Page 46 of A Dagger in the Ivy (Blade Bound #1)

C Hapter

Dante’s kiss still lingers on my lips, long after he shows me the secret passageway that goes from his room to the courtyard, where a congregation of bushes and trees provide enough cover for me to slip out without anyone noticing. Since I couldn't wander out in my nightgown, I'm dressed in a tunic and trousers that belonged to him when he was younger, and I'm reveling in being surrounded by his smell. It’s early dawn, too early for breakfast, and way too early for my lessons, but I need to find Ezra.

Torbin destroyed my powder days ago, and I can only hope that Ezra has some on hand. Otherwise, I’ll have to wait for him to prepare another batch.

But I also have some questions I hope he can answer.

The tingle in my arm seems to be expanding, and I need to find out why. It feels like a spark of energy swirling through my veins, like a buzzing tremble that’s growing, moving through my body.

I don’t want to get my hopes up by assuming my fae powers are finally manifesting, but I don’t know what else it could be.

I take a chance and go to the lesson room, which I find unlocked. The room is dark, and at first, I think Ezra isn’t there, but then a shuffling sound resonates from behind the desk. I venture farther into the room and try to peer past the stacks of books and scrolls and beakers of liquid.

I startle when his head pops up into view.

“Oh, Ezra.” I clutch a hand to my heart. “Why are you in the dark?”

He stands up straight and fixes his robes. “I guess my eyes must have adjusted.” He rounds the desk and studies me. “You’re up early. Is there something I can help you with?”

“Yes.” I come closer, feeling apprehensive about telling him about Torbin throwing my vanity across the room. There would be too many questions. I decide to leave some of the details out. “I need more of your relaxant powder.”

“Ah, yes. Of course. I must have misjudged the quantity. I was sure it would last you longer than this.”

I hold back a grimace. “I had more, but I lost some when I was out with the regiment.” It’s not a lie.

“Well, you’re in luck.” He moves to the shelf of ingredients. “I’ve already started a new batch, but I haven’t quite finished making it. It’s nearly done, though. Won’t take but a few minutes if you want to wait.”

“That’s good news.” I slide into my usual seat. “I’ll wait.”

I clench and unclench my hand, turning it over and studying it, as if I could see something different about it. But other than the scar left from Torbin stabbing me, it looks the same. Under the surface, however, there’s something else going on. With a deep breath, I gather my courage and voice the question that has been gnawing at my mind.

“Ezra?”

He looks up at me from his mortar and pestle. “Yes?”

“What did the fae do during the Age of Blood to protect themselves from those who sought to usurp their powers?”

The magister’s brows scrunch together, clearly caught off guard by my question. After a moment, he nods. “The fae faced countless threats during the tumultuous times of the Age of Blood. Many sought to exploit their powers for their own gain, unleashing chaos and destruction upon our lands. The fae faced trials and tribulations as they struggled to preserve their ancient heritage in the face of relentless persecution. Some of the other lands used sirens and witches to try to overthrow the fae unless they gifted their powers to them. When confronted by their enemies in those dark times, the fae claimed to have gifted their powers to the gods, telling the leaders of the other realms that it was a deal made between them and the deities.”

“‘Gifted to the gods’?”

“That is what they claimed. That the gods took their powers, and in return the fae would be protected. There was much speculation about their claims, but in the end, it was effective in shielding them from those who sought to wield their magic for nefarious purposes.”

I let the words sink in, trying to make sense of it all. “If the fae were living without their powers, how were they able to protect themselves?”

“Ah, yes. The wolves.”

I lean forward. “‘The wolves’?”

“With the demise of the dragons, the relationship between the fae and the wolves, which had always been symbiotic, grew more prominent. The fae entered into a sacred covenant with the wolves, based on mutual respect and the recognition of each other’s strengths. The fae, using their ancient magic, enhanced the wolves’ natural abilities. This magic gave the wolves greater strength, intelligence, and longevity, making them formidable guardians. In return, the wolves swore loyalty to the fae, serving as their protectors in times of need.”

I feel as if it’s all starting to make sense. The wolves who are always around when I walk in my sleep, the wolves who howl in the distance when there’s trouble, it all comes back to the history fae share with them. A history that connects them to me.

“And so, the fae thrived, even without their powers. But in the Age of Silence,” Ezra explains, “the fae regained their powers, claiming that the gods had returned their magic to them.”

I furrow my brow, a nagging sense of doubt tugging at the corners of my mind as I struggle to reconcile the contradictions of history. “‘Returned their magic’? That seems a bit… convenient.”

The magister’s eyes gleam with a knowing light as he leans forward, his voice lowered to a hushed tone. “My thoughts exactly.”

“So you think they were lying?”

He measures some of the prepared powder into a small ceramic pot. “I believe that the fae may have found a way to hide their magic away, locking it within objects or artifacts to safeguard their ancient heritage from those who sought to exploit it until they were no longer a threat.”

“I didn’t even know that was possible.”

“It’s a theory, of course. There’s nothing in the history books that expands on the subject.”

