Page 56

A week passed. At first, everything came easily.

Ivain couldn’t always be there, so when he wasn’t, Skye kept to smaller, safer tasks—on things that wouldn’t kill him if they went wrong.

He focused on his knuckles, one at a time, making each joint move with a barely-there flick of aether until he could make them pop on command.

He funneled aether to his fingertips, condensing it into the smallest possible point—just a pinprick of light at the very tip of his index finger, while the rest of his hand remained dark.

He retrained his muscles, too, working on manipulation so fine it felt absurd. Flexing the muscle fibers in his left arm, feeling each tiny strand move, each sinew tightening, until his whole arm quivered with the strain of it.

It was tedious work, no doubt. Slow, sometimes painful.

He trusted Ivain—believed this was leading somewhere—but doubt still crept in.

Moments when he couldn’t quite see how mastering the precision to flex his toes would help him protect Taly.

But he understood the larger picture. It was about control.

About teaching his body to respond the way it had at the bridge.

That moment had been raw instinct, sheer desperation. Proof that he had the ability, Ivain reassured him. The rest was just practice.

On the fourth day, they began work on even further refining the flow of his aether, going beyond muscles and nerve clusters down to the cellular level. And that’s when Skye felt it—resistance.

The more he tried to shrink his control, to split the energy into threads fine enough to affect a single cell, the more the magic began to cling. Fighting him, unwilling to be confined so narrowly.

Ivain was patient—calm and reassuring as always. “Good, Skye. Feel it out, don’t force it. Precision takes time,” he’d say, his voice that steady anchor that had guided Skye through every up and down.

But that was just it. He didn’t have time .

Mastery wasn’t a luxury—it was survival. He needed to push through whatever was holding him back, because anything less wasn’t good enough.

The stakes were higher now. He had Taly—her love, her desire, her immortality. It was everything he ever wanted. Naturally, that terrified him.

Every night, with her skin against his, her breathing soft and steady, he lay awake thinking of how easily it could all slip away.

He thought of every mistake he could make, every moment he could fall short, and the heartache that would follow.

The Universe never gave without taking. The moment you let yourself want something this much, it started the countdown.

In the quiet, when everything else faded, he swore he could hear the ticking.

Even worse, a question began to nag at him…

Did she even really need his help?

Taly was strong. Stronger than ever. Even Ivain seemed stunned by how fast she was advancing.

While Skye worked through his drills, he’d hear Ivain instructing her to pause flickers of time or rewind small actions like the fall of a gear across the floor.

Taly humored him, nodding along, her smile almost indulgent, as if this were all too easy.

Ivain had always kept individual journals, one for each of them, filled with notes and observations.

In Taly’s, Skye spied words like “remarkable” and “unprecedented.” Her level of control, her spell mastery, all were far beyond what they should’ve been with only a year of training.

She cast on instinct, like she’d spent her whole life Fey instead of human.

Meanwhile, his journal included phrases he’d never seen alongside his name. Gems like, “clumsy.” “Poorly focused.” “Possibly brain damaged.”

The last one had Taly written all over it.

Still, there was a natural order to things. He led, and she followed, always sprinting to catch up. But now the playing field had been leveled, and she wasn’t slowing down.

What if he wasn’t good enough?

What if, for all his effort, he couldn’t keep pace with her?

How could he protect her if she was always ahead?

These thoughts and more swirled through his mind at night. They followed him every day.

Even now, they lingered—a restless hum beneath his skin.

Outside the townhouse, the city was restless.

The shade attacks had diminished significantly, but it was an uneasy peace.

As they ventured into the dark of the Long Night, speculation ran rampant, with some believing the undead were merely biding their time, gathering strength for an even greater onslaught when the moment was right.

Most taking shelter in Ryme had never weathered a Long Night.

Skye couldn’t say he was looking forward to it either—those endless hours where the darkness stretched infinitely, every sound and shadow turning sinister.

And as if the psychological toll weren’t enough, the lack of sunlight would weaken their defenses, giving shades the perfect cover to strike.

