Page 34

I 'm running through marble halls toward a scream that freezes my blood and shatters something inside me. It's my sister's voice, warped into something no human throat should produce. A sound of pure terror and agony that rips my heart into shreds.

The hallway seems to stretch on endlessly. Guards lie crumpled against the walls, their armor dented, blood pooling beneath them. The scents of copper and smoke are so strong I start to gag as I keep racing toward that sound.

I should be bigger. Stronger. Faster. More prepared. Maybe then I could do something to stop all of this.

"Mother! Guards! Someone!" I call, but there's no answer. Just another scream from behind a heavy door at the end of the corridor.

As I reach it, tendrils of black smoke curl from beneath. Heat radiates through the wood, the metal handle glowing red. I reach for it anyway, my hand hovering inches away when the door explodes outward in a blast of fire and?—

I wake with a gasp, heart hammering against my ribs. For a moment, I'm disoriented, the smell of smoke and blood still so vivid I expect to find the room ablaze and covered in gore. Instead, I'm greeted by cool morning light filtering through a window in the fire affinity tower.

Raith's quarters. I’m still here. Still recovering three days after the siphon attack that nearly killed us both.

I've hardly spent a full day conscious in his room, but it already feels safer than my own. Realizing where I am is a relief, like warm, comfortable sheets wrapping around me in a protective cocoon. I want to curl deeper into his bed and drift back to sleep.

"Another vision?" Typhon asks, his diminished form curled at the foot of the bed. He's still only slightly larger than a housecat, his normally vibrant blue scales dulled to a muted slate.

"I don't know what they are," I admit, pushing damp hair from my forehead. "They feel like memories, but not mine." Deep down, some part of me does know now. Some part of me suspects, but the horror of those dreams makes me not want to believe.

Despite the call of sleep, I sit up in bed and look around the room for Raith. But he's not here.

Without him magnetizing my attention, I notice details about the room I've missed until now. A basin of fresh water by the bedside table. A set of clean clothes and underwear folded neatly at the foot of the bed that look like they've been brought from my own room. A plate with bread and fruit beneath a cloth.

I test my limbs carefully. The bone-deep exhaustion has lifted somewhat, replaced by a dull ache and lingering weakness. Still, it's progress from yesterday. My body is purging the last of the void magic I cleansed from Raith. Other than the occasional flash of cold sweeping across me, I think the worst of it has nearly passed already.

"You heal quickly," Typhon observes. "Another benefit of your unbound nature, I suspect. Or perhaps it's because of your unique manifestation."

"Or maybe it's just spite," I mutter, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. "Too stubborn to stay down."

"Spite is an undervalued motivator," Typhon agrees. “If not for spite, I may have let the madness fully take me long ago. The call to submit… it is deep and terrible. I fear there could be nothing left in the other ancients if you eventually cleanse them.”

I frown. As much as I want to help them, the idea of facing more gigantic murderous elementals feels like more than I can fit on my plate at the moment. Problems for another day, maybe.

I reach for the water, drinking deeply. The cool liquid soothes my throat, washing away the last remnants of the nightmare. Or vision. Or whatever it was. The memory of the scream lingers, raising goosebumps along my arms despite the room's comfortable temperature.

The door opens, and Raith enters, carrying more food and a stack of books under one arm. His eyes immediately find mine, relief flashing across his features before he schools his expression into something more neutral. I see disapproval when he notices the still-full basket of fruit and bread by the bed.

"You should be eating. You need to regain your strength."

"I just woke up."

He nods, though he still doesn't seem pleased as he sets down his books on the desk. He sets down the second basket of food beside the first and gestures. "Eat."

"I'm not really hungry."

"I don't remember asking. You need to eat."

Reluctantly, I pluck a few grapes from the basket and pop one into my mouth, chewing. "Happy?"

"I'll be happy when you finish everything I brought." He moves around the room with practiced efficiency, but I notice the way his gaze keeps returning to me, as if he's afraid I might injure myself while reclining in his bed and reaching for occasional bites of food.

His bed.

A question strikes me. "Where have you been sleeping while I've been hogging your bed?"

He gestures to a blanket on the hard stone floor I hadn’t noticed.

"Raith... you should've said something. You don't need to be sleeping on the floor."

"You need every comfort to get better in time for the Crucible. It's not far away."

"And you think I couldn't have been comfortable sharing a bed with you?"

"I'm a fire. I run hot. You'd sweat through your sheets all night."

"Maybe I’d like your warmth."

He's in the middle of reaching for a rag—to polish his sword, I assume—when he pauses a moment. He sets down the rag and approaches the bed to stand over me. I must not be eating fast enough, because he picks up one of the baskets and sets it on my lap.

I give him a sarcastic smile and pick up the bread, taking an oversized bite I immediately regret. I can barely find room for it in my mouth as I try to chew, both cheeks puffing out.

Raith actually smiles a little at that. "Better."

He hasn't shaved this morning, so dark stubble coats his strong jaw in a way that I think suits him. I find myself watching to reach up and run my fingertips down his cheek. Over the fullness of his lips. To touch him like he’s mine.

"Other than a stubborn reluctance to eat,” he says. “How are you feeling?"

"Better." It's mostly true, at least.

Through our tether, I feel a wave of relief from him, tinged with lingering worry. The connection between us is still tenuous, like a gossamer thread that could snap with too much pressure, but it grows slightly stronger with proximity. When he's close like this, I catch what feels like drifts of his emotions that come and go like scents on a soft breeze.

