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In hindsight, Ivain got carried away building the townhouse.

With glasswork from Eya, hardwoods from Arcadia, marble from Midgard, and furniture custom commissioned from the colorful array of local artisans who had flocked to Tempris before the Schism—the expense was enormous, the land costing almost as much as the construction.

But it was a gift, he’d told himself. Told his wife too when she’d just laughed and shook her head.

His baby sister had fallen in love with a Lowborn, and in doing so lost the support of their family.

So, he’d taken it upon himself to give the couple their start.

After Madoc died, Sarina returned the house, unable to bear staying in a place where she’d been so happy for so many years. The rooms were cleared out, wiped clean of any lingering memories. A few, Ivain claimed for his own.

The ballroom became a training hall.

The upstairs salon became a warded workspace, half lab, half archive.

And then there was this room. It had once been a wine cellar, carved deep into the bedrock where the temperature stayed steady year-round. He cleared it out, reinforced the walls, and layered enchantments until the stone could drain magic dry.

A magical saferoom. Sarina called him paranoid. He called it knowing exactly what the world was capable of.

Standing side-by-side, wearing twin expressions of worry, Ivain and Sarina stared at the long table set against the wall.

Keeping their distance.

Atop a pedestal in the center of it sat an earth crystal the size of a large goose egg. Scrawling lines of runes crisscrossed the surface, the anchor for the seed of magic that pulsed within.

The aura was palpable, charged with a low hum that prickled along the skin like static before storm. Even across the room, it set Ivain’s teeth on edge.

“I’m still so angry at you,” he said, the words tight. “You knew the risk if she tried again, and you let her do it anyway.”

“She’s a mage,” Sarina said, her arms crossed tight over her body. “Mages use their magic, Ivain. Besides, you said it yourself. She’s extraordinary.”

“Talent does not equal experience,” he snapped, his voice rising. “She had no business going back into that dream.”

“And yet, she’s alive, isn’t she?” Sarina fired back.

“More than that, she just handed you the solution to a very big problem.” She flung a hand at the green gem, its dull glow pulsing against the walls.

“We’re dealing with a Curse, Ivain. This is not the time to let your fear outweigh the reality of what we’re facing.

Taly’s magic is risky. No one’s denying that.

But it’s also the only reason we’re not flying blind right now. ”

He wanted to argue, to snap back, but the truth gnawed at him, bitter and undeniable. Putting aside the two-woman conspiracy of fire and foresight… Shards, why did it have to be a bloody Curse?

For decades, Ivain had been the unyielding rock upon which the island’s defenses were built. He had seen wars, plagues, and betrayals. Had faced them all without flinching.

But now, in this room, before that stone, something cracked. And in its place, something older crept in—something he hadn’t felt in years.

Dread.

Curses were magical diseases that could be designed to target any living tissue. Some even had their own intelligence, able to adapt, changing their mechanism and transmission method at will.

“At least we have the Eye,” Sarina said hoarsely. “We won’t have to waste time looking for it.”

The Eye of a Curse—the stone or stones that bound the magic. In this case, one had been used to poison the water. Thank the ever-loving Shards Skye had known enough not to touch it.

But that wasn’t even the worst of it.

Serpent’s Well fed the grow domes, where the earth mages grew the wheat that made the flour that got baked into bread—bread that every man, woman, and child in the city had been consuming for weeks.

“No wonder the humans have been getting sick,” he said, rubbing his eyes tiredly. Their constitutions were weaker; it wouldn’t take nearly as long for a foodborne Curse to build up inside their bodies. “I’ve been poisoning them.”

“You don’t get to take responsibility for this.”

“Don’t I?”

“No,” Sarina said with far more confidence than he currently felt. “You can’t blame yourself for the actions of others. You can only deal with the consequences.”

“We’ll have to recall the food supply. It’s going to cause panic, make people believe there’s a scarcity.”

“I’ll worry about public morale. I want you focusing on doing what needs to be done.”

The Eye gave another pulse of light before dimming, the light inside slowly dying as the nullifying effect of the saferoom drained its magic. Soon, it would be safe to take it upstairs, and he would begin picking apart the enchantments. Figure out what made it tick and hopefully how to undo it.

Ivain’s eyes moved to the opposite end of the table. The Eye was not the only thing Taly had come back with.

Candlelight danced across the crown’s gilded surface. Not just regalia—a claim. A purpose made manifest. A lure cast from the divine, forged to find its wielder.

“You’re sure you didn’t see anything?”

Sarina shook her head slowly. “Taly and Skye reacted as if something was there. The mimic could sense it. All I saw was the crown.”

To call it a crown was to diminish its significance entirely. It was a Vis’hallan . Different from the one he’d been given, but there was no mistaking it. It had been forged in the same ancient fires as that horrible crown of dark flames he’d hurled into the sea so many years ago.

Sarina wrapped her arms tightly around her body. “I’ve been thinking,” she said softly. “I know you have too. It’s just… saying the words out loud, it seemed…”

“I know,” Ivain answered, suddenly feeling so very, very old.

Sarina swallowed. “The way Taly described her training with Azura… It could be coincidence, but…”

Ivain frowned. “You and I both know there’s no such thing as coincidence where Azura’s involved.” He didn’t want to say it. Didn’t want to see the truth of it, but it was there—undeniable. “The first trial is always a test of separation, lasting a period of one year and one day.”

“And then that… game with the feyries,” Sarina said, the word curling in her mouth like rot.

“An impossible task. A trial that cannot be won, only endured.”

“The fact that Taly won…”

Ivain huffed a laugh. At least there was one bright spot in this mess. “I bet Az was livid. She always hated being beaten at her own games.”

“And then, of course, there’s Vaughn. ” Sarina growled his name, flames flickering around her fingertips before being snuffed out by the saferoom’s wards.

“Azura lured him there. And Skye. And then she created a situation where Taly believed her most desperate fear had come true, all to see if she could fight her way out of it. To see if she would kill.”

“A trial of death.” Ivain’s stomach turned.

He’d pushed students before. He’d made them bleed, made them break bad habits, made them claw their way through pain. But this wasn’t that.

It wasn’t survival. It wasn’t instinct or necessity.

Azura had taken Taly’s love and turned it into a weapon—a blade, sharpened on grief.

“Those don’t sound like mage guild exams,” Ivain said lowly.

“No,” Sarina replied with a small shake of her head. “They don’t.”

Ivain dragged a hand through his hair and finally said the words they were both avoiding.

“Azura intends for Taly to inherit the Time Shard.”

As if in answer, the crown seemed to pulse with its own inner light. Vis’hallan were born hungry. This one was already craving its master. It was ready to be wielded.

“We can’t let that happen,” Sarina said, soft but firm.

“I’m aware,” Ivain whispered. A Shard’s power was vast and terrifying, and Taly, his little one... She was still so young, still learning about her power. Even if she survived the bonding, she wouldn’t be able to control it. One errant thought could destroy her. Destroy an entire nation.

Ivain hung his head. “Sarina—”

“Don’t.” Her voice was raw, barely above a whisper.

But he went on anyway. “It’s already begun. The Rites. The Procession of Gifts—”

“Don’t say it.”

“—and, yes, Sarina, those were gifts. The Eye. The grimble. The Shards-damn crown. All the necessary pieces have already been set in motion.”

“Then we make it stop ,” she snapped. “You’d already been crowned when you escaped.”

He had. And he’d paid a steep price for that escape. He’d do anything to spare Taly from the same.

“I need to think,” he said, trying to breathe. He placed a hand over his heart, the ache there, and knew that it was breaking. “We’ll need to bolster the protective wards on the house, and there are teas that can dampen magic. Talismans that can be worn…”

Maybe it would be enough to stall the process, at least until they could get to Faro, where Atlas would be able to do more.

He was the High Lord of Water, after all. And Taly’s sire. He knew what being a Genesis Lord entailed, the sacrifice it required. Surely, he would want to save her from that hell.

Sarina’s hands slid into her pockets. “There’s still the fourth trial.”

“Yes.” And it was by far the most horrific: a sacrifice of the heart.

“Taly could still fail.”

“I’m not even sure it would matter. I can say with complete certainty that the Time Shard isn’t happy being trapped in that prison Azura created for herself. The gods prefer to be wielded. It’s looking for a way out.”

Sarina’s footsteps echoed on the stone floor as she stepped forward and carefully placed a cloth over the crown. Fear edged her scent. Her hands were unsteady. The crown would stay here, in this dead room, lest it find its way back to Taly, where it would do the most harm.

“What do we tell her?” Sarina asked.

Ivain shook his head. “Nothing. There’s nothing to be done, nothing that I can do to…” His voice cracked. “What good is it telling her she has a sword hanging over her head?”

Sarina blinked, tears burning hot down her cheeks. Each one hit him like a blade, slicing deep as the full weight of his failure settled on his shoulders.

He’d failed as a father. Again . History was doomed to repeat itself, and soon another headstone would stand in the shadow of Harbor Manor next to the other daughter he hadn’t been able to save.

His breath caught, guilt wrapping around him like a vice.

He turned for the door.

“Where are you going?” Sarina’s voice barely broke through the noise in his head.

“To speak with Bilal,” he replied curtly.

Sarina placed a hand to her throat. “The time mages are gone, Ivain. They can’t Weave walk beyond their own death.”

Yes, he knew that. But Bilal had made him a promise so many years ago, sworn on a blood oath that she would always come when he needed her.

The renegade time mage and self-proclaimed Queen of Misfits, his friend through so many dangers. The woman who had stood on the deck of that ship with him when he’d hurled that hateful crown into the sea.

If there was a way to save Taly from the Shard, a way to save her from having to pay that same horrible price, Bilal would know how to find it.

Ivain wrenched open the door, breathing in the stale air of the basement. Compared to the saferoom, it was fresh as a balmy spring day.

“Ivain,” Sarina called after him.

“I’ll be back in the morning,” was all he said.