Page 15

“Power. Influence. Tradition. These are the hallmarks of Adored culture. Our people have been guiding the Magi toward a common goal for centuries. Can either of you tell me what goal it is that we strive for?”

The classroom was empty, except for Lynette and I, seated across from one another at a desk of rich mahogany. I glanced across to my sister, wondering why she didn’t already have her hand raised. She seemed distracted, caught up in a swirling pattern she was drawing on her paper. So, I raised my hand instead, and the wrinkled woman standing in front of the chalkboard pointed her stick at me.

“Mother says that we’re going to lead the Magi into the next Awakening.”

The tutor smiled, the lines of her face sinking further inward. “That’s absolutely right, Tobias. More than a thousand years ago, the Awakening brought us out of the shadows of mortality, sparking the gift of magic in our very souls. With these gifts, the Magi have been able to accomplish countless wonders. Grand cities rose from the ashes of mortal wars. Diseases that ravaged the population have been culled. Society flourishes under the guiding hands of generations of Adored women. This is the legacy that you will inherit, Lynette.”

My sister didn’t look up from her paper, still focused on the drawing, her hand moving in the same slow, intentional circles.

“And I’ll help, too,” I added to the tutor, straightening my posture.

“Of course you will, dear,” our teacher replied, an amused smile curling the edges of her wrinkled mouth. “But it’s Lynette who could bring about the next Awakening and, with it, another evolution of the Magi.”

“Will the mortals be able to use magic, then?” Lynette asked, her hand never slowing its progress along the parchment.

“The mortals?”

Confusion hung from the tutor’s face, much like her jowls.

“They don’t have magic,” Lynette continued, her face nearly obscured behind a wall of crimson curls as she worked. “So, when the next Awakening happens, we’ll give it to them, right?”

“The mortals would not know what to do with magic, dear, so I don’t think it’s ? —”

“But we came from mortals,” Lynette interrupted. “All of us. It’s only fair, right? We should share the magic with them.”

The tutor’s expression pulled tight as she waved her hand in the air. “It’s really not my place to determine that.”

“It is fair,” Lynette said, finally looking up from her spiraling design. “Or it will be. I know. I’ve seen it.”

“Seen what, dear?” the tutor questioned, stepping over to Lynette’s side. She picked up the parchment, holding it close so she could peer down through her half-moon glasses.

“The Awakening will come.”

Lynette’s voice deepened, her words slowing. She looked up from the desk, her eyes clouded white, and the tutor gasped, taking a step back as the parchment fluttered from her grip, landing between us on the desk.

“Lenny?”

I leaned forward, catching a glimpse of the fiery circles my sister had drawn. Lines of harsh red and bright orange converging into a spiraling inferno. The hair on the back of my neck stood up, my skin prickling as if the air itself was electrified.

“The Awakening will come,” Lynette repeated, her head swiveling till her glassy eyes trained on me. “But only when it’s called. Only when the Magi are one. Bind them together. Wake me, Son of the Second. I wait for you. I wait for you. I wait for you.”

Lynette’s voice trailed off into mumbled gibberish, and it was all I could do not to scream. The tutor seized Lynette by the shoulder, giving her a quick shake followed by a blow across the cheek with the back of her hand. Lynette slumped back in her chair, her pale face once again obstructed by a sheet of red curls.

I held my breath, afraid that if I moved, those haunting, milky eyes would find me again. That terrible voice echoed in my head, burning a hole through my subconscious till it leaked into my very soul, leaching all of the heat from my veins.

Our tutor stepped away from the desk, moving to the black box that hung on the wall beside her chalkboard. She removed the small wired receiver, spinning the dial on the front a few times before pressing the receiver to her ear.

“It’s happened again. Please inform Madame Greene.”

Lynette didn’t move from her seat till the door to our classroom sprang open a few minutes later, Mother stalking into the space like a predator on the prowl. I hadn’t taken my eyes off my sister, my own dread locking me in place.

