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“What are you working on?” Taly asked. “Is this Seal 5 stuff?”

Thanks to recent events, Skye had missed his exams, but that didn’t mean anything. Ivain had never let something as trivial as an established curriculum dictate when or what he chose to teach.

Ivain muttered, “No, you won’t find this in any spell books, I’m afraid. Not anymore, at least.”

“Don’t get him started again,” Skye warned, still rubbing his arm.

“No, no, she needs to hear this too,” Ivain said.

“The Council is full of petty, power-hungry cowards who ban anything that makes them remotely uncomfortable—anything they can’t control.

They see potential, and they shut it down.

Time mages. Pact magic. Bloodcrafting … and that’s only scratching the surface. ”

Taly idly straightened a stack of papers. “But that’s not what this is, right? Bloodcrafting?”

“No,” Ivain said, and she released a breath.

If time mages were the stuff of nightmares, bloodcrafters were the shadows lurking just behind them. And while she knew Skye had dabbled in things he shouldn’t have trying to get to her, there was no need for that anymore.

“Whole body manipulation is a foundation,” Ivain went on. “A controlled version of what bloodcrafting takes to a further extreme. What we’re doing now doesn’t add or subtract anything, it just shifts what’s already there.”

She wanted to ask if it was dangerous, but she knew better. All magic carried risk. Still, it must’ve shown on her face because Skye braced his hands on the table, lowering his head until he caught her gaze.

“My lady came back with a small army of people who want her dead. And since it’s my job to keep you alive, that means I’ve got my work cut out for me.”

It shouldn’t have surprised her. It was always the same with Skye—he slipped into the role of protector like it was second nature, taking up the responsibility of her safety as if it were his alone.

“And who says I need a protector?” Taly flicked her fingers. Gold aether curled between them, bending to her will as easily as breath. “I don’t know if you noticed, but I have my own magic now.”

His smile was slow, deliberate. “Oh, believe me, I noticed.”

That same magic had come in very useful the night before.

Taly couldn’t help but wonder—were the beds at the Dawn Court reinforced for shadow mages? It seemed like a necessary precaution for when things got… heated.

“Why don’t we call it for today,” Ivain said. “Something tells me your attention is going to be... elsewhere.” He glanced pointedly between them.

“Don’t blame me. I was just sitting here,” she insisted.

Skye reached past her, aiming for a carafe of water. As he leaned in, his voice dipped low.

“An entire battlefield, Taly, and I’d still have an easier time focusing than when you’re around.”

Heat flooded her face. “That sounds like a personal problem,” she replied, one foot kicking idly beneath the table.

“If you two are going to keep this up, at least have the decency to let me leave first,” Ivain drawled. “I didn’t sign up to be an audience for... whatever this is.”

Skye’s lips crooked up. The bright overhead lights played over his skin, tracing over the lines of his body and drawing Taly’s eyes like a lure.

“No, I, uh…” She shook her head. She didn’t know how she was supposed to do this—how to look at him and pretend everything was the same. “I found something at the Swap today that I think you’ll want to see.”

Then, pointedly pulling her eyes away from the wall of muscle in front of her, she explained about Luck, Grizzlethorn, the deal she’d interrupted. And when she was done, she pulled out her purchase.

“No, shit, wait, not that,” she muttered, piling her new records on the bench as she continued to dig through her bag.

Ivain picked one from the stack, turning it over to read the sleeve.

“Ah, here it is.”

She held it up, letting it dangle freely on its string. An amulet with a deep violet stone at its center. Surrounding it was a delicate ring of transparent crystal carved into a rippling wave.

Ivain’s brows shot up the moment he saw it.

He stepped closer, taking the amulet from Taly’s hand.

Turning it slightly, he let the carved waves catch the light.

“Hold on,” he said. “This looks like the amulet we already have. Well, similar. It’s the same craftsmanship, same design.

Shadow crystal surrounded by hyaline. Taly, where did you find this? ”

“Grizzlethorn,” she explained. “Apparently, about two years ago, someone came to him asking about old riftway keys—wanted him to dig them up. At first, he didn’t think too much of it, but when you showed up with one, Ivain, he started getting suspicious.

He thought it was more than just a coincidence.

So, he gave us first pick when this one turned up. ”

Skye looked doubtful.

“He did,” Taly insisted. “Cross my heart. After I saw him talking to the kid—”

“Kid?” Skye asked.

Shit. “I mean very evil, very large mercenary,” Taly corrected. “He brought me into his shop, and we made a deal.”

“Did you sign anything?” Ivain asked, tone edged with caution.

“No.”

“What did he ask for?”

“The ‘right to whisper my name,’ ” Taly said. “Whatever that means. I haggled him down to a box of fancy chocolates and a case of Arendryl Silver.”

In hindsight, stuffing her pocket universes with every shiny thing that wasn’t nailed down was probably the best decision she’d ever made.

