Page 43 of Eternal Light (Fated in the Stars #5)

Ignatius has an indulgent smile on his face. A romantic, his hands are clutched together under his chin in the stereotypical “awwww” gesture.

Nix has to hold back his smile.

Selinde has her head tilted to one side, as if she’s puzzling through something complex.

Emre frowns. “You are stopping the flow between yourself and The Plain?” His voice pitches up at the end in disbelief.

At Grayson’s nod, he continues. “Well, that’s unhealthy for you, and almost impossible to maintain. I imagine that’s why you’re struggling. It sounds painful, too, I might add.”

Selinde nods. “Grayson, imagine The Plain is an exuberant puppy. You put it on one side of the gate, and you and Nix on the other. It’s going to try to get to you in any way it can, pushing and jumping until finally, when you aren’t vigilant, it bowls the whole thing over and tackles you to the floor—out of control. ”

No one dares glance in Rowan-wolf’s direction at the metaphorical mention of an out-of-control canine.

It makes perfect sense, and the visual makes Grayson’s shoulders slump.

“Magic is part of who you are biologically—spiritually. Your soul craves it, and holding it back in this way…it isn’t good at all. Your soul is designed to hold your magic,” Ignatius says.

“But what about Nix? It’s his soul, too.”

Ignatius’s face transforms with enthusiasm. “Of course it is. I’ve been giving it a lot of thought. I believe it is what makes you so strong and why your access to The Plain is so broad. Your fully-formed soul means you can operate on all frequencies, do you know what I mean?”

It makes sense to Nix.

Grayson has access to The Plain’s magic that flows for eternity, but their soul is like a prism: as magic flows through, their soul bends and shapes it perfectly, splitting it into a radiant spectrum.

It doesn’t merely channel magic; it interprets, amplifies, and reshapes it.

It sounds very much like what Nix sees when he looks inward at all his mates’ bonds.

It’s a kaleidoscope of color: a fiery red, cool healing blue, earthy green, airy turquoise, and on and on.

It makes him feel closer to Grayson somehow, to think that he may see his own form of magic when he closes his eyes.

Grayson’s scent goes sharp, the basil outweighing the usual sweetness of vanilla that’s been part of his scent since they bonded.

He shakes his head. “I can’t hurt Nix. I won’t let it free entirely, it’ll be too much. No, I’d rather sever my access than possibly hurt him. I won’t do it.”

His voice is firm, and the scent of patchouli grows suddenly, as if The Plain can hear Grayson’s words. Like Selinde’s metaphor, the puppy does not like the thought of its master leaving him.

The others wear grim expressions of shock and horror, because Nimue had told them that severing The Plain is an eventual death sentence for any magic user.

“Gray, no,” Nix says. “The Plain is as much part of who you are as I am. I think that’s what they’re saying. We can do this together. Our soul is designed to handle this. Right?”

Nix looks to the more experienced magic users in the room.

“I believe that to be true. The Plain would not be available to you without a means to handle it. That is my experience,” Emre says.

“My Affinity is Biological in nature. It’s actually a mixture of a few classifications, but it allows me to see your access to The Plain and see a visualization of your magic as you use it.”

“It comes in quite handy in his line of work, as shields are manifested as a response to The Plain’s frequencies and—”

Ignatius breaks off when Selinde clears her throat. “Oh, well, there will be time for that another time.”

Grayson doesn’t look convinced.

At his skeptical face, Ignatius pauses. “Can you tell us…have you accidentally hurt Nix before?”

Nix frowns, thinking back.

That first time at the safe house, Nix had been surprised, but he’d not been hurt.

Every other time he’d only felt tired or drained, but Grayson hadn’t known what he was doing then; he hadn’t recognized what was happening, and it had been in defense against Withers.

If Grayson is right, he’d been Dreaming for a long time, seeing their other lives since they bonded.

Nix hadn’t been hurt then.

The struggle has only been worse since Grayson knew he could draw vast amounts of power through their soul, but has been trying to hold it back—or in the library, when he’d let the leash slip so quickly when they’d met Nimue.

It makes Nix think about the unruly puppy metaphor again.

“Think about it, Gray. Have you ever really hurt me? So I’m tired or hungry, but you were, too. Even Nimue and Sasha were tired after protecting the apartment or freeing Ansel. Can’t we try?”

Grayson runs his free hand through his hair, pulling at the long strands in frustration. “I’m scared I’ll lose control.”

“Based on the story you told me about healing your partner, and from Sasha Lekarev’s report, you managed to do quite well at disassembling that invasive spell. Both require remarkable control. Would you let me see what we’re working with?”

Nix likes Emre more and more.

In truth, aside from Withers, there hasn’t been one magic user who hasn’t been kind.

Sliding his palm into Grayson’s, Nix tries to push love and calm along their bond. It must work, because his soulmate gives a short nod.

Emre rubs his palms together.

“Excellent. Your clamp is in place now? Yes? Then, I’ll begin.”

In much the same way Sasha Lekarev had done in Ansel Chappelle’s hospital room, Emre’s eyes unfocus as he looks inward and along The Plain.

“Oh my, look at that. So vast. I’m going to poke around a bit.”

Nix can’t feel a thing beyond the usual warm surge of his bond with Grayson, but his soulmate tenses up, squeezing his hand.

Growling, Rowan sets his teeth into Grayson’s pant leg.

“He’s not going anywhere, Ro. Right, Grayson?”

Visions of Grayson levitating off the couch to float in the rafters make Nix’s question more of a request for reassurance than a statement of fact.

Emre gets up so he can sit on the coffee table, closer to Grayson.

“I think Selinde is right. When I come closer, your magic tries to meet me. Is that the way it was with Sasha? Or when you were following Withers’ magic?”

“I can see you poking around. Nothing offensive, though, right? It’s gentle.”

“So you are tense because…”

“The Plain wants free.”

“It’s a part of you,” Emre reassures. “It’s pushing because you’re holding back. Nix? How are you feeling?”

“I’m great. Let it free, we can handle it,” Nix says, pressing closer along Grayson’s side.

“What? No!”

“Not all at once, then. Just a little at a time. I promise to let you know.”

Grayson hesitates, and they lock gazes. Nix knows this is the right decision. Can feel the rightness of it hum along all of Nix’s bonds.

His magic is a gift.

“Yeah? Okay, but…” Tell him right away . “Just a bit at a time.”

“Your control is admirable. I’m ready if you and Nix are.”

Everyone holds their collective breath.

Only Grayson and Emre startle when Nix feels the heat of Grayson’s magic pour through their soul in a gently increasing intensity, until it’s full but not overflowing. The Plain surges into their soul in a deluge, filling its dim corners with light.

Where Nix had thought his bonds had been steady before, now they are pure light, and so bright he has to shield his mind’s eye at the brilliance before they settle—still bright, but not blinding.

Emre gasps. “Well, I have never.” He grins before looking at Grayson. “How does that feel? Incredible, I expect.”

The scent of patchouli blends beautifully with Grayson’s basil-vanilla, like the most sophisticated perfume.

Rowan sits up, licking Grayson’s cheek, and Nix spots a single tear rolling down until it falls onto their joined hands.

“It’s so good. A relief, you know?”

Smiling, Vaayu brushes tears off their cheek.

“It would be. I cannot fathom the willpower that would take to voluntarily separate yourself.

“Your connection to The Plain doesn’t look like any I’ve seen before. It’s intense, and while even the strongest connections—like Ignatius or Selinde—are beautiful, they’re not multi-hued outside of their range.”

“What do you mean, Emre?” Selinde asks curiously.

“Well, you have shared your own stream is a vibrant yellow that fades from burnt hues to palest yellow. I can see that when you allow me, yes?”

“Of course. What color is Grayson’s?”

“Every color. All of them, all at once. Once you let it free, The Plain is every color. Reds and yellows, blue and green that make turquoise, mixing with purple and magenta, and pinks. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

“Nimue showed us artwork when we met that reminded me of my—The Plain. It was beautiful.”

Vaayu’s eyes go wide.

“Was it by Chandrakant? There’s a copy of an original of his work hanging at the national magical headquarters, the Maya Lok in Delhi.

It’s forty feet by one hundred feet, and covers the dome over the library there.

A large, flowing river with long strands of color streaming in from the side in great ribbons. Is it like that, Emre?”

“Yes! Exactly that. Our advanced Plain studies include an entire unit on Chandrakant. He was the last person to see all the colors of The Plain in their entirety. Of course, it’s been several hundred years, and we only know what history tells us.”

“Do you think he might have been Were?” Nix asks, because it makes perfect sense to him.

The others are quiet, especially Ignatius, whose eyes go distant as they often do when he’s presented with something new, like everything they’ve mentioned to him over the past two days.

“That is an excellent question, Nix, and one I will take up with our Time Affinities at the earliest possible opportunity.”

“It makes sense that he might have been, given his reported long life, and that you both see The Plain in similar ways. What makes you ask?” Emre asks, before sitting back beside Selinde and accepting a cookie from the offered plate.

What had made him ask?