“What did she say?” Mother questioned the tutor, keeping a distance between herself and Lynette.

“Same as before. She was drawing again. Tobias, show her.”

I unfurled the roll of parchment I’d been concealing, showing Mother the strange fiery rings. The longer I stared down at them, the more I could swear I saw them moving across the page.

“Add this to the collection,” Mother said quietly, snatching the scroll from the desk and thrusting it at the tutor. She then turned to where Lynette sat slumped in her chair. “Daughter, can you hear me?”

Lynette lifted her head slightly, an emerald jewel peering through the bramble of curls.

“Tell me what you saw,” Mother ordered, her tone far from comforting. Comfort wasn’t a tool in her repertoire.

My sister remained silent, staring up at Mother with wide eyes. The tutor bowed before leaving the room and closing the door behind her. I wanted to follow her, to get as far away from this version of Lynette as I could.

This wasn’t the first time I’d seen her seized by whatever force made her speak in that terrible voice. Mother said it was a gift. I thought it closer to a curse. Something that hacked away at my sister bit by bit till there would be nothing left but a hollow shell.

“Lynette,” Mother said, her voice echoing through the empty space around us. “I will not ask again.”

“They’re burning,” Lynette muttered, her gaze drifting up to the ceiling. “They will burn. There’s nothing you can do to stop it. You’ll burn too, Mother. The most spectacular of them all.”

Mother’s posture stiffened. I had never seen fear on Mother’s face before, but this was the closest thing to it, the way her eye twitched and the pull of her frown. She snapped her fingers and the door to the classroom opened, an Unseen servant moving silently into view. “Escort Lynette to her quarters and ensure she remains there till I summon her. Is that understood?”

The Unseen bowed his head. “Yes, Madame.”

“Tobias,” Mother addressed me, staring down with an icy intensity. “Walk with me.”

I knew better than to refuse Mother’s request, even if I wanted to more than anything, so I quickly followed after her as she turned and exited the classroom.

Chateau Greene was large enough that it would take us several minutes to make it back to the main house and Mother’s office. I hoped that the journey would be a quiet one, but those hopes were quickly extinguished.

“I worry for your sister, Tobias. If things should continue as they are, I’m not sure she’ll survive the days to come.”

“But… she’s the Successor.”

“Pay attention,” Mother ordered, snapping her fingers in front of my nose. “When she is taken by the Augur, a heavy toll is extracted from her body. If it continues to speak through her, then there may come a day when she doesn’t recover.”

“But she’s the Successor,” I said again. “There are none more powerful than her.”

“Not yet, she isn’t. She is young. You both are. Her power has not had sufficient time to mature. Which is why you must help her.”

That stopped me in my tracks. “Me? What can I do?”

Mother turned to face me, annoyance masked behind the thinnest wall of sincerity. “You must always help Lynette,” she said, clasping her hands in front of her. “And if it should come to it, you must sacrifice for her.”

“Sacrifice?”

“There is no greater honor for an Adored male than to serve their family. So, I must ask you, Tobias. What would you be willing to give to protect your sister?”

I mulled over the question. I loved Lynette more than anything else in this world. But did it mean I would do whatever it took to keep her safe?

“Anything,” I answered, though I wasn’t fully convinced it was the truth.

“And everything?” Mother questioned.

I nodded.

Mother managed a small smile. “Good. You will make me proud, my son. Of that, I am certain.”

“I’ll do my best, Mother.”

* * *

Our sanctuary’s interior was just as dilapidated as the exterior. The entire structure riddled with decay, from holes punched through the sloped roof, allowing residual light to pour through in beams and spill onto the dubious wooden floors, to cracks running up and down the walls, plaster and other detritus raining down with the slightest of breezes.

I watched as Cirian walked down the moldy carpet that ran through the center of the room toward the raised altar on the far end. Above the dais, opposite where I stood, a large swirling pattern—the symbol of the Source—was painted onto the plaster wall; the deep blue color faded with the erosion of time.

