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Chapter 49

IRIS

“Again.”

Sweat dripped down my brow as I pulled the Threads to the surface once more, letting them flow from my fingertips into the clearing before us. Melodies surrounded us as the strands wove together in new patterns. The golden wall in front of me shuddered as another stream of water broke through the bindings, splashing into my face.

Theon initially insisted on standing across from me while I practiced, demanding that the walls be built between us so he could test their strength as I wove. He had only relented to stand beside me when I pointed out that he wouldn’t be able to use the godsilk wraps to cut off my magic if necessary from across the clearing. Even then, he angled the streams of water so they were still directed at me whenever they broke through.

So I was currently soaking wet.

“I know for a fact it only took you seconds to build a wall with no weaknesses in the Tundra,” he said, the barrier in front of us shuddering but holding firm against the next surge of liquid.

“Yes, well,” I gritted through my teeth as the volume of the harmony grew louder, focusing on tighter knots in the patterns, “it was that or be buried under snow.”

“I could have that arranged,” I didn’t have to look at him to know he was grinning.

I stitched the last pieces of the ward together but left the Threads shimmering for him to inspect.

The practice had been rough at the beginning. The overflow of magic had spurted out erratically, flying in all directions. Though I had managed to rein it in before the godsilk was necessary, it had taken several attempts to build a wall—more before I successfully placed it precisely where Theon wanted it. The barriers in the Tundra had been easier. There, I cast the nets wide and far around our camps, pulling the stray pieces together only afterward.

Precise, tightly knit structures required far more concentration and control.

Today's focus was on permanent barriers, like those outside the Tundra or Bedry Caverns. My training with the Sunchosen had emphasized permanent structures more than any other form of Threading. They took longer to create but were significantly more stable once complete, requiring no constant source of magic to remain intact. Once I solidified the pattern and tied off the edges, the barrier would remain in place until unwoven by another Threader.

They were also far more susceptible to faults.

Temporary barriers—like the one I had created during the avalanche—required raw power, drawing heavily from my reserves. They were messier, their strength reliant on a constant stream of magic feeding into them.

Even before I had stopped using my magic, I had always been more comfortable with permanent Threading. It didn't require the same level of ongoing control. I could summon a Thread, weave it into the overall pattern, and then release my hold. Other forms of Threading required continuous manipulation of the strands—the raw magic they were derived from—to bend and conform them to my will while still maintaining dominance over them.

That was where it always went wrong.

Theon walked along the structure, testing it with both his body and his magic. This wall resisted his touch; even throwing his full weight against it, he couldn’t break through. That was an improvement. His magic, however, still found its way through the cracks, droplets of water slipping past the seams.

“Again,” he said, standing beside me again, arms crossed.

It took four more attempts before I finally created a barrier he couldn’t breach.

The restlessness of my magic subdued significantly. I couldn’t remember the last time I felt so light. The exhaustion was satisfying. Unlike the utter lethargy that followed draining my essence, it was a gratifying fatigue—like the ache after an intense hike or a long day in the apothecary brewing. Far more demanding, yes, but at least it felt like doing something.

Like control.

“We’ll start each lesson with static barriers,” Theon handed me a refilled flagon of water. “But you already have a decent grasp on them, and they don’t seem to make much of a dent in your reserves. How do you feel now?”

“I’d say at least a quarter spent, if not more.” I finished the last dregs and held it out for him to refill again.

“After this much practice, I’d have guessed more.” He considered me for a moment. “I think we should move on to more malleable structures—ways to use your Threads that require you to keep hold of them. Transient Wards. The ropes from Marikaim. For me, letting bursts of water go is easy—it doesn’t take much concentration. Maintaining the connection, bending the element to my will, that’s what is difficult.”

“I don’t need to use it that way,” I argued.

That was where it became dangerous.

With the exception of catching the arrow in Marikaim and stopping the avalanche in the Tundra, I hadn’t wielded my magic that way in a long time.

Temporary barriers were one thing—even that had been a last resort.

But using them alone?

I had taught myself everything I knew about that type of Threading, and I had failed.

I wouldn’t put Theon in harm’s way by being careless with it.

Not again.

“Being afraid of it will not make it any less dangerous, Red.”

“There’s no need. We can work on static barriers. They’re much more useful.”

I cringed at my own petulance. How could I make him understand that the risk outweighed any benefit?

“Fear of your own magic makes it more unsafe. If you want my help, we are learning your limits.”

“Theon, I can’t.”

“Why?” His stare pierced straight through to that space within me where my essence lived—where it pulsed and writhed and gnawed. “Why, Red?”

“Because I failed!”

The words tore out of me before I could stop them.

“I couldn’t control them, and people got hurt!”

“All right.” Theon crossed the space between us.

“This is my limit. I?—”

“No,” he cut me off. “It’s not. But we’ll figure it out.”

His gloved hand rested on my shoulder. “I won’t let you get hurt, all right?”

“It’s not me I’m worried about.”

Before he could reply, a melodic two-toned whistle cut through the air.

Nadya .

The signal we’d created years ago in case either of us became lost in the woods behind the Raven’s Grove.

Emerald green and moon-white blurs streaked toward us, wings beating overhead as their dark-haired riders came into focus. Snow billowed in all directions as the two Sygens landed, pulling their glistening wings to their sides.

Nadya dismounted Karhu, landing silently in the snow. The Sygen nuzzled her neck as she braced a hand behind its long, thin ear, whispering something I couldn't make out.

Beside her, Ferrin dismounted Merikh, the emerald green tattoo climbing up his bicep shimmered in the bright sun. The only Sygen pairing mark I had seen more extensive was the moon-white pattern on Nadya, wrapping around her shoulder blade.

In Reilune, they were more revered than soulbinds.

Nadya’s Volant training had been a game of survival, facing tribulations the other initiates trained their entire life for.

The resulting bond with Karhu was worthy of legends.

At the time, Ferrin had the strongest living Sygen pairing with Merikh, which no doubt played a considerable role in his appointment as heir of Reilune. He came from a wealthy family to begin with, gifted a Sygen at birth in hopes that he would bond with the creature and eventually complete the Sacrament. The gift was common among those with greater resources, he’d once explained, but it didn’t guarantee a pairing, even after years of familiarity. Sygen only paired with Volants, and vice versa—had he not completed his training, they would have been separated.

Ferrin had successfully bonded with Merikh when the time came, though. He entered training at twelve—the youngest of any Ethera—and she refused to leave his side. The strength of their bond and the feat of completing the Sacrament at such a young age had surely influenced the decision to appoint him mere days after as not only Reilune’s Prince, but heir to the entire Sygen-Volant Assembly beside Meirkh.

Nadya, though much older when she completed her own Sacrament, had been given a place among the Reilune guard in a similar fashion. Many Volants continued forward to join Reilune’s aerial military force after training, but it wasn’t a requirement. Some simply flew with their Sygen recreationally, securing positions outside of royal service. Many artisans, tradesmen, and healers alike paired with Sygens. But a bond strong enough to result in the tattoos marking the two warriors before us?

That brought attention—and with it, power.

“We were due for a grand entrance,” Ferrin announced, arms spread wide, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Nadya’s gaze flicked over me, her head tilting slightly as she assessed. I had undone all the barriers we’d practiced with, but as she drew her lower lip between her teeth, I knew she was searching for the tang of warding magic. It was faint, the remnants only noticeable if one was looking for it—but Nadya missed nothing. Her chin lifted, the ghost of a smile flitting across her face.

“Prince Ferrin. Nightshade.” Theon dipped his head toward each of them. “To what do we owe the pleasure of this visit?”

“Oh, come off it, Captain.” Ferrin threw an arm around Theon’s shoulders, jostling him before doing the same to me. “As my second-favorite personal bodyguard, there is no need for such formality.”

Theon chuckled, clapping Ferrin roughly on the back. “I don’t own a ship, Ferrin. I don’t know why you insist on calling me that.”

For some reason, during our night at the Kraken’s Cup, Ferrin had become convinced Theon was a pirate. I had no idea where the notion had come from, but it had apparently stuck—even now, sober.

“Aye, Captain,” Ferrin saluted before offering me his hand, pulling me into a twirl that sent us both spinning. We bowed low, our noses nearly skimming the snow. Nadya shook her head, the corner of her mouth twitching as Ferrin stepped back beside her.

“We have news,” Nadya said coolly, her expression unreadable once more. She ignored the playful hip bump Ferrin gave her.

“We should find the Snowman,” Ferrin added.

“He isn’t here,” Theon and I said in unison.

Aspen had been sent on yet another solo endeavor, orders from both Dante and his father this time.