The gears in my head are working through the implications of his words, and I sit there for a while, trying to process. When the pieces start coming together, I lift my chin and gape at him. “What kind of objects do you think they used?”

“It could be anything, really. But knowing the fae, I would imagine they were objects that held some meaning to them.” He steps around the desk and hands me the pot. “There you are. I hope this one lasts longer than the last.”

“Thank you, Ezra.” I set the pot down, still contemplating telling him my theory. “So, do you think they might hide magic in a dagger?”

He leans back against his desk and crosses his arms, his eyes far-off as he begins to nod. “Yes, I suppose so. Does this theory have anything to do with the dagger your mother gave you?”

I sit up straight and look him in the eyes. “Ezra, I have to tell you something, but you have to promise not to overreact. If this information leaves this room, we could both be in a lot of trouble.”

“I am committed to serving you, Your Highness.” He inclines his head. “Of course I promise.”

I hold out my hand to him. “Do you feel anything when you touch or hold my hand?”

Ezra regards my hand before he comes nearer. He lays his hand upon it, then around it, before retracting and shaking his head. “Aside from it being a tad on the warm side, no. Nothing.” He tilts his head. “But something tells me you do.”

“It started as a tingle, right here. ”

He looks closer. “Where this scar is?”

“Yes. But now the tingle has grown, and it’s a buzzing energy that’s flowing through me. It feels… It feels like it does in the dreams I have of my mother stabbing me.”

He is quiet for a moment, taking my hand and flipping it over. “How did you get this scar?”

“It’s from my dagger.”

Concern appears on his face. “Did someone stab you in the hand?”

I bite my lip. “I don’t think I can tell you the whole story. But yes. That’s when the tingling started.”

“I see.” He stands and starts pacing, blinking as he contemplates.

“Ezra, do you think my mother hid powers in this dagger?” I swallow the lump in my throat. “And if she did, do think it’s possible the power has transferred into me?”

I wait as he paces some more. He doesn’t look at me for a long while, most likely calculating the possibilities, but I can’t be sure.

At long last, he stops pacing and turns to me. “It’s not outside the realm of possibilities, but even if fae powers were hidden in there, I don’t believe a cut would be enough to draw them out. Otherwise, they could be transferred to anyone on whom you use the weapon. It’s too easy. I can’t be sure how the fae hid their magic or how they got it back, but I would imagine that it would entail combining the transfer with magic, like an incantation, a sacrifice, a ritual, or something else entirely.”

The unknown gnaws at me, twisting my thoughts into knots. Ezra is assessing from his logic, but there’s only one way to find out the truth. “The fae in Alphemra would know.”

“They are not known for sharing their secrets.” He raises a brow at me. “As I’m discovering firsthand.”

I was born in Delasurvia. My mother brought Bennett and me to Alphemra once when we were small, but I don’t have much memory of the island or my family there. We lost touch after my mother died, and I have no idea if I have their trust. I look up at Ezra, and I’m pretty sure he can see the hopelessness in my eyes.

He leans forward and rests a hand on my shoulder. “I will search my books and see what I can find out.”

I reach for the pot, but as soon as my hand gets near, the pot slides away, scraping softly against the wooden desk. I freeze, staring at it, my pulse quickening. What the fuck just happened? Ezra’s eyes narrow as he stares at the pot too.

“Did you see that?” I whisper, retracting my hand.

“Do it again,” he says, his voice calm but filled with curiosity.

Hesitantly, I reach out again, and just like before, the pot shifts farther away, as if repelled by my presence. The tingling sensation I’ve been feeling all day intensifies, swirling through me like a current of energy.

Ezra leans closer, examining the space between my hand and the pot. “It’s connected to that tingle you’ve been feeling,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “I suspect it’s the magic emanating from you.”

Emanating? My heart skips a beat, contemplating what this means. The tingle hums steadily in my veins.

“Try it once more,” Ezra instructs. “This time, try to control it. Pull the energy back, rein it in, and then see if you can take hold of the pot.”

I nod, though uncertainty twists in my gut. I concentrate, trying to visualize the energy inside me, trying to pull it back, to suppress it. The tingling dulls slightly, like a wave receding, and I reach out again. The pot stays in place this time. Slowly, carefully, I close my fingers around it and lift it from the desk.

“Good!” Ezra nods approvingly, though there’s a hint of concern in his eyes. “You managed to control it, but it’s clear that you’re only just beginning to understand what’s happening.”

I exhale slowly, the weight of the pot in my hand grounding me. “But how do I really control it?”

Ezra rubs his chin thoughtfully. “I’ll add this to my list of things to research. We’ll need to train, experiment… but not now. I do believe you have to get ready.”

I glance at the sunlight coming in through the door, realizing how late it’s getting. There’s so much more I want to ask, but time is against us. “Another day, then,” I say, though I’m not sure when that day will come. “Thank you, Ezra.”

Ezra gives me a reassuring smile. “We’ll figure this out, Celeste. For now, just be mindful of that energy. It might react when you least expect it.”