“Come closer,” Cirian called to me over his bare shoulder as he reached the altar. He sunk to his knees before the painted emblem.

“I much prefer the view from here, thanks.” I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, the boards beneath them groaning with each adjustment. One wrong step, and I’d tumble into whatever cesspit awaited beneath the ruins of this place.

“You need a blessing,” Cirian argued, lifting both hands face up into the air above his head.

“I’ve been faring just fine without a blessing for a number of years, thank you.”

“Have you?” Cirian questioned, amusement permeating his voice. “I’m not sure I would consider someone who has been assassinated, resurrected, and almost killed a second time all in the same week as ‘faring fine.’”

I let out a sigh. As annoying as I found it, he had a point. Even with my addled memories, I knew that the last twenty-four hours had been amongst the worst in my life. Not many experiences can compete with being murdered.

“What exactly does this blessing do?” I asked, trudging up the damp carpet path. My feet sank into the saturated material, drawing up memories of playing near the bog located on the outer edges of the Greene estate as a child. “I must admit, I don’t have any experience with religion. Mother never allowed us to attend any services—not that I’d asked in the first place.”

Cirian snorted a quiet laugh. “The blessing is merely that, Toto. A blessing. You have to place the intent yourself.”

“Well, I suppose it can’t hurt.” I knelt beside the other man, pausing only to increase the distance between us by a few more inches. “What do I do?”

“Quiet your mind,” Cirian replied, lowering his hands and resting them palm-down on the tops of his thighs, his smooth chest rising and falling with practiced breath. “The Source speaks to all of us through the very magic in your blood. Open yourself to it, and you’ll be ready to receive the blessing.”

I tried to mimic Cirian’s posture but found it increasingly uncomfortable, so I ended up kicking my legs out from under me, spreading them till my feet butted against the base of the altar. After a moment, I risked a glance over at Cirian to find the edges of his mouth twitching.

The bastard was enjoying this. Whatever this was.

I ignored the heat nipping at the back of my neck, instead settling into my new seat as best I could. “Okay, my mind is quiet. What’s next?”

“Your mouth is still making plenty of noise,” Cirian replied, his eyes fluttering closed. His breathing was slow and steady. For a moment, I felt the gentle brush of Cirian’s aura as it expanded from him. Gentle notes of spiced tea hit the back of my tongue before the iron-clad walls of my mental defenses rebuked the presence, repelling it.

A sharp stab at my temple caused me to suck in a breath. Again? Why did this keep happening to me?

I’ll admit, I was rusty. Before my death, I would never have risked letting another person so close to my mind, even for a second. The walls always had to be up, always impermeable, lest I be rendered a liability to Mother.

“You’ll never feel anything with that kind of reaction,” Cirian interjected, a smirk still playing on his lips. “The Source can only speak if you’re willing to listen. How can you expect to hear anything hiding behind all those layers?”

“I’m not hiding,” I sniped, recoiling from the intensity of my own reaction. “I’m defending myself.”

“They can often be the same thing if you’re not careful.”

I glowered at the man, but Cirian just kept breathing, in and out, at the same even pace. Was he really asking me to abandon the defenses around my mind? It could be a trap—a ruse to get me to lower my guard so Cirian could take anything he wanted.

I refused to be this man’s prey.

“Nothing is going to hurt you here,” Cirian said, his voice barely a whisper, yet it bounced around the space till it was coming at me from all sides. “You have my word, Tobias.”

The truth is, I wanted to believe him. To place my trust in someone other than myself. How long had it been since I had felt that level of connection? I couldn’t recall the last time. From what I could recall, Cirian and I had never been friends. Rivals seemed the more appropriate description when I looked back on the interactions that dotted my adolescence. But while Cirian had always been abrasive, he was never cruel.

