Page 66

Chapter 63

IRIS

“I’m not even sure it’s possible.” I slammed another volume down, jolting the white-haired prince sprawled in an armchair from his dozing.

The ornate table in the middle of the Kacidon Royal Library was strewn with dozens of books in various states of disarray. I was confident that at least one of them held the answers I was looking for—or at the very least, a direction to head in.

“Well, I may be able to review your findings and assess them,” Aspen raked a hand through his hair, yawning slightly. “But that would require you to actually explain what in the ever-loving hells you’re looking for instead of tossing books around in a frenzy.”

His words were sharp, but his lips pulled between his teeth.

I stretched on my toes, reaching for a book just out of grasp. A gust of wind swept past, knocking it loose enough to fall into my outstretched hand. I turned to see Aspen wearing a smug grin, one arm extended to take the multiple books I had stuffed under my arm.

“You could probably do that too, you know,” he said casually, setting the stack on the table’s edge.

“Harness the wind?” I scoffed. “I think you’re rather overestimating the influence your presence has on me.”

He made a dramatic show of swirling his fingers, sending another pocket of wind curling around my shoulders, brushing the hair from my cheek.

“Are you really going to tell me that you haven’t figured out how to move a barrier you’ve created—thus also moving the object inside it?”

“Of course not,” I said, snatching the top book from the stack and plopping into a chair. “I’m mostly certain I discovered that at the age of six.”

“Clever girl,” he murmured, half under his breath.

Aspen pulled out the chair next to me, plucking a book at random from the table and lazily flipping it open.

“I see,” he chided, thumbing through the worn pages. “I’m just here to look pretty, aren’t I? I could pose for you, Virlana.” He made a show of leaning back in his chair, propping his hands behind his head. “Be your muse.”

“Your ego is the size of the Tundra,” I grumbled, biting back a grin.

“It’s bigger .”

Instead of voicing all the ways I planned to become acquainted with his ego , I rolled my eyes. “Why do I keep you around again?”

“My winning personality, my never-ending wealth of knowledge, my charming smile, my spectacular ass?—”

“You’re right, just the ass,” I interrupted, not taking my eyes off the passage I was reading.

He stretched dramatically across the table as a breeze slid up the side of my leg, raising gooseflesh in its wake. “You wound me, Sunbeam .”

A small grin escaped, momentarily pausing my frantic search through the worn pages. I wouldn’t admit it to him, but the nickname was becoming one of my favorite things to roll off his tongue—excluding some of the downright filthy phrases he had used earlier. It wasn’t lost on me how different it tasted now, even with the exact same phrasing as the first time he taunted me with it.

“Focus, Aspen,” I chided, swatting his arm away.

“I would, if I knew exactly what we were focusing on.” He rested his chin in his hand. “So, shall I pose for your entertainment, Threader, or will you share your devious plan with me?”

Another gust of wind snaked across my bare collarbone.

“Given that it was important enough to warrant putting our clothes back on.”

I slid another book across the table. “You are the least patient person I know,” I huffed.

“I think I’ve been very patient, especially with you.”

Much to my chagrin.

I ignored the pull at the bottom of my stomach, scanning the titles for what I needed.

“Those manners again, Virlana,” he drawled in the silence, ignoring the book in front of him.

“You’re incorrigible. As soon as I find what I’m looking for, I’ll tell you.” I prodded the book under his elbow. “Just start looking for anything involving magical detection or magical signatures.”

His eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “I’m doubtful we’ll find much about that here.”

“I know.” I sighed. “Most of the texts were destroyed ages ago.”

“Especially here. Punishment for Father’s involvement in the old war. But how do you know that?”

“Is it of importance how ?”

“Iris Virlana.” His voice dipped, amused but firm. “Are you telling me you spend your free time practicing inorganic magic?”

“Not as much anymore,” I avoided his gaze.

Aspen’s wind swirled around the room, and I shifted in my chair.

“What I did wasn’t even technically inorganic magic,” I clarified. “Plus, it’s highly misunderstood. At the end of the day, the term inorganic magic is used for any magic that wasn’t inherently gifted to us by the Triad through our goddess-blessings and essence. Thus, it comes with a price. But the intricacies of inorganic magic are ignored so that some types slip through the cracks while others are banned.”

“Like what?”

“Anytime inorganic magic is brought up, the immediate thought is of dark rituals, curses, and the like.”

“Which have been banned for centuries.”

“Right. But no one likes to examine how much we use other forms of it. Hells, I see it multiple times a day in the infirmary.”

“You’re talking about diagnostic charms.” He tapped a finger on the book in front of him.

