Page 67

Chapter 64

IRIS

“Aspen, it won’t be… comfortable for you,” I warned, wincing slightly. “Your magic will feel threatened, at the very least. It also requires access to your bloodstream—an invasion of my magic into yours. Last time I did this, I couldn’t control it.” I filled my lungs with as much air as I could manage, bringing the heel of my palm up to knead away the tightness in my sternum. “People got hurt. Really hurt.”

“And now you know your magic even better,” he replied, tucking my feet beside his thigh and leaning forward to take hold of the shears I had left on the table. “I’m only concerned with how you will feel. If you want to show me, I want to learn.”

Something in my chest loosened.

How long had I waited to share this with someone else?

A line had been drawn so clearly I could almost see its outline. Cross it—explore my magic like this again—and face the consequences. Or leave it and continue as things were.

I refused to sit in the darkness and stare at my wounds forever.

I was tired of how things were.

I was tired of feeling powerless.

I was tired of running.

I was so damn tired of pretending.

For everyone affected by the Malum. For the young, terrified Ethera, unsure of how to wield their power.

For what it meant to our people.

For me.

I wanted this.

Because what if this wasn’t only helpful for the illness? What if it meant what I’d always hoped it would? What if it helped us understand our magic?

Regardless of how it how I felt about the Triad, this was what they built Felviran around. Ideals that, though long neglected and used instead for pageantry, still resonated in every step I took. In every failed tonic and scoured book and drop of blood spilled.

Protect the Wild. Preserve the Unseen. Pursue the Unknown.

I slid my feet from his chair, folding them beneath me and inhaling deeply. “Are you sure?”

“I can handle anything you throw my way.”

“You have to stop me.” I dug crescent moons into my palm. “If it gets to be too much, you have to cut me off.”

He remained silent, flipping the dagger to present the silver handle. I clenched my fists once to rid them of any trembling, squeezing my eyes shut and slowly counting down from ten. I had refused to even think about this kind of magic for years, and already, the panic was setting in. I began repeating constants in my head, faintly registering the clink of metal on wood.

Two large hands wrapped around my own.

I am Iris Virlana.

My magic is my tool; it does not control me.

It does not change who I am.

Aspen is safe.

I am safe.

I blew out a breath, opening my eyes to meet his. I weighed the shears in my palm, testing the sharpness of the tip against the pad of my finger. A brief sting, and then a bead of red bloomed.

Instinctively, I went to pop my finger into my mouth to staunch the bleeding, but Aspen caught my wrist, guiding my hand to his lips instead.

My mouth went dry as I watched him slip my finger between his lips, his tongue running over the cut before sucking gently. His gaze locked onto mine, and for some reason, the moment felt far more intimate than even what had transpired at the lake.

I sucked in a sharp breath as he pulled my finger from his mouth, brushing a thumb over the wound, closing the small split in the skin.

I wet my lips, exhaling slowly in an attempt to calm my pulse. “Thank you,” I croaked.

Bringing the tip of the blades to the soft flesh of his forearm, I glanced up for confirmation. He nodded once, eyes blazing.

“As soon as you feel my magic, you need to seal this,” I instructed, searching for a large vein near the crook of his elbow. “I don’t have to do it when I practice on myself, but your essence will reject mine.”

I angled the tip, blew out a breath, and sliced, allowing tendrils of magic to dart from my free hand into the open wound.

Immediately, my magic was dragged in—forcefully.

My chest ached, a hook lodged itself there, yanking at the line, tearing to the bone. I barely noticed Aspen sealing the cut, too focused on drawing my power back into my grasp.

I am in control.

And then… warmth. Not the searing heat in my blood when I was angry or scared or flustered.

It was the warmth of the sun drying water from your skin on a summer’s day.

The warmth of a steaming mug of tea, spreading through your chest.

The warmth of a hand in yours, refusing to let go.

The pull was not uncomfortable. It was pleasant. Playful, even.

Another gentle tug caused me to hesitate. I couldn’t lose control again.

I lessened my grip marginally and sighed. The tighter I held on, the more my power warred against me. I let go, just a fraction more.

Golden strands wove beneath Aspen’s pale skin, searching his blood.

I laughed.

I was using my magic.

And it felt right.

I waited for the nausea to hit, but instead, a sudden rush surged through me. My power buzzed with excitement. The familiar tang of barrier magic coated my tongue, alerting me to Aspen’s presence.

I quickly went to work, untangling the weavings around his essence—careful, deliberate, taking care not to move too quickly and damage what lie underneath.

It was elaborate. I had expected as much, given his strength. But to my surprise, it wasn’t difficult to unravel. Each stitch loosened at my touch, opening without resistance, allowing me access to this sacred piece of him.

With his magic laid bare, I stole a glance at his face. My magic wove around a small section of his essence, braiding with his in slow, intricate loops, an exquisite harmony pouring in every direction.

His mouth was slightly ajar, his chest barely moving.

Was he even breathing?

I quickened my pace, not wanting him to endure this any longer. “I’m sorry… I know it isn’t?—”

His eyes snapped to mine, and the only word I could find to describe his expression was wonder.