So, perhaps the dangers were not as immediate as I first assumed.

The walls around my mind had buried themselves deep, rooting in my consciousness like ancient trees. Removing them was going to be a challenge. As I reached for them, I flinched as the familiar stabbing pain behind my eyes returned, a huff of frustration passing over my lips.

“What’s happened?” Cirian’s voice was beside me, a cautious hand on the small of my back.

“It’s no use.” I exhaled, dropping any attempt to alter the barriers in my mind and running a hand through my hair. “Something is wrong with my magic. Since Bastien removed that blasted gem from my chest, I can’t manage even the smallest feats.”

“Ah-ha,” Cirian hummed in his throat. “So, that’s why….”

“Why what?”

Cirian’s gaze had grown distant, his attention leagues away. “If that’s the case, then I should be able to replicate it. Even the odds….”

I snapped my fingers in front of Cirian’s nose, startling him. “Now’s not the time to get cryptic on me.”

“Your necromancer,” Cirian clarified, his attention returning to me. “You said he placed a stone in your body?”

“Yes,” I confirmed with a nod. “And he’s not my necromancer—he’s not my anything. At least, not anymore.” My hand rose instinctually to my mouth, a finger tracing my bottom lip where Bastien had kissed me just a few hours ago. A lingering heat spread out from my chest, leaving me flushed.

“He’s smarter than he looks,” Cirian muttered to himself, then he was on his feet. “Fortunate for you, I know how to solve this little conundrum.”

“What, my magic?” I questioned, rising from the floor as well.

“Revivified corpses shouldn’t even possess magic,” Cirian continued, stepping up to the platform where the altar rested and pulling off the dusty cloth that draped over the surface. Beneath it, the altar was a faded white marble with small cracks spread throughout. He set to work, wiping down the tarnished altar as he spoke. “Magic leaves the body when you die, returning to the Source. The necromancer’s spell would have brought you back to life, but it cannot provide you what has already been returned. So, he gave you another option.”

“Another option?”

“A piece of his own magic, distilled down to physical form.”

“Right, Bastien told me that he put some of his magic in the gem to keep me alive till he could perform an actual resurrection. What’s all this fuss over?”

“The fuss? That’s an ancient practice, Toto. From a time before the Awakening, when magic was far more rare. And this magic requires a certain… connection to achieve.” Cirian trailed off, once again lost to his inner dialogue.

“What kind of connection?”

“I’ve read ancient grimoires from those times, hidden away in the Church’s libraries,” Cirian said, pausing sporadically to lock eyes with me as he worked. “Before magic lived in our veins. Those precious few who could access magic pulled it directly from the Source—a virtually endless supply. With it, they were able to reign over the mortals in an era known as the ‘Time of the Magi King.’ But there were limits to even the Magi-King’s power, and those who tapped too frequently into the Source found their humanity slowly sapped, carved out by the all-consuming flow of magic. The kings, however, were infinitely clever. It was only a matter of time before one of them discovered that they could condense the Source’s power into a physical shape, giving the potential for anyone to be able to use magic. At least, minor magics. They called these stones Anima. The Kings set to work, distributing this newfound power to a select few mortals and using them as powerful soldiers as they waged war over land and resources.

“As these battles raged, the mortals using the Magi-King’s magic began to go mad in droves. The more they used the Anima stones, the more their bodies and minds were twisted into horrible Distortions.”

I snorted a laugh, then choked it back as I realized that Cirian wasn’t joking. Distortions were nothing more than fairy tales used to keep Magi children from playing around with magics outside of their capabilities. Surely, he wasn’t implying they were real.

“This chaos persisted until one of the Magi-King’s lovers, a woman who wished only to end the suffering of her people, begged for them to stop. The Magi-King was blinded by their power and refused the request. Seeing her chance, the lover seized one of the Anima stones, using its power to destroy the hoard of Anima the king had created.

