Page 85 of Swords of Soul and Shadow (Gate Chronicles #3)

“All are doing much better. The nurses think Niels will wake soon, and the Shackleys were leaving the ward this afternoon. The Yalv who was with them probably saved their lives.” He gave a short, disbelieving snort. “To think Gran probably could do the same thing…”

Navara couldn’t do much at all, according to her useless journals. Useless and…

Wait. Navara had been looking for a new way back to Myrrai, back to her people, so that the Lord Elder could heal her son.

Hallie’s mind raced.

Navara might not ever have made it back to her people, but maybe her search had led her to clues as to the location of the Second Gate.

If she couldn’t use her power to reset the Gate, they would have to stop Jagamot with the swords—combining the Essences plus the sliver of Toro’s soul that was in Valora.

It was the plan Hallie favored because it didn’t need to use her power directly. She just had to put her power into a sword. What that entailed, she wasn’t sure—she probably had to bleed onto the blade, but it seemed to be better on the outset. She’d be happy to give up the power forced upon her.

Supposedly, King Filip’s power was in the sword. Hallie didn’t quite understand why or how, but that was what Fely had said.

They’d also need to figure out the Loffler situation. He was still in the Gate somewhere. That certainly wouldn’t help anything.

Saldr looked at her and gestured to the soft flames, but Hallie shook her head. He came over and, after bowing to her parents, took a seat on her other side.

“I can’t,” she said. “It won’t work.”

“If you approach the power with doubt, you will not succeed.” Saldr smeared a little bit of dust between his index finger and thumb.

Murmuring the word of power, the dust reacted, congealing into a sphere.

It floated and emitted a glow that grew with each passing second.

At his direction, the sphere floated from above his palm and joined the larger one a few feet away.

“If you would like to practice, I will tell Fely to sit beside you just in case.”

Hallie could feel her parents’ stares burning into the side of her head. She wasn’t sure if they were curious or terrified. She didn’t like the idea of either.

“Will you give it another try?” Saldr asked. He slipped off his locket and set it in her hand. “Try it with my Relic. It will not offer the same control, but it is wholly constructed of Zuprium.”

The weight and feel of it was the exact same as Fely’s. She peeked at the lid, which was a match to hers, an intricate star pattern—like a decadent compass rose, delicate swirls hugging the edge. Interesting.

Hallie clutched it tightly and reached into her pouch. With the dust coating her fingers once more, she spoke the required word and, in her mind, concentrated on the product, on the glowing ball of fire made from dust all the while begging for her power to rise from her core. “Yrea.”

Nothing. No heat. No spark. At least the trees were safe.

Was it because she wasn’t fully Yalven? Was her blood mixed too much with those who didn’t hold power?

She opened her eyes to see Saldr’s small smile; he probably meant it to be encouraging, but to Hallie, it screamed disappointment. “I do not expect you to accomplish this task in one day, so do not be too hard on yourself. We will keep trying.”

“We don’t have time,” she hissed through tight lips.

“We have no choice but to use however much we have left to us, whether it is enough or not.” Saldr hesitated, but he put a gentle hand to her shoulder and squeezed. “We will work again tomorrow. Practice grounding yourself. Study.”

To her, studying meant pouring over old texts in the library and taking copious notes, not people-watching. All she could grasp from watching the Yalvs use their power was that theirs worked and hers didn’t. But she was too tired physically and emotionally to fight Saldr about it.

Besides, he was trying his best. She was the problem, not him.

She handed back his locket, and he draped it across his neck, tucking it away once more.

“I’ll grab you some Pick Up. Gotta few bottles left.” Hallie’s father pushed himself to his feet. “Be back in a few minutes.”

“No, Papa. I’m fine . I just—”

But of course, he was already leaving, never one to take no for an answer. Hallie told herself it was because he cared. Both her parents cared. It was why they were here…and why they insisted they would be taking her home with them soon.

Maybe if they’d decided to care sometime in the past three years instead, things would have been different.

The music picked up into a little jig, and with one last look and word of encouragement, Saldr rose to join the dancers, promising to check back in later.

Hallie tried not to dread it too much, going back to her sketchbook instead.

One of the moves in the dance was a small clap as you sashayed past your partner and back.

Hallie took note. The details would matter if she wrote a book about the Yalven cultural background, something she’d once dreamed of doing.

She’d wanted it to be more of a scholarly endeavor, but now it might feel more like an autobiography.

She doodled a few of the wildflowers at the edges of the page.

Some of the Yalvs had woven them into crowns, only enhancing their natural ethereal beauty.

She sketched and took more notes, ignoring her mother’s inquiring gaze.

“About coming back home with us,” Zelda finally started, her fingers tapping along with the beat of the song.

The clapping one ended and another began.

This one was just as jovial as the last and required a leap or two at the beginning.

Hallie sketched harder, hoping that the pressure she placed on the pencil would signal to her mother she didn’t want to speak about that now.

However, her mother wasn’t one to be deterred either.

Oh no, Zelda Walker would have blazed right through a snowstorm better than any wildfire.

“Your father has had to take on more medic duties since Graham Fincher was killed in the attack, and I can’t very well run the inn by myself.

It’s time for you to come home and help, and with everything here…

” She gestured out among the dancers, but Hallie couldn’t tell if she spoke about the celebration, the Yalvs, or the Catacombs in general.

“It’s dangerous. And you’ve had your fun.

Your University training is admirable and will help with running the inn. But it’s time you came home.”

Hallie’s pencil froze mid-stroke. She pulled it back in a hurry; if she kept it on the page, she might just rip a hole through the parchment. “Mama, have you even thought to ask what I want?”

That was the absolute wrong thing to say. She most definitely should have phrased that differently. Her mother’s gaze turned…not quite murderous, but it was almost as bad as the time Hallie and Jack had snuck out in the middle of the night and ended up being returned home by the town patrolman.

Whether it was fortuitous timing or not, Hallie’s father returned just then with a small vial in his hand.

“Not as good as some of their concoctions here, but I’ve perfected my latest recipe.

” He handed off the vial; the liquid was littered with coffee shavings that hadn’t quite dissolved into the fluid.

She didn’t really enjoy coffee so much. Her father then gestured behind him.

“Found someone else loitering ‘round our tent.”

Beside one of the outer tents draped in woven flowers stood Kase, two bowls of rations in his hands, his surly guard with him. The entrancing fairy lights strung from tent to tent nearly caught in his curls. Hallie’s mouth dropped open, but she quickly closed it and turned away.

Of course her father would’ve found Kase.

If he hadn’t brought his Pick Up concoction back with him, Hallie would’ve thought he’d gone off to find the pilot.

To be honest, she suspected her father might’ve had the Pick Up in his pocket the entire time.

He and Kase had clearly bonded over their trip to the capital.

Jealousy itched at her. Kase had seemingly found more common ground with her father in a matter of weeks than she had in her entire life. Unfair, it was.

A man entered the cavern behind Kase, bumping into his back.

Kase stumbled, but managed to keep hold of the bowls as the man apologized, steadying Kase by the arm before moving on.

He held up his fiddle as he greeted several of the Yalvs and Jaydians gathered around the fire and through the cavern.

He was a small, petite man, the fiddle in his hands as beat up as most people looked.

Hallie recognized him. It was the fiddler from the Crowne Haven Inn.

She still hadn’t seen or heard from Nole and Masie. Would the fiddler know what had befallen them? She’d told herself that the Catacombs were large, that Masie and Nole easily could be huddled in some cavern she’d never seen. But with each passing day, she grew less certain.

The current song ended, and Hallie did her best to ignore the bootsteps whispering toward her.

The fiddler finished his greetings. One of the Yalvs held up a flute and played a few notes.

The fiddler nodded and drew his bow across the strings, laughing a little at the discordant notes before working to tune it.

Out of everything he owned, he’d chosen to save his fiddle. Now that was passion.

She wished she could feel his joy, the kindness evident in his smile as he started up a song, the flute following along.

She wanted to let go and spin around the bonfire, pretending the light came from the sun; instead, she danced through a storm, the rain filling her up and spilling out the cracks.

Between the Essence power, the swords, Niels, and Kase, she was riddled with more branching fissures than she could fix.