To strengthen alliances . A fine time for them to start giving a damn about that.

Aspen saw it as little more than busywork and had been unconvinced of its necessity. I suspected it was a thinly veiled punishment—either for refusing the betrothal or for the events of the previous night. His silent defiance, the way he had refused to feed into the chatter about an arranged match. It wouldn’t surprise me if his father supported the arrangement; the man rarely spoke but seemed to heed Dante’s advisory on most, if not all, matters. For now, at least, the queen appeared to be doing something to keep it from becoming reality—whatever it was.

The inner workings of their court remained largely unknown to me, aside from what I’d learned from Aspen. I had no idea what it would take to enforce such a union, especially with so many involved parties resisting. Every realm had its own customs and traditions, and most did not share such information freely. Kacidon, more than most, kept its secrets in a vice grip.

“The group you faced in Marikaim,” Nadya continued. “We believe they’re part of a movement calling themselves The Incarnates . There was an attack on the Reilune-Kacidon border—two of them bore the brand you described on their chests.”

Why attack the borders?

We had been close to one of Marikaim’s, but that attack had felt personal. Warning us to stop looking for something. I had assumed it was related to Marikaim, but an ambush in Reilune made that less certain.

“Any idea of their motives?”

“No word in any of my networks of ‘Incarnates’,” Nadya said.

“They seem to be harnessing something,” Ferrin added. “This sort of white light. The ones with the brand passed it between each other. But I don’t know what their end goal was—there was no indication of what, or who , they were after.”

“We saw the light, but I don’t recall them passing it between one another.” I glanced at Theon. “Did you see it?”

“It all happened so quickly—if they did, I didn’t catch it.”

“Yes,” Nadya added. “Everything about them seems... accelerated . Their speed, their healing, their magic.”

“Did you see them use any Goddess blessings?” I asked.

“No.” Nadya tapped a nail against the leather bracer on her forearm, contemplating. “Only combat and the white light.”

I paced the clearing, running through the events of Marikaim again and searching for anything I might have missed.

“I still think we should’ve kept that eyeball I gouged out.” Ferrin’s voice was light, as if discussing the weather.

Nadya sighed beside him.

“Maybe Ris could’ve run some experiments on it,” he continued. “Made one of her healing teas?—”

“There will be no eyeball tea , Ferrin,” I chided.

He shrugged, undeterred.

“But it’s not the worst idea...”

“Wonderful, I’ll be sure to grab two next time?—”

“Not the eyeballs. But if I could study one of them…” My friend’s teal eyes gleamed as I looked up, still pacing.

“Alive, Nadya,” I corrected.

“I can’t promise that,” she admitted. “I was planning on detaining at least one of them for interrogation. But when the female was near death, she released that white light—raised her hand to the sky and shot something out. She was dead immediately after.”

“It was the same in Marikaim.”

“The one with her grabbed her body and fled.”

“Something about them feels…”

“Otherworldly,” Nadya finished.

I nodded solemnly. “I want to figure out what kind of magic they’re using—if it even is magic. The brand has to be affecting them internally. I think maybe…” I stilled, meeting their waiting gazes.

I couldn’t. I had just told Theon I couldn’t.

But perhaps…

“Actually, Ferrin—if you do have an eyeball, bring it,” I cleared my throat, swallowing down the rising bile. “Anything you can obtain from them: hair, weapons. If you bring a body, keep it alive . These were Ethera once. People. Maybe we can help them.”

“Ris…” Nadya’s voice held a warning. “They are trying to kill us.”

“I know .” I rubbed at my eyes, warring with ideals and morals.

The memory of the woman’s eyes haunted me—that glimpse of Ethera left in her, right before she had yielded to the white light.

It kept me awake.. How much of her was left?

“Protect yourselves above everything,” I finished. “Keep us updated on any sightings. Nadya, use–”

“Got it,” she said, already knowing I meant for her to dissolve the message.

The use of disappearing ink had been a fun trick when we were younger. It allowed us to hide our friendship from my mother and her disapproval, from the faction Nadya had left, from anyone in Reilune, lest they use any information against her.

Whoever these Incarnates were, we couldn't show our hand too soon. We had no idea how tangled their web was.

“Eyes on the sky, Ris,” Nadya said, mounting Karhu.

“Eyes on the sky,” I nodded.

“And bring me what you can. I have an idea—and I think Aspen’s magic can help.”