“The magic unleashed on the world that day brought about the Awakening, and since then, magic has lived in the very blood of the Magi.”

I stared at him, wondering if this little trip down the annals of Magi history was going anywhere. “A wonderful history lesson,” I told him. “Really top-notch. So, you’re saying that Bastien used the same process as these Magi-Kings to give me his magic? Why did I not go mad with his power, then?”

“I theorize that it’s because there is some commonality between you and the lover of the Magi-King.”

“Commonality? Oh, for Source’s sake, speak clearly, man.”

Cirian looked up briefly from his work, giving me a sly smile. “Piece it together, Toto. You can’t expect me to do all the work, can you?”

I released a huff of frustration. What did this story have to do with my current situation? And why was Cirian so interested in how Bastien imbued me with magic? Why was he doing any of this, really? The two of us haven’t had a conversation since we were teenagers—or at least not that I could recall.

A draft seeped through the gaps in the walls, sneaking a shiver up my spine.

“The grimoires refer to it as Soul-Binding.” Cirian ceased his cleaning, tossing aside the cloth and running a hand along the polished altar. “The Magi-King’s lover was so much a part of the king’s soul that the magic allowed itself to be used by her, even though it didn’t belong to her. It’s incredible, really, seeing as the others who wielded the Magi-King’s magic were twisted into Distortions.”

“So, you’re saying that Bastien is, what, Soul-Bound to me?” I extrapolated, drawing the statement out into a question.

This was nothing but more fairy tales.

“It’s a working theory. You were able to use the magic from the gem he gave you, yes?”

I nodded in response, my hand drifting to the sore spot on my chest where the gem was embedded. “I haven’t been able to draw on my magic since I was revived.”

“Your magic was already absorbed back into the Source, so there’s nothing for you to draw on. Every time you’ve tried to wiled your own magic, you’ve been drawing on your own life force. It’s a wonder you’re still standing, Toto. This resurrection ritual that the necro— Bastien —will perform is nothing more than a communing with the Source, where he will barter for your magic back.”

“Barter? You mean he’ll have to give something up in return?”

Cirian shrugged.

Bastien was willing to give something up to help me. I didn’t know how to feel about it. My damn lips tingled again with the memory of his kiss back at the camp. Did he really still harbor feelings for me, or was this all out of some twisted sense of duty to Lynette and the Rebellion?

“Now then, Toto. On to my proposition.”

My attention returned to Cirian, who stood behind the altar, bracing himself against it and leaning forward with an excited shine in his eyes.

“In lieu of the attack against the Rebellion, I think it unwise for you to be without the means to defend yourself.”

“I can take care of myself,” I argued.

“Says the man I found bleeding out in a field of wildflowers. Trust me, I know what you’re capable of, Toto. I just want to ensure you’re given every opportunity for survival, that’s all.”

I wanted to throttle him, but I knew he was right.

Cirian reached into the folds of his billowing harem pants, producing a small silver dagger. Holding his empty hand over the altar, he pressed the tip of the blade to the palm, drawing a trickle of red blood that rained down on the smooth, white surface.

“What are you doing?” I asked as the air grew heavy with the weight of magic.

“Testing a theory,” Cirian replied, squeezing his blooded hand so that a few more drops fell onto the altar. “It stands to reason that if the necromancer was powerful enough to craft his magic into physical form, then it should be child’s play for one such as me.”

I rolled my eyes. So, that’s what this was. A chance for Cirian to one-up Bastien. He never backed down from a challenge.

The blood sizzled and smoked where it hit the altar, and Cirian passed a hand over the spattered gore, chanting under his breath. I watched in fascination as the blackened blood drew together, pooling into the center of the altar as Cirian formed a sigil with his hands. The sanguine puddle bubbled as his chanting increased in fervor. With a flash of light, Cirian struck the viscous material with his fist, the ringing of metal against metal echoing through the empty sanctuary. Rearing back, Cirian struck again, a bloom of fresh blood running along the side of his fist at the point of impact, but he didn’t seem to notice or care. Seven times, he struck the altar, sending ripples of magical energy through the air. With the final blow, a flash of light blinded me momentarily, and I shielded my eyes. The room quieted, the only sound now coming from Cirian’s labored breaths and the pounding pulse in my ears.