Fully formed words and thoughts seem highly uncommon. So far, I think they only leak through if he's thinking them with high amounts of emotion. Or, like the case when I sent thoughts his way, if he actually wants me to hear them.

"I spoke with your friends this morning. They'll be by again later. I told them to let you rest when they came last night."

"Good. You know... I've been missing for days now. People must be assuming I'm dead or worse."

"Most think Malakai's people finally caught up with you. Some say you were injured badly enough to be kept in isolation." His lips quirk slightly. "There's even a rumor you challenged Serena to a duel and she burnt you to ash."

"Well, that's dramatic," I say, reaching for a piece of fruit. Eating some has woken my appetite, and now I'm worried Raith hasn't brought me enough food after all.

His eyebrows crease. "I can get you more food."

I stare. It takes a second for me to realize he picked up on my worry through the tether. Gods. That is going to be hard to get used to. But... it's also kind of nice. It's like he can read my mind. Sense my desires. Hopefully not all of them. If he knew about all my desires, I imagine there'd be less calm talking and more ripping off of clothing involved.

"This is fine," I say.

"I'll get you more when you've finished." There's no argument with his tone, so I don't bother.

"It might be a good thing if people think I'm dead for a little bit."

Raith nods. "I had the same thought. They'll all be planning and scheming for the Crucible, no doubt. If you're out of the picture, you may get left out of plans. All the better when you show up full strength."

"What about the siphon? You've been careful, right?"

"We’re all making a new password each morning. Nobody gets near you without it.”

I grin. "I saw that yesterday. But couldn't the siphon take the place of someone who shows up to learn it?"

"It's possible. But it's just one way to make it harder to infiltrate our trust. And we have to give the previous day's code to get the next. It's not a perfect system, but it's better than nothing."

"Okay, but you said to gain access to me. I'm not worried about me. You're the one the siphon was after."

"There's nothing I can do about that. My fires are with me when I'm not with you. When I'm not with them, I'm with you and your friends. If it wants to come for me, it'll have a fight on its hands."

I realize he's right. Other than having allies, there's not really much that can be done. We just have to keep moving forward the best way we know how.

"And Voss?" I ask.

Raith's expression darkens. "He's a question. Yes. If he wanted either of us dead, all he would've had to do was not show up when he did. Makes it hard to consider him the biggest of our worries, at least."

"Right. Maybe we can rule out him wanting us dead. But what the hell does he actually want?"

"I intend to ask him when we meet with him tomorrow."

A smile plays at my lips. "You really think he's going to let you into his office with me?"

"I'm not planning on asking permission."

A hint of emotions drifts over me. Determination. Distrust. Worry. And rage... gods, so much rage.

"I thought we were supposed to meet with him today?"

"Not today." Raith's voice softens as he finally stops moving around the room and sits beside me on the bed. "Today is for recovery. If Voss has a problem with that, he can show up at my door and tell me to my face."

His nearness is… nice. It’s comfortable and full of unspoken tension at the same time. I'm acutely aware of every point where our bodies almost touch, the scant inches between his hand and mine on the blanket. The memory of our kiss yesterday flashes through my mind, and his eyes darken, suggesting the same thought has occurred to him.

A subtle echo through the tether confirms as much a moment later. He feels it too. The tension. The wanting. The desire.

"I brought books," he says abruptly, gesturing to the stack on the desk. "Thought you might be bored."

"Thank you." I reach out impulsively, covering his hand with mine. The contact sends a now-familiar surge of fire magic into my body, but alongside it comes something else—clear emotions passing through the tether. Protectiveness so fierce it takes my breath away.

"I'm really okay," I tell him softly.

He turns his hand beneath mine, intertwining our fingers. "I know," he says, but the worry doesn't leave his eyes. "I just... when I saw you collapse after saving me..." He trails off, jaw tightening.

"It was my choice," I remind him. "And I'd do it again."

His gaze drops to our joined hands. "That's what worries me."

I pull myself to standing, using his strength to steady myself. The room sways slightly but settles as I find my balance. "I can't stay in bed all day. I need to move, rebuild my strength."

Raith rises with me, his hand still holding mine, his other arm slipping around my waist to support me. "Slow," he murmurs, the word more breath than sound against my temple.

We move together, a careful dance across the room. Each step feels more certain than the last as my body remembers its capabilities. By the time we reach the window, I'm standing mostly on my own, though Raith's arm remains at my waist.

Our "training" yesterday was an exercise in futility. I mostly stumbled around and needed Raith to keep me upright. Today, with a little time, I think I could actually manage a rough approximation of a sparring match.

Maybe...

Outside, Confluence continues its daily rhythms. I can see it all from Raith's window, which faces inward, giving a clear view of nearly the entire campus. Students cross the courtyard, their black uniforms stark against the snow, their colored affinity markings and occasional elemental visible even from this distance. Looking at the castle's majesty from here, it's hard to believe a predator stalks its halls, that in a few days many of those students will be fighting for their lives in the Crucible.

"Can I try something?" I ask, turning to face Raith.

"What?"

"I want to see if I can channel. Just a little."

His brow furrows. "You're still recovering."

"I won't know my limits unless I test them," I say, offering a smile I hope appears more confident than I feel. "Just a small exercise. And you'll be right here if anything goes wrong."

He hesitates, then nods reluctantