safety was to hide away their magic.

Meaning Filip had been searching for longer than a decade. How was that possible? He didn’t look older than thirty, but she didn’t know an awful lot about the man in possession of nether magic. She only understood he wanted her for his own political gain.

She was presented with a choice: put her own magic inside the pocket watch, so she could not be used by Filip ever again or absorb it completely.

Pressing her fingers to her lips, she pondered.

Either way, she couldn’t imagine Filip letting her go, and it wasn’t just her involved in this anymore.

He held her husband captive, and the gods knew what foul tortures he was inflicting upon him.

His plan was much bigger—Filip aimed to control the three countries, meaning thousands of lives would be bent to his will.

An intense weight crushed her spirit. Swallowing her last ounce of anxiety, she tucked loose strands of hair out of her face and focused on what she must do.

So much relied on her. She needed to do whatever it took to become as strong as Filip, to stop him at all costs.

First, absorb the magic. Second, complete her quest and obtain the Sword of Light.

Third, free her husband. Fourth, put a stop to Filip before he caused any great damage to the countries in which she called home, even if they were separated by borders.

Opening the pocket watch, she lay it flat in one hand while she read the book’s description on absorbing magic stored within a talisman. Her fingers halted below the spell.

“ Tyleiri sinriyn ,” she whispered at first, then pronounced the words again with clarity and confidence. “ Tyleiri sinriyn .”

The hands on the pocket watch clicked several times, shifting around the timepiece’s face. Then, as if a mechanism somewhere inside unlocked, the face lifted into the air, separated from the rest of the object. A golden light poured out, casting a vibrant glow over the glade.

The freed magic enveloped her in warmth as it fused with her skin. An intense surge of power flooded her body, drenching every nerve ending and fibre. The fine hairs on her arms bristled, even underneath her cloak. Her nape tingled.

Closing her eyes, she breathed slowly and measured, allowing her body time to adjust to the wave of power settling into the depths of her bones. When the warmth of magic subsided, she grabbed the book she’d taken from Khasapa House.

This book would contain the secrets of Filip’s power—a strength she didn’t yet understand. Her fingers loitered on the cover, unsure if she was ready to learn how powerful he truly was.

Biting her lip, she flipped to the middle, pressing the pages flat with her hands.

Nether Wielders: A History.

During the dark times of the Great War of the Wielders, there was a surge of powerful nether sorcerers, often in the form of shapeshifters.

Such a species was not considered a threat until it became apparent their access to nether magic was tenfold that of the average wielder.

The Great War saw nether sorcerers enslave and condemn their lighter counterpart: astral wielders.

The most famous and notable name from the War was Antanov Tarasov, who used his ability to shapeshift into an otherworldly creature—a demon, straight from the underworld itself, known as Nav.

She halted, stunned into a frozen, trance-like state as the words buzzed in her mind.

Since when did shapeshifters exist? It seemed, with each piece of magic she learned, there was something else crawling out of the woodworks to surprise her.

Antanov shared the same surname as Filip—could this be his father?

If her speculations were correct, then Damir and the civilians of the three countries faced an unsurmountable threat.

What sent ice-cold chills down her spine was the mention of Nav.

She’d heard stories of the underworld during her childhood.

Somewhere deep underground, enclosed away from the world by a river with deadly currents, the God known as Veles ruled.

In these stories, Nav was described as a green pasture, onto which Veles guided souls.

The entrance to the underworld was guarded by a Zmey— dragon .

The souls would later be reborn on earth, which rose the question in Adelina’s mind: was this how demons found their way onto the living plane?

Underworld. Demon. Shapeshifter. Dragon.

Dizzy, she dug her fingers into the mud as her vision tilted and spots formed.

She fumbled for her flask, shakily unscrewed the cap, then tilted it against her lips.

The cool water slid into her mouth, washing away the bile.

She closed her eyes, fighting the queasiness holding her body in a death grip.

As if sensing her unease, her horse whinnied nearby .

You’re going to make it through this. Damir’s voice sounded in her mind, drawing her from the edge of panic. You’re going to be fine .

She knew it wasn’t him—not truly—but she let him guide her, focusing all her energy on the memory of him. His warmth and strength, the scent of sawed wood clinging to his skin. Her north star.

Her magic hummed inside her, settling her nerves. That, combined with the echo of Damir’s voice, was all she needed. Even if it took everything she had—everything she was—she’d do what she must to make it back to him, to protect him and everyone else under threat.