Lowering my hand, I blinked away the burned images clouding my sight, the shadows from the corners of the room seeming to draw closer to obscure the man slumped over the marble altar.

“Cirian?”

I reached out a hand, halting as the figure on the altar shifted, a low groan emanating. A sigh escaped from my lips. At least Cirian hadn’t killed himself with this foolish display.

“That was moronic,” I said, keeping my distance. I tried to ignore the strained relief in my voice.

“Was it now?” Cirian croaked, brushing long strands of scarlet hair from his sweaty face. He held out his hand to me—the one soaked in blood—and brandished a small, blue gem that pulsed with light.

“Still foolish,” I chastised him. “What good does that do either of us? If what you said earlier was true, then I would have to be soul-bound to you to even use that magic without becoming some sort of hideous beast.”

“Hence the experiment,” Cirian said through a wild grin. “I want to know if the grimoires speak the truth or if the details have gone hazy over the years.”

“So, you want me as your lab rat?”

“Such harsh words,” Cirian replies with a chuckle. “You’re simply the only control group, Toto. You were able to use the necromancer’s magic. You proved that already. Now I want to know whether or not it’s because your souls are bound to one another, or perhaps you’re just an enigma in and of yourself.”

“Bastien,” I reminded him, a flash of irritation coloring my tone. “And you can go fuck yourself. I won’t be touching that thing.”

Cirian laughed again, his voice hitting a squawking pitch. “Come now, Toto. Aren’t you just a little bit curious? You know, it must be unbearable, that emptiness you’re feeling right now. This magic could hold you over till your beloved necromancer can perform his unholy rite. Something tells me it wouldn’t be the first unholy act he’s afflicted upon your body.” He held his free hand out to me, a small, blue flame conjured in his palm. “Just a little something to cast away the chill?”

Heat singed my cheeks as I turned from Cirian. “You’re an arsehole. And even if I wanted to, you said it yourself. It could turn me into a Distortion. I didn’t just survive the worst day of both my lives to end up some monstrous nightmare.”

“Oh, I’d never let that happen to you, Toto. You have my word. Just a smidgen of basic magic is all I’m asking for. If there’s any sign of trouble, I’ll intervene.” He stepped closer, a wicked grin curling the edges of his smooth lips. “I did save your life earlier this evening, in case you’d forgotten.”

I fought back a second shiver, wondering if it was from the cold or something I was too afraid to speak out loud. “A favor I fear I will be repaying for years to come.”

“Nonsense,” Cirian huffed. “Just this one simple gesture of good faith, and we’ll never speak of it again. You have my word.”

It would be a lie to say I wasn’t tempted. Ever since Bastien removed the gem from my chest, I’d felt a lethargy seeping into my limbs that honestly frightened me. It was like Death was crawling its way slowly through my body once more. But would this fragment of power that Cirian had conjured stave off the encroaching numbness? It was impossible for me to know unless I gave it a try. Cirian’s magic still clung to the air around me. I could taste it on my tongue with each breath, acrid and smoldering, like smoke from a campfire. The thrill of it was intoxicating. And despite my hesitations, I couldn’t argue the fact that I was drawn to it. My body craved the power, wanting nothing more than to reach out and accept the offer enthusiastically. The pit in my stomach was the only thing holding me back.

“Your lips speak disapproval, but your eyes can’t lie.” Cirian was close now, bearing down on me with the gait of a predator. “You can’t hide the question lurking underneath, Toto.”

I squared my shoulders, raising to my full height, even if I was dwarfed by Cirian to the tune of several inches. “And what question might that be?”

