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And there was one more thing he didn’t want to think about—whatever Skye and Taly did behind closed doors that had them both smiling so much.

Ivain said, “You’re crossing back on your own timeline, and you know that I know what that means.

I know what happens when time mages meddle in their own affairs.

The Weave destabilizes, new timelines branch out.

New worlds become reality when they should’ve died a passing thought. ”

Cori idly swished the liquid in her glass. “You know, you never used to be so judgmental.”

Was it normal for a parent to want to kill their child?

“The last thing I need right now is a multiversal war,” he countered.

“You act as if I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“ Do you know what you’re doing?”

“You never used to ask me that.” Finishing her glass, she placed it on the desk to be refilled. “I wonder what changed.”

“What changed? What—you’re my daughter, that’s what changed!

” She’d ridden on his shoulders and fallen asleep in his lap, always drawn to his office late at night by the sound of his records.

There would never be a day when he looked at her and didn’t wish, in some small way, that she could’ve stayed six years old.

Her expression softened. “I’m being careful,” she said, and the tightness in his chest eased a bit.

“Thank you.” He still wasn’t happy, but at least it was something. Reaching across the desk, Ivain refilled her glass. “I assume you already know why I called you.”

Cori settled back in her chair and swirled her brandy. She said with all the certainty of a time mage, “You’ve discovered the Time Shard’s intentions, and you want to know how to stop it.”

Ivain nodded. “Your eyes…” They were still the same startling shade of steel gray, aglow with magic, which meant— “Surely, there must be a way.”

“There is,” Cori answered. “But you don’t need me to tell you what it is, oh mighty King Who Never Was. ”

Of all his titles, Ivain hated that one the most.

“No,” he said roughly. “No, I won’t do that to her.”

“You were chosen, same as me. You completed the trials, you were crowned, the Shadow Shard revealed its face.”

And it had terrified him. All that power, the barely contained malice. He’d heard too many whispers of Genesis Lords losing their minds towards the end of their reigns.

So, he’d done the one thing he could to escape it. He’d carved out a piece of his soul and paid the price for it every day since.

Love, friendship, compassion, trust—it had taken him years to find the meaning in them again.

To connect with a place, a person. He’d lost his footing in this world, or maybe the world had lost him.

Even now, there were mornings when he would wake and find himself back at the bottom of that pit, barely able to breathe beneath the weight of the day stretching out before him.

Ivain sat rigidly at his desk, fingers pressed together as he exhaled slowly. “Are you really telling me that in the whole of this vast, wondrous world, there’s only one way to escape the wrath of a god? That if I want to save her, I have to mutilate her?!”

Cori sat silently, staring him down.

It was answer enough.

His stomach twisted viciously, and he leaned forward, placing his forehead on the cool wood of his desk. His head was spinning. He just wanted this to be over, wanted everything to go back to the way it had been before the world got so broken. He wanted his children safe .

“We all want a lot of things,” Cori said, as if she could see inside his head. Or maybe after so many centuries, she simply knew how to read him. “In this case, however, you’re asking the wrong question.”

“How do I save my daughter?” he grumbled into the wood. “That seems pretty straightforward.”

She growled a sigh. “Shards, you are so stubborn when you decide to get in your own way. All right, I’ll spell it out for you.”

Rising to her feet, Cori paced to the window.

“A Shard-binding is a fusion of souls. That of the Shard and that of the host. It’s not a true joining—the bond can still be severed, though usually at great risk.

But there does have to be a certain compatibility for the Shard to maintain the connection. ”

Leaning against the windowsill, she stared out into the darkness of the Long Night.

“When you scarred your soul, you made yourself less compatible. You altered the shape of yourself enough that the Shadow Shard lost its grip. There’s only one way to escape a Shard-binding, that much is true.

But you don’t have to damage your soul to alter the shape of it. ”

Ivain lifted his head. She was right.

Eyes wide, he looked to Cori. “Is there another way to alter the shape of a soul?”

She grinned, as if to say, now, you’re asking the right question . “Have you ever wondered why no Genesis Lord has ever been soulbonded. Wed, mated—yes. But a soulbond—that changes the shape of you. It changes the nature of your magic. It makes you…”

“Less compatible,” he whispered. “So, Taly and Skye, the soul bond between them—it will protect her? ”

“Potentially.”

“What does that mean?”

Cori shrugged. “Their souls are reaching for one another, but they haven’t merged yet. Until a soul bond is complete, it can still be severed.”

He wanted to ask about Skye, if they were still together, still bonded.

If her eyes were still gray, then maybe. Possibly...

“I won’t answer,” she said.

“I’m aware.” Maybe she really was reading his mind. “Though it would be useful if for once you would just tell me how and if there’s a way for me to help you without making it a guessing game.”

She said nothing, as expected.