“Which have been conveniently labeled as charms to distance themselves from what they actually are.”

I grabbed a plant from the table beside me, pouring the dirt into a pile.

“Diagnostic charms, no matter how prettily we’ve labeled them,” I dragged my finger across the dirt, forming three interconnecting lines, then another half-circle through all three, with one last arrow to connect them. “Are, at their core?—”

“Glyphs,” Aspen finished, tracing the lines. “Inorganic magic from the grimoires.”

“Healers without Medikai magic use them every day.” I twisted my right hand in the air, performing the hand motions I’d seen daily in the infirmary, matching the pattern on the table. I didn’t have a conduit beacon coating my fingers, so the shimmering symbol didn’t appear in the air before me.

Which was probably for the best—because the movement had been clunky as the hells. Nothing compared to the smooth, methodical flows the healers mastered.

“Anyone who attends a healing academy can train in them.” I shook out my wrist before repeating the motion. “They have nothing to do with goddess-blessings.”

“And it’s been done for so long,” he mused, “that no one gives it a second thought.”

“Inorganic magic is everywhere if you look for it. Most things any Ethera can train for, regardless of their goddess-blessings, would be considered inorganic magic.”

“Scrying,” he swirled the first symbol into a circle.

“Blood magic,” I added.

“Pathfinding,” he mused.

“And no one ever mentions that half of Solyndra’s innovations come from inorganic magic.” I shook my head. “Enchantments exist in all the realms, but the technological advancements Solyndra has? It’s monumental. I can promise you the airships there weren’t solely created with Spellbinder or Threader magics.”

“Airships?” Aspen sat up straighter.

“Have you never been to Solyndra?”

“I’d never been to an inner realm at all until our little gallivant in Reilune.”

“Eighteen years ago, Solyndra had airships.” I hadn’t stepped foot in the realm since escaping the Bronze Palace. “Now? They probably have advancements the outer realms could only dream of.”

And yet, they still ignored our pleas to render aid for this damn plague.

No missive arrived bearing the Phoenix crest of Solyndra or the golden sun emblem of the Council.

“So, everyone looks the other way, despite all these methods you’re describing. No one digs deeper, so they use Inorganic magic when it benefits them.”

“And persecute those who use it in ways they don’t approve of,” I added.

“Which, sometimes, can be used to disastrous effects.” He rubbed some dirt between his fingers, watching as it crumbled away. “Curses, dark rituals, blood magic… they’re dangerous.”

“They are. But so are our goddess-blessings in the wrong hands. The use of Inorganic magic, if the price is willingly paid, is in no way different than utilizing the magic that already exists in our own veins.”

“That is theorized to live in our veins,” he mused.

“It’s not a theory,” I snapped, my gaze locking onto his. “It does.”

His brows wrinkled as he shifted in his chair, caught between an unwillingness to dismiss my ideas and confusion at my disregard for what was widely accepted as fact.

Without the ice in his expression, he was so easy to read. And despite myself, I was startled by the vulnerability sitting so plainly on his face. Even after everything we had been through, it still surprised me that he chose to show himself to me with such ease.

“We know our magic lives within us somehow, but it's never been confirmed where exactly it’s housed.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, undoubtedly trying to hide his skepticism. “If it even is ‘kept’ somewhere, for that matter.”

“People tend to dismiss what they don’t understand,” I said simply.

He kept his expression open—an invitation to continue.

“Magical signatures were found in Ethera blood thousands of years ago, and the discoveries were reiterated during the old war, around the time of The Passage. There are very few records, but they exist. From what I understand, the findings were linked to Inorganic magic, which led to their erasure. There’s no way to know exactly how they were made, but any sort of magical detection…”

“Would have been a death sentence during the war for those with only one goddess-blessing,” Aspen finished.

I nodded. “And access to a magical signature—to another Ethera’s essence?”

“No one would allow that sort of vulnerability,” he concluded. “Which is why it was outlawed.” I watched the comprehension dawn on him. “It’s considered Inorganic magic because if someone had access to your essence, they could try to harness it.”

“Which, by definition, means using magic outside of what was gifted to us. It isn’t exactly the same as other types of Inorganic magic, but it doesn’t surprise me that it was labeled as such.”

Aspen collected the clay pot next to me, brushing the soil back into it as he continued watching me.