“You want to know if the necromancer—Bastien—is still yours,” Cirian purred, cupping his unbloodied hand under my chin and lifting it so I match his gaze. “Or has the end of your first life changed that fact?”

I yanked away from his touch, my face alight with heat. “Must you always touch me?”

Again, I felt the gentle pressure of Cirian’s hand guiding my gaze, my chin pinched between his thumb and index finger. He was close enough now that I could feel his breath against my skin.

“You’ve never protested my touch before.”

Once again, I felt the caress of Cirian’s aura stroke the walls of my mind.

Memories burst through the surface from obscurity— flashes of pale skin pressed into my own, the thrill of lips trailing my inner thigh, a mop of red and white-blond hair vanishing between my legs, and the wet heat of ? —

I gasped, shuddering at Cirian’s touch.

“There it is.” Cirian’s eyes narrowed, wisps of his fair lashes obscuring the dark brilliance of his pupils. “All of those days we spent sparring with one another. I was starting to worry you’d forgotten about me, Toto.”

“How long—when did—” I sputtered, my pulse racing as more memories rose to the surface. Our trysts stretched through adolescence. Mornings spent sparring till my muscles ached, then Cirian following me up to my room where we would linger between silken sheets, practicing all the ways our bodies moved together that only two men could know.

“There’s a good boy,” Cirian whispered, the warmth of his words against my cheek. “Now, I’ll ask you once again to reconsider my offer.”

I shuddered once more, a molten heat building at the base of my spine. I couldn’t think clearly, not when Cirian was so close, and our history was resurfacing in such vibrant detail. Without the will to resist, I finally sputtered, “F-Fine.”

He released his grip on my face, taking a half step back and relishing in a knowing smirk. He offered the gem to me, the edges still wet with blood, darkening the color into more amethyst than sapphire.

Taking it, I ran my thumb over the smooth facets. It was warm to the touch, and beneath the surface, a thrum of power vibrated against my skin. I closed my fist around it, exhaling relief as a spike of warmth radiated through my limbs, easing the aching fatigue.

So far, so good.

Reaching for my aura, it reacted immediately, and I braced myself for the splitting pain in my head to return. But there was merely a pleasant humming in my ear as I wrapped myself in the magic and, with little effort, projected my aura outward, focusing it on the space at my palm. I held up my hand, a small flame bursting into existence and hovering over it.

“That’s my boy,” Cirian murmured, the fire dancing in the reflection of his eyes. “There you have it. The experiment is a success.”

“What does it mean?” I asked, snuffing out the flame and allowing my aura to retract around me.

“There are a few possibilities to consider,” Cirian replied, turning his back to me as he moved toward the altar. “One, the grimoires have been lying about the Magi-King’s downfall as a way of controlling mortals and preventing them from revolting. Why would they ever think to rise against the rule of the Magi if the only weapon they could use against their oppressors twisted them into horrific monsters?” He paused once he reached the dais, taking a moment to round the altar before continuing. “The second possibility lies in the assumption that you are special in that you can somehow utilize the magic of other Magi without suffering any of the adverse side effects.”

I couldn’t help but snort a laugh. The theory that I was anything other than ordinary amongst the Adored was dubious at best. Mother had reminded me of my inadequacies at every opportunity. If there was anything more than mediocrity in my veins, Mother would have put it to use years ago.

Cirian braced himself against the altar, shaking his bloodied hand gently as blue light spread across the skin, sealing the wound. “And yet there’s still another possibility…”

“Are you going to tell me what it is, or should I leave you alone with your thoughts?”

Cirian’s eyes found me once more, his confident demeanor peeled away for the first time since he’d found me amongst the wildflowers. For the briefest moment, I thought I saw something I recognized glimmering behind those dark, calculating eyes.

Fear.

“The other possibility,” Cirian continued, his words stretching between us. “Is that you’re Soul-Bound to more than one person.”