Extra sentries had been posted at every entrance into the city, the walls fortified with runes of protection, putting a strain on their already weary defenders.

Around every lookout, great stacks of firewood were meticulously arranged in preparation for when the watchfires would need to be constantly manned.

While Ivain fortified their walls, Sarina worked a different kind of defense—keeping morale intact as supplies dwindled and the darkness crept closer.

Like she did every Long Night, she had lanterns hung along every major avenue.

However, instead of the usual few—a simple way to mark time in the endless dark—they were now so numerous they loomed overhead like a dense, shifting cloud.

Some were paper, folded into delicate shapes, pulled from storage where the rolls had sat since the last Long Night.

Others were scraped together with whatever she’d been able to find—bits of scrap metal bent into frames, mismatched shards of glass patched together with care.

The fire crystals inside had been salvaged from broken devices, carefully repaired, and coaxed back to life.

And despite the collective grumbling from the household—all of whom were dragged into the project at one point or another—the effort paid off.

Soon, the rest of the city started following suit.

Lanterns of all shapes and sizes appeared outside homes and storefronts, and handmade banners fluttered from balconies.

And while it would’ve been all too easy to get dragged down by the prospect of spending the next 32 days wondering if any of them would live to see the next sunrise, even Skye had to admit the chaotic jumble of garlands, ribbons, and lights now draped over every street and alley felt… a little festive.

Taly had smiled when she saw the lanterns, her eyes catching the glow. For a moment, Skye forgot the siege. The city. The world that wanted her dead.

If only for a heartbeat, he let himself live in that breath of peace, just the two of them and the lights.

One moment, Skye was slouched in the back of the Gate Watcher’s Office of Interdimensional Oversight, only half-listening during Eula’s midday briefing. He tried not to think about the wave of fresh insults he’d seen Ivain jot down in his notes that morning.

Today’s entry? “Inefficient use of aether.” “Inconsistent form.” “Stubborn as a concussed wyvern.”

The next moment, he was in a field—scowling, cranky, and undeniably confused.

Dark clouds hung low like a ceiling, the wind rustling through knee-high grass. He shivered at the chill, wishing he had the coat that had been hanging on the back of his chair.

How did he get here? He didn’t know.

But he was pretty sure the woman waving at him from across the sea of grass had something to do with it.

Her uniform was familiar: a gray leather coat and comfortably worn boots; her hair was a simple braid.

But her face—that’s where he noticed the difference.

She was older, still young in that way that Fey would always appear young but fully settled into her immortality, making her true age impossible to guess.

It was Taly. But also not Taly.

Huh.

Then again, he’d mated a time mage. This tracked.

Not-Taly cupped her hands to her mouth and shouted across the grassy expanse, “Hey, guess what?” Her voice echoed across the vast space. “We’re going on a field trip!”

“Can I say no?” he called back. One Taly was enough trouble. He didn’t need two.

“Sure,” Not-Taly said, grinning as she sauntered backward. “But then you’re walking home.”

Skye clicked his tongue. Fantastic. This was precisely how he wanted to spend his day.

He looked around. “Where are we?”

“What was that? I can’t hear you.”

He knew for a fact that she damn well could.

She was still walking.

“Taly.”

Still walking.

“ Taly !”

Still walking.

“You can’t just leave me here!”

But she only turned so that her back was to him. Still walking away. Still… yup, still walking.

Which would leave him… Well, that was the question, wasn’t it?

Where the hell was he?

Skye growled a few choice words and tried to get his bearings.

Grassland stretched for miles in every direction, banded by a gray horizon.

It would be easy to get lost here. There were no landmarks, no sun to tell him the direction.

He had no clue if he was even still on the island, much less how to get home.

The figure of Taly grew smaller, and smaller. She was really going to leave him here. After she’d just plucked him from his life…

By every definition, this was kidnapping.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Skye muttered. And then, because he was apparently incapable of not following that woman wherever whimsy and madness led, he stomped after her.