“Even if it isn’t the same, combined with the darker aspects of Inorganic magic, the implications could be devastating. Imagine what someone could do with another’s signature, with their essence. Considering the stigma surrounding non-essence magic as a whole, it’s not impossible that our ancestors—maybe even our parents—destroyed the evidence of that connection to keep it from falling into the wrong hands.” I sighed, shifting closer to him and reaching for my shears, tossing them onto the table. “I understand the fear, but knowledge shouldn’t be suppressed. Magic itself doesn’t have a moral code. It is how we wield it that matters.”

His gaze flicked between me and the shears, something between apprehension and wonder settling in his eyes. “I have a hunch your expertise on this subject extends beyond theoretical research.” He reached across the space between us, closing his hand over mine.

A gnawing sensation twisted in my stomach—the same apprehension I’d felt when I first began this research, knowing it wasn’t something I could openly share.

I turned my options over in my mind. I had crossed both moral and legal lines with my involvement. Telling Aspen could implicate him. But I didn’t want to keep any more secrets from him than I had to. I was proud of my work. And I wanted to share it. Especially with him.

He squeezed my hand gently, breaking through my distraction. “Your secrets are yours to keep, but understand that I would safeguard them as fiercely as my own.” His thumb brushed across my wrist.

I swallowed. “I’ll tell you the truth that is mine to share.” There were things I couldn’t tell him—yet. But this, I could. “What if I told you I knew how to access someone’s essence?”

His wind curled around my throat in response

“I tested the boundaries of my magic often as a child, especially before leaving the Bronze Palace,” I continued. “Solyndra has long prioritized Lux’s gifts, particularly Threading, and most Threaders live there. They’re adept at charms in general, but few have explored the roots of the gift beyond its traditional uses. My training as a child mostly consisted of weaving and untangling increasingly complex wards, with some more dynamic work. Basic charms were introduced, but they aren’t widely used across Altaerra anymore. It was up to me if I wanted to pursue them further.”

“Which I assume you did,” he mused.

I nodded. “Some before I left. Most after. It always felt like there was more—some untapped potential in our skill set. I explored other ways to use the tangible pieces of Threader magic. I liked to experiment. To test boundaries—both in Threading and potion-making. One has saved me from disasters caused by the other more times than I can count.”

“You remember using it? Even at the palace?”

“Yes,” I admitted, glancing away. “Most of those memories remain. Especially the ones where I lost control.”

“So, you remember training there and…” He hesitated, waiting until I looked at him again. “You experimented after?” His skepticism was clear. “I thought you didn’t like using your magic.”

I shifted in my seat. “I never exactly said that. I said it was unstable.”

His brow arched. “Meaning?”

I took a steadying breath. “Meaning I trained relentlessly at the Bronze Palace. Zinnia was against using the Threads when we left—the tie to the lost Sunchosen too precarious—but I scoured every resource I could to try and fix how unstable they were. Threading and unthreading on the run. Then in the deepest parts of the wilds. I used to enjoy it, even when it was uncomfortable. Even at sixteen, after I started collecting Threads in jars to study them. But as I grew, so did my essence. And when the pulsing beneath my skin became so deafening it knocked me unconscious, I started to drain it. Filled those same jars with Threads to empty my reserves. I siphoned my magic off, for relief yes, but also to understand it. But then I found a new method and…” My voice faltered. “I was reckless. And people got hurt.”

He squeezed my hand once. I was grateful for his rare willingness not to pry. Now wasn’t the time to explain that.

“So, then I stopped. Quit experimenting and used that new method to rid myself of it.”

“How do you get rid of it?”

I exhaled slowly. “I’m getting there.”

“I’d always been curious about the nature of our magic. I pondered for years why, even with centuries of similar powers, we had little explanation for how different abilities manifested. Why could I feel them pushing at my skin? Theon told me recently that he has an inherent sense of when water is around him. Then, I?—”

“Researched,” he chuckled under his breath.

“Yes, you know-it-all.” I batted his hand away and reached up to twist my hair into a knot at the base of my neck. “I researched. I had long since been experimenting with new ways to use my magic and had exhausted my efforts on the methods contained in the available sections of Gideon’s library.”

I stuck a nearby hairpin through the knot.

“I knew, deep in my bones, that magic was tangible. My Threader ability, when trained, allows me to see the details of a ward. To analyze how the pieces are woven together—even if I didn’t create it. To me, the solidity of our magic had to mean there was somewhere within our bodies that we housed the power. Our essence. I could feel that it wasn’t just what we called our power levels, but a living thing. And I needed to figure out how to access it.”

“Why?” he asked, genuine curiosity replacing the lingering uncertainty in his voice. He wasn’t minimizing my aspirations, I realized—he was simply trying to gain a greater understanding.

“Because I wanted to know what was wrong with mine,” I replied plainly. “Maybe if we had magical signatures, they could change. If I could access it—look at the intricacies—maybe I’d find answers as to why mine was so volatile. I could… fix it.” My voice hitched slightly, the weight of it pressing against my ribs. “Anyway, there were other situations where the knowledge was beneficial, ways I could use it to help people. It was also a method to challenge myself.”

“Did you?” he asked, tilting his head. “Figure it out, I mean.”

“Yes and no,” I answered honestly. “I had uncovered ancient texts about inorganic magic years prior, even some about magical signatures, but none of them described how to access it. I had suspected that the theories about our power circulating within our veins were accurate, but I knew it wasn’t something I could simply approach my mother about. So I?—”

“Experimented,” he finished, a grin crooking up on one side of his mouth.

I returned his smile, finally at ease about sharing my truth with him. It might not cross the line into treason, but the knowledge of what I had done would not be taken lightly—could even be used as a weapon in the wrong hands.

But with Aspen? I’d trust him with anything. Everything.

“What did that brilliant mind of yours discover?” he teased.

“It does exist. In our blood, that is. It’s all rather complicated, but Ethera have a sort of personal ward surrounding their magic. A ward that can be untangled,” I shot him a wink, unable to hide my grin at the pride in this particular discovery, “by a Threader. I make a small incision to access the circulatory system, my magic dives in, and then the cut is healed quickly to prevent rejection of my presence. Once I have access to the blood, I can untangle the individual ward and replace it with my own, using the fragments of the barrier to reach within and wrap around the magic itself—creating a visible magical signature that I can then extract. I can feel the other person's magic, as if it were sitting in my palm. I have no idea how, but my magic almost becomes an extension of my own five senses.”

He stared at me, open mouthed. “My wind—I can…” He took a sharp breath. “I can feel everything it touches.”

“So can Zinnia with her flames,” I responded. “She swears they have nerve endings.”

“So you can—” he shuddered slightly. “Essentially hold someone’s magic.”

“In a sense.” I chewed the inside of my cheek. “And they can feel it too. It’s all rather invasive.”

“What’s the price?” His voice grew solemn. “Is there still one? They’ve labeled signatures as inorganic magic, but you’re just using you’re Threading—right? No glyphs or anything of the sort.?”

“Right. I don’t think it’s the same kind of cost, but there is almost a draining for both people. The person whose magic I am examining loses a small amount of power from their reserves when the signature is extracted. It regenerates rather quickly—similar to when you use your wind so flippantly.” I tossed another book from the pile in his direction.

His hand shot out, catching it before it could smack him across the face. He paused, pulling it to the side, a wicked grin spreading. “And here I thought you had become fond of the ways I use my wind so flippantly.”

“I never said otherwise,” I retorted, leaning back into the soft velvet of the armchair and propping my ankles onto his lap. “My point is, it barely makes a dent in your reserves when you use it for menial tasks, correct?”

“Getting to touch you is never a menial task, Iris,” he said firmly, gaze burning into mine.

“I was more referring to your habit of knocking mugs off the top shelf instead of reaching for them,” I amended.

“Ah, yes, but that is not nearly as enticing,” he smirked, running a hand over the exposed skin of my calf. “To answer your question, though—yes. I rarely even register the loss. But how do you know your methods only expend negligible amounts from the subject?”

“I ran initial tests on my own signature. At first, it was difficult to determine what depletion was coming from using my own magic and what was coming from the extraction of the magical signature, but I was able to figure it out eventually.” I rolled my neck, stretching slightly. “Hours of trial and error.”

“And the cost for you?” he asked.

“It’s odd. The pull on that much power afterwards, it... temporarily negates my goddess-blessings. They just vanish for a bit. It’s never very long before they return, along with a splitting headache.” I tapped my fingers along my arm.

He shuddered. “How can you handle that… emptiness?”

“It’s brief” I shifted, inspecting my fingernails to give myself a reason to avoid his gaze. “And I only take a minute amount of power. I imagine if it were used in the way they fear, it'd be worse.”

“You think this would still be labeled inorganic magic?” He kneaded his knuckles into my sore calf muscles, and I suppressed a groan. The extended hours in the healer’s wing over the past two weeks had taken a toll on my body, and I hadn’t realized just how fatigued my muscles had become.

“Anything to do with magical signatures is illegal, no matter what method is used,” I explained.

“There are others? Outside of cutting someone open and dissecting their very essence, I mean.”

“I’m sure.” I shrugged. His tone was light, but I felt that underlying prickle of fear threaten to creep back in.