“So, there’s more than one riftway then,” Skye said. There was something in his expression. Something unspoken yet pointed, aimed right at her. “At least, I think that’s fair to assume.”

Ivain nodded slowly. “It makes sense. Different keys must open different riftways. But how many are there? How many more could still be out there, waiting?”

“How many did Grizzlethorn sell to the enemy?” Taly pointed out.

Silence settled over the room.

Skye blew out a breath, shaking his head. “Great,” he said. “So, we’re not just dealing with one mystery doorway—we’re dealing with who knows how many.”

“Indeed, that would seem to be the case,” Ivain murmured. Then he snapped his hand closed around the amulet, pocketing it. Without another word, he reached for his coat hanging on a nearby chair, pulling it on as he turned toward the door.

Skye’s brows drew together. “Where are you going?”

Ivain glanced over his shoulder. “To pay Grizzlethorn a visit,” he said. “I think it’s time we had a little chat.”

The door screamed on its track as he hauled it open. And again, as he rolled it shut.

Leaving Taly and Skye alone.

She could feel it—whatever it was—still aimed at her.

“What?” she snapped.

“I didn’t say anything.”

She turned to him. His jaw was tight, lips pressed into a thin line.

“If you have a problem, just say it.” He just had that look that said he wanted to tell her everything he thought she’d done wrong.

“Taly—”

She rolled her eyes and muttered, “Here we go.”

“You followed a mercenary into the backrooms and then listened in on a deal. Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? People get killed for doing stupid shit like that.”

“Oh, come on, Skye. You make it sound like I walked into a wyvern’s den. It was the fourth floor . People don’t die on the fourth floor. Fifth and sixth, maybe—but not the fourth.”

“And a hobgoblin, really? I thought you were smarter than that.”

“Grizzlethorn’s practically family. You need to relax.”

“Right, because nothing says ‘family’ like almost losing your firstborn to a clause about ‘fair trade in perpetuity.’ Which, by the way, would also be my firstborn, I would like to point out.”

“So, one: presumptuous .”

His brows lifted. “Oh, really? You mean you have other candidates lined up?”

“Two: did you not hear the part where I said I didn’t sign anything?”

He didn’t answer—just shifted tactics. “It’s a miracle Grizzlethorn didn’t decide you’d make a better bartering chip than whatever you were trying to buy.

And let’s not forget—why were you even alone in the first place?

Where was Sarina? I mean, I know the glamour is good, but you can’t just go wandering off. ”

“Okay, now you’re just looking for reasons to be mad.”

His nostrils flared, his jaw still tight. The heat in his eyes should have pissed her off.

But instead of fueling her anger, it sent a rush of warmth through her—a feeling fiercely at odds with the overwhelming impulse to punch him in the face.

Skye’s gaze shifted. His pupils dilated slightly, as if he caught the exact moment her thoughts turned from irritation to something else.

“You’re impossible,” he muttered.

“And you love it.”

“Love’s a strong word. More like endure .”

A beat of silence stretched between them.

She wasn’t sure who moved first.

Only that one moment, they were standing inches apart, locked in a battle of wills.

The next, her hands were on his shoulders, and his lips were on hers—hard and insistent.

It didn’t make sense. They’d just been together this morning, and yet her body reacted like it had been deprived for days.

She pulled him closer, deepening the kiss until she felt his breath hitch—until it felt like they were trading air, each taking what the other couldn’t hold.

The intensity built fast—too fast for this cramped, cluttered workshop.

Skye pulled away just enough to steady himself, his forehead resting against hers, his breath uneven. “Upstairs.”

Taly shook her head. There were too many people between here and there—all well-meaning but far too nosy.

And besides… “I want to try something,” she whispered.

Then she slid down his body until she was kneeling before him.

“Oh hell, yes,” he groaned, falling back against the table. Leaning on it like his legs needed the support as she wrestled his trousers down over his hips.

His cock bobbed between them, thick and flushed. Her eyes followed it, and the hunger surged—a fierce, inexplicable craving that made her mouth water, as if her body recognized something it needed.

She looked up at him. At the way his chest rose and fell. At his lips, parted slightly. At the heat in his eyes as they met hers.

“This is what I used to think about in the palace when I touched myself.” Her voice was soft, almost confessional.

His mouth opened, then closed. Then he made a sound that was neither a word nor a growl—something in between that caught in his chest.

He gripped the table until the metal bent and his knuckles turned white.

Her fingers shook a little as she stroked them down the length of him. A full-body shudder ran through him, something between a shiver and a sigh. It felt like a good reaction—at least, she thought so, watching him carefully.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” she admitted softly.

The laugh that left his lips was sharp, almost pained. His head tipped back for half a second before he looked down at her again, eyes dark, voice tight. “I don’t care how long it takes, how many lessons, we will get this. I promise.”

She nodded slightly. And then leaned in to take her first taste.