“Keep going,” he breathed, his hand closing over my knee.

The push and pull continued—not aggressive, not rushed. Instead, it swayed and bowed—a give and take—like the lingering steps of a dance after the music had long since died.

When the last Threads tightened, completing the ward, it shifted.

Aspen exhaled at the exact moment I inhaled.

My magic caressed his, and each touch sent a spark reverberating through my bones. It was bliss.

I had only performed this with one other Ethera before, and that experience had felt vastly different.

I lifted the bundle, guiding it through his skin into the air before us. An orb of gold surrounded a core of blinding light. The room dimmed in its incandescence. Wisps of blue and silver curled from the center, trailing lazily around the inside of the barrier before diving back into the ball of light.

“Those,” I breathed, pointing at the tendrils. “I think they compose our magical signature. If I can separate them, I should be able to identify what makes up each signature—and if anything is impacting someone’s magic as a whole.” My pulse quickened. “The tonic may work, but we won’t know until it takes effect. This… this could tell us how it’s working. How their essence is impacted. And beyond that?—”

“It’s beautiful,” he murmured.

“The colors suit you,” I replied, the corner of my mouth twitching. “Blue and white and silver.”

His throat bobbed. “Yours too. I don’t get to see it as much as I’d like.”

He reached out hesitantly, fingers dancing along the golden edges surrounding the sliver of his magic. A shiver ran through my spine as he grazed across the outside of the ward, feeling his touch as if it skittered along the very essence of my being. I lightened my hold, letting the sphere pulse toward the core of magic in the center. It seemed to hum in approval, colors twirling together in slow, deliberate movement.

I let it settle back into his arm, unraveling the golden Threads and allowing them to seep into his skin. I wasn’t entirely sure what happened with his signature once I released it. Another aspect to research, I supposed.

After what felt like an eternity of silence that I spent staring at his bare forearm, he spoke. “I wouldn’t describe that as unpleasant,” he whispered, and I steeled myself before looking up. I wasn’t sure I could take the pain there yet. “Iris, this is brilliant.”

A grin spread wide across his face.

“Truly, it is. Each classification of magic has been considered unchanging for years—no one ever bothers to look past traditional wisdom. And you—” he paused, as if truly taking me in. “It’s groundbreaking.”

“And unfortunately,” I huffed, somewhat indignantly, “I’m not sure I can share it with anyone. At least not yet. Inorganic magic is too widely misunderstood.”

“I’m serious, this could—” He gestured to his forearm before collapsing back into his chair. “This could change so much, Iris.”

“I’m not sure about that.”

“You could create a way to analyze each person's individual magical signature,” he interrupted, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. His gaze drifted, unfixed, lost in possibility. “This could be used for so many things—to help Ethera with unheard-of powers understand them better, to explore unknown depths of magic more fully, to revolutionize certain healing practices…”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Aspen,” I barked a laugh, turning back toward the table and flipping open a dusty burgundy tome with gold embossing. “If I’m right, the ability has been there all along—it just needed to be explored further. Healing is so complex that I still wouldn’t know what to do with the information, and we shouldn’t minimize what?—”

His hand shot out, stopping me mid-page-turn. His grip was gentle, but insistent, turning my attention back to him.

“Iris, this is spectacular. Stop undermining your own brilliance, please.”

I fought not to roll my eyes, but ultimately, the dramatics of his statement won out.

“You’re acting as if I’m saving the world.”

“You are saving someone’s world,” he said firmly, flipping his hand to lace our fingers together. “This could create a better world. One we will fight for.”

“Not if I can’t figure it out,” I murmured, averting my gaze and blinking rapidly. Not the time. “I don’t know the diagnostic charm, and I’m not sure it would even work in conjunction with the rest of the process. We may need an entirely different glyph altogether, and almost every grimoire has been destroyed. Plus we need to get our hands on a beacon to infuse with your magic. Even if it does work, I’d need to test it several times—on myself first, then probably on patients who had already passed. Right now, I can’t save anyone.”

“Test it on me.”

“I can’t ask that of you,” I said quietly.

“You’re not. I’m telling you to.”

I chewed the inside of my lip, tapping the pads of my fingers together several times. “…Okay.”

“And if it does work? There are too many people affected for you to heal by hand. No one could expend that much essence.”

“I’m hoping that, eventually—assuming it actually works—we may be able to contain the process within something. It sounds nearly impossible, I have no idea how it would function, and it would need another beacon. One for your magic, and then one to contain the entire process. But if we could create a device like Lenys’s decoder, one that detects anomalies in our signatures, it could change everything.”

“We could finally understand our magic,” he agreed.

“Or it could be used for destruction,” I countered. “I have no idea how to keep it from becoming a weapon.”

“Does that mean we shouldn’t try?” He pulled his chair forward, resting his elbows on the table.

“No,” I conceded. “No, I don’t think it does. But we need to be careful.”

“How can I help?”

I swallowed, working the thickness from my throat. Without a word, I gestured toward the table and slid another stack of books toward him. Around us, massive piles of worn tomes loomed like sentinels, their spines cracking with age.

I suspected there would be little sleep in our future.

“We start here.”