He studied me with fierce assessment for a heartbeat before something in his face shifted. “This is how you get rid of your magic, isn’t it?”

“Very astute, as always,” I said, suppressing a grin.

“Extracting your own raw essence…” Aspen scrubbed a hand across his face. “You’re fucking brutal, Virlana.”

“All part of my charm.”

“This is impressive magic,” he said cautiously. “Fucking brilliant, really. But I’m still lost on how we can use this with the Malum. You can see the signatures—but how does that help us?”

I sat up taller. His fingers curled around my calf, his thumb absently sweeping over my skin. As much as I adored what had happened in the lake—and would probably dream about it for months—this kind of absentminded affection struck a chord deep within my chest.

“I think there is a way to analyze other components of the blood. If this sickness is bloodborne, I may be able to find a trace of it in a patient’s blood. But that isn’t the theory I’m leaning toward.”

His eyebrows furrowed together.

“I think this illness ingrains itself within our magical signature.”

Before he had the chance to ask another question, I continued. “Think about it. We have near-immortal lifespans. There are very few ailments that afflict us to the extent of being deadly. If something is able to cause this much damage, it must be attaching itself to our very framework, somehow dampening it.”

I began reciting off the passage from Maladies and Miscreants.

“ In cases such as this, where circulation has been infiltrated through the venous system, the offending ailment must be pushed back before it returns to the heart. Once the contagion reaches the heart, there is no means of reversal. When the visible corruption of the veining begins to recede, it is indicative of the impurity returning to the junction in which the internal Ethera healing mechanisms can neutralize the contaminant .”

“You think the veining is the illness itself, traveling towards the heart.”

“Exactly.” I felt lighter than I had in ages.

“That's why we can’t heal from it.”

“It’s past the junction of where our Ethera healing is. Where our essence replenishes.”

“Which is why your revitalizing tonics are helping.” He clicked his tongue. “They speed up that replenishing process.”

“So if you extracted their essence, you’re thinking the Malum would be attached to it.”

I grinned.

“But what do we do then? If the Lotus Tonic works and it has helped with receding the veining already, what would we need to see the ailment for?”

“To remove it completely.”

Aspen flipped my palm, studying the lines there as if trying to understand what I planned to do with the magic underneath. “How?”

“That is what I’m trying to figure out,” I explained, pulling the pile of books between us. “Do you remember what Lenys used to make the decoder in Marikaim?”

“A Phoenix ash beacon.”

Another element that technically fell into the inorganic magic definition, due to how beacons could contain magic, but was used freely throughout Altaerra.

“And what do the healers use to perform diagnostic charms?”

“Ground Sygen scales, dehydrated kraken saliva…” His eyes lit. “They coat their fingers in all different types of beacons to draw the glyphs.”

“All different powders used as beacons for the same purpose. To imbue one’s power into something else,” I confirmed. “Lenys used my Threads to keep the linguistic magic in, only releasing it when necessary. Nevertheless, when I use Lenys’s decoder, I’m using their power to translate the texts—not my own.”

“It’s quite becoming when you break the law,” he grinned.

“The healers are doing the same thing with their glyphs really. They aren’t saving it, instead using the powders to power the glyphs. Instead of a goddess blessing, the beacon almost makes their essence malleable and then morphs it into the glyph once the hand movements are completed.”

His grin turned wicked. “You don’t want to just use banned magic to extract the signatures. You also want to use the glyphs.”

“My idea is based on the diagnostic charms. They can detect fever, minor illnesses, the presence of internal bleeding, other battle injuries, and pregnancy. But it's only a visual representation. But with Medikai magic, you can feel the insult.” I finally took a sharp inhale, realizing the words had spilled out so quickly I needed to draw in several more breaths before continuing. “Basically, I think we need all of it. The tonic to pull as much of the illness out as possible and bring it back to wherever the illness originates. If it’s as heavily ingrained in their signature as I’m thinking, we need to clear as much as possible before I dive in.

“My guess is we should be able to get it back to that junction where our essence originates. Then a Threader would be needed to pull apart a small sample of someone's magic and analyze each individual piece of it, the way I do with a ward. And then we write the glyph for the diagnostic charm but instead of using any beacon, we use one imbued with Medikai magic—hopefully diagnosing it with the charm while removing the insult with your power at the same time.”

The silence seemed to echo throughout the room. From the expression he wore I wasn’t sure if he intended to scoff, laugh, or run.

It was complicated. Perhaps too complicated.

But it was all we had.

His gaze didn’t leave mine as he laid his palm flat before me on the table.

“Teach me.”