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“What we’re going to do, together, is give something to this.” Rodney lifted the dagger and passed it to Aisling. She took it gingerly, frowning a bit when she noticed its new weight.

“Not blood?”

He shook his head. “Not blood this time. More personal than that—and more powerful. Of any one of us, you most of all understand how powerful emotions can be, when they’re used right. Hell, you can change the weather with yours.”

“Only here,” she said self-consciously.

“What is it that Merak told us? ‘The smallest spark will ignite a blazing wildfire,’ right?” Magic flows like a river in the god realm, and all who possess it may be carried further by its current than ever before.

Rodney was without a doubt caught up in that current, his inherent magic stronger here than it had been even when he was practicing it daily, in a previous life.

“How does it work?”

Rodney smiled a little; she seemed far more relaxed than she had since leaving Wyldraíocht, and that she was curious was a good sign. Knowing Aisling, understanding the ins and outs of Saothrealain would comfort her more than any kind words. It was always the unknown that frightened her most.

He leaned back on his palms. “Saothrealain is…tricky to explain. Even those that possess it don’t understand it. Not fully, at least.”

“Which is not many, right?”

“Right—we were far too scary to keep around.” Rodney chuckled, the sound a bit rueful.

He’d have much preferred to have learned all of this from another Weaver, rather than teaching himself from the tattered pages of old books.

“In general, magic is an extension of oneself. Your will, your emotions—it’s internal, something you reach into yourself to draw out.

Athrealain, Drinealain—Gweldealain, to a lesser extent.

All of the inherent magics are, at their core, about the user. ”

“My affinity? I know The Diviner told me it’s a human trait, not real magic, but here…it feels like magic. To me, anyway.” Aisling played with the hem of Rodney’s sweater and looked down as though she were admitting something shameful.

“It’s real enough, as I’ve seen it,” he assured her. “And fucking impressive. So you understand what I mean—it comes from in here.” Rodney placed a hand on his stomach, just below the juncture of his ribs.

Aisling nodded and pressed a hand to her own stomach in the same place.

“There’s an element of that to Saothrealain, but it’s not only about drawing magic from inside yourself.

It’s about pulling from what’s already around you.

Every thread of magic in the world—every bit of energy in every stone, tree, creature, grain of dirt, drop of rain—it’s all interconnected.

Weavers can see those threads and patterns; Saothrealain lets us shape them. ”

“Like a tapestry,” Aisling suggested.

“Exactly,” Rodney said. He leaned forward, his hands moving animatedly as he spoke as if he were painting that tapestry in the air himself.

“Imagine the world is one giant tapestry, made up of an infinite number of these threads. With glamours, for example—someone with Athrealain could only manipulate the way light hits an object, or bend perception around something they’d like to hide.

Maybe, if they possess Drinealain as well, they can manipulate others into believing it, even if the glamour is sloppy.

But a Saothrealain glamour? It’s woven with the threads themselves. It’s not just a trick of the eye; it’s integrated into the very fabric of what’s real. That’s why they’re so strong, so hard to see through. It’s not just magic layered over reality—it’s magic embedded in reality.”

“That’s why Kael couldn’t tell I was glamoured the night we met?” Aisling had pulled her knees to her chest and rested her chin on one as she listened. A pink blush colored her cheeks when she recalled the Nocturne celebration.

“That’s right. I’m simplifying, though. It isn’t so easy as it sounds.

We’re using threads that already exist, that are already attached to other things and to other threads, which means there’s always a ripple effect.

Pull too hard, and you might unravel something you didn’t intend to.

Pull a thread from a flower, and maybe it wilts a little faster.

Pull from a person…” Rodney trailed off, his expression darkening for a moment.

“It’s dangerous. That’s why most would advise against drawing on the threads of living things unless absolutely necessary. ”

Aisling chewed on the inside of her cheek, processing. “But the dagger,” she said after a moment. “You said it needed something from us. That it had to hurt.”

Rodney sighed. “To make something as powerful as what we need, I can’t just use any thread—I tried.

It has to come from someplace deep. Something meaningful.

Some of the strongest threads are tied to emotions.

Memories. The things we hold onto so tightly that letting go feels like losing a piece of ourselves. ”

“So when we give it something, we’re giving up…what? A piece of our soul?”

Rodney chuckled at her distinctly human concern. “It’s not so dramatic as all that, Ash. You’re not losing who you are. I’m asking you to let go of something that’s shaped you. A fear, a regret. A grudge. A moment you’ve been carrying with you for too long.”

“But it’s still dangerous,” she said.

“It is. All magic is, at some level. Everything comes with a cost. But Saothrealain is about Creation. Taking pieces and weaving them into something whole. Something new.” It really was a beautiful concept, he now realized.

For so long he’d done his level best to avoid so much as thinking about it, let alone using it for anything more than maintaining his own glamours.

He didn’t suspect that would change after leaving Elowas, if they left Elowas, but maybe he’d at least come out of all of this with more appreciation for his ability—and less fear of it.

He leaned back again, his grin returning. “You’re lucky, anyway. You’re working with the best Weaver you’ll ever meet.”

Aisling snorted and rolled her eyes. “You’re likely the only Weaver I’ll ever meet.”

“Minor details.” Rodney dismissed her shot with a wave of his hand. “The point is, I’ve got you. We’ve got this, Ash.”

For once, his confidence was genuine, and he knew Aisling could tell. She took in a deep breath, then another, then said, “What do you need me to do?”

“Just decide what you’re willing to give. I’ll handle the rest.”