Page 36

Everly

T he crystal still smoked.

A thin tendril of violet mist curled toward the ceiling, and I stared, transfixed. My pulse thundered in my ears. My fingers were numb.

I wasn’t a Hollow.

The thought was…dizzying. Not with relief or joy, more like the ground under my feet had shifted, and I couldn’t move to compensate.

I wasn’t a Hollow?

Distantly, I registered Isren theorizing aloud. I caught flashes, broken pieces of his conjecture that didn’t quite register.

“…not just bound; it’s sophisticated…a sigil-based seal? Maybe blood-forged…Need to find out who bound it. No one at the Sanctum could’ve done this quietly, if at all…”

Through it all, I felt the weight of Draven’s gaze, heavy and far too scrutinizing. He didn’t say I told you so, didn’t gloat. He didn’t even look that satisfied.

He just watched me with features chiseled into neutrality, eyes blazing like he was trying to piece together a puzzle. Which made two of us.

My fingers curled into the folds of my gown, my disbelief morphing steadily into anger that coiled low in my stomach, curling tighter with every breath.

My entire life. Fear and torture and the constant, constant threat of death.

“…I’ll need time,” Isren was saying now. “To review the binding signatures, any traces left behind.”

I barely nodded, still trapped in my head. In the memory that had felt so vivid and so close and so heartbreakingly real. Seeing my mother’s face again when I had nearly forgotten what it looked like was its own bittersweet reckoning.

Then Isren’s tone changed, sharp but quiet. “You understand what’s at stake.”

I glanced up just in time to see him looking at Draven. Not me.

Draven nodded once, jaw tight. Whatever passed between them, it wasn’t meant for me. The secrets grated at me, but I was hardly in a position to complain. Not when I knew exactly who might have chosen to bound my magic, and I had a pretty good idea of why.

Had my mother known that she was signing me up to be tortured?

I couldn’t very well ask her now, so I followed mutely behind my husband, trying not to drown in the questions and the shock.

Batty let out a small squeak, burrowing further into my neck as if to offer a small bit of comfort. I ran a finger over her head, sweeping it down to her tiny nose.

We were halfway to the doors when a scuffle of footsteps echoed from the hall.

A female novice came sprinting around the corner, breathless and flushed, clutching a crumpled bit of parchment in her hand.

She skidded to a stop in front of Draven, curtseying awkwardly as she thrust the message forward. “For His Majesty. Urgent.”

Frost crackled the moment Draven’s fingers touched the page. The cold spread fast, curling along the edges, warping the parchment until the ink bled in streaks.

Even so, I saw the signature at the bottom.

Eryx— The Lord General .

Draven read it silently. His jaw tightened. Then he folded the note and looked to Isren.

“There’s been another attack. I’m needed immediately.”

Isren didn’t blink. “I assumed as much. Go.”

Draven nodded and turned to me. “We’re leaving.”

I nodded again. He headed toward the door, and I moved to follow before turning back to the Archmage.

“Thank you? For…whatever that was.”

Isren smiled faintly. “I rarely know what’s going on myself until after it’s happened. Before you go…”

He crossed the room, retrieved a small leather-bound book from the shelf, and handed it to me.

“I must say, I find your relationship with the skathryn quite fascinating. I’m sure you know they aren’t usually social.”

I did know that, theoretically, but Batty was the neediest creature I knew.

“Yes, well, she was…sad and alone,” I said like that explained anything.

Maybe it did because he nodded sagely. “Like calls to like.”

I blinked, not sure whether I was being insulted or read entirely too well. His golden eyes flared with amusement as he handed over the book.

“Some light reading for you.”

I flipped it over. The cover was worn, the gold lettering almost entirely faded, but I could make out the faint letters.

It was a compendium, not on monsters this time, but on skathryn. Batty crept to the edge of my shoulder, tilting her tiny head before making a sound I had come to associate with curiosity.

“Later,” I told her quietly, turning to follow Draven with one last look at the Archmage.

I found the king in the hallway, barking orders at an acolyte to send our things. Next, he turned to the smallest one of his wolves, telling them to meet us at the palace.

Before I could ask, he placed his hand on my lower back, ushering me out of the Sanctum.

“Wait,” I said, glancing around the barren courtyard. I had to practically shout for my voice to carry over the howling wind. “How exactly are we getting back to the palace?”

Draven didn’t answer. He simply looked up, eyes scanning the sky, his short, pale strands whipping furiously in the wind. The clouds were low and heavy, the air thick with snow-laced wind. A flurry drifted between us, slow and quiet.

Then I felt it. The frost in the air shifted. Not the weather. The mana .

It pulled inward, drawn toward him like a breath held by the world itself. The temperature plummeted. The wind stilled. Even Batty stopped moving, pressing herself tighter against my neck.

Draven turned toward me. “Come here.”

I stared at him, heart ticking faster. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I remembered Mirelda saying something about Draven traveling through the ice, but I had been too distracted and in too much pain to fully process that.

“Are we…walking through the ice?” I asked uncertainly. “Can you take passengers for that?”

I had assumed the answer was no, since he never took his wolves.

“Only ones who are connected to my mana,” he said drily.

The wind curled around him like it knew him. Like it wanted to wrap him in frost and take him wherever he asked. Tiny shards of ice lifted from the snow around our boots, swirling up like silver dust caught in a rising tide.

He held out his hand expectantly.

The frost spun tighter now, glittering in the air between us, drawing lines I couldn’t read.

He wouldn’t let me die. Not when he had just found out I had use to him.

Maybe not ever.

I reached out and took his hand.

“Don’t let go,” he said, voice low.

Batty squeaked again, her tiny claws scratching at my neck. Shards.

“Wait, will Batty be able—” My words dissipated in the air between us as everything turned to ice and mist.

The cold hit first. It was sharp, piercing my lungs and stealing my breath. We were moving, spinning and twisting like snowflakes in a storm, but not upward or forward or through. Just… away. The world dropped out beneath my feet in a silent rush.

And then we were gone, swallowed whole by frost and wind.