He needed to find the right question. The bond wasn’t complete yet, but Taly was projecting, and they were already sharing dreams, speaking mind-to-mind. That meant they were advancing.

He asked instead, “Is there a way to, I don’t know… speed up a bonding? Strengthen the connection? Enough that when the Shard finally makes its play, it won’t be able to find its grip?”

“Yes. There are ways.”

Ivain felt a fleeting stab of victory. Getting information out of a time mage was like squeezing water from a rock: challenging, headache-inducing, and most of the time an exercise in futility.

Cori pushed off the window and paced to the fire, inspecting the glamographs and bric-à-brac along the mantle.

“A soul bond, at its core, is about the choice two people make to be together, and it grows stronger every time that choice is reaffirmed. Over and over, year after year, until that choice becomes permanent. If you want to strengthen it, then test it. Force the choice. Though, I would argue, you’re venturing into a moral gray area. ”

“I don’t understand.”

“The choices can’t be meaningless,” she said, picking up a framed glamograph.

A much younger version of herself beamed back, sandwiched between Skye and Ivain.

“These are life-and-death reaffirmations of two people wanting to be together. What are you going to do? Throw one of them in a volcano to see if the other jumps in?”

She replaced the glamograph on the mantle, circling back around to stand in front of the desk.

“So, you’re saying there’s nothing I can do then?” And Shards, he’d never felt so helpless.

Reaching past him, Cori grabbed a fountain pen and a clean sheet of paper from beneath his letters. “The humans have a saying: focus on what you can control, leave what you can’t.”

Despite the pit in his stomach, Ivain smiled. “I taught you that.”

“Yes, you did.” Head down, she began to sketch out a shape. “I know you’re worried about Aneirin. That he might retaliate.”

Ivain sighed. Yes, that was a concern. “I can’t imagine he’s very happy about Taly taking his keys.”

Cori’s eyes flicked to his. “Oh, he’s not,” she said, grinning.

With another heavy sigh, Ivain pressed a hand to his face. “I don’t know what to do,” he admitted. “How do I fight something if I don’t even know what it is?”

“Don’t you, though?” Cori countered. “Come on. I know you have a theory or two rattling around up there.”

But Ivain’s mind still rejected it. That was the problem with being old—too much time for patterns to form, for connections to take root whether they belonged or not. Because if hyaline really was magic, it would imply the existence of a patron.

“What if this is only the beginning?” he said lowly.

“What if we’re on the edge of something far worse than we can comprehend?

I’ve spent centuries building a foundation of knowledge and safety, and now it’s all falling apart.

I have no way of protecting this city from something I don’t understand.

No way to protect my family from this creature, this… ”

Ivain faltered. What could he even call it? Not a shadow mage, that much was clear. If Aneirin was a jumper, there would be limitations, and this… thing seemed to have none.

He rubbed a hand to his chest, the unfamiliar tightening there. It took him a moment to recognize the feeling—panic. “He could be anywhere, inside anyone. He could take any of them at any moment he chooses, and I would be powerless to stop it.”

“Not powerless.” The pen scratched as Cori gave a final flourish. “Not with this.” Then she held up the paper.

The design was simple: two circles, one drawn inside the other, with a long, unbroken line dividing both.

Cori said, “It’s called the Crucible, and it is the original symbol of creation. Written in the stars by the gods themselves, if you believe that sort of thing.”

“And what am I supposed to do with it?”

“That’s for you to decide.” But she smiled, leaning in to whisper, “Between you and me, and this is off the record, Bill really hates it.”

An answer inside a riddle twisted around to mean nothing. That was how it felt dealing with time mages. Still, it was more than he’d had a moment ago, and he took the paper.

“Thank you,” he said. “I think.”

Cori winked, looking up when the clock chimed 10:30.

“You have to go,” he said.

She nodded, and he felt a pang. He wanted more time. He wanted to talk like they used to. He’d missed his friend.

She finished her brandy and fetched her cloak, swinging it over her shoulders at a rakish angle. He called out before she could open the door.

“Why Bilal?” She arched a brow in question, and he shrugged. “When we met, you told me your name was Bilal? Why? I was so young. I wouldn’t have known the significance of your name.”

One hand on the doorknob, she smiled, and it was more real than anything he’d seen from her all night. Made her look like Taly again.

“It’s a nickname,” she said. “Short for Magn’jun bilal tiagiagin. I thought it suited me.”

The door opened and closed, and Ivain knew that if he went after her, the hallway beyond would be empty. He felt the whisper of her magic as she melted back into the Weave.

In the silence, he began to laugh.

The language was familiar, ancient Draegonian. Sarina had made a study of it when she was young, and while he might have to ask her, he was pretty sure magn’jun bilal tiagiagin translated to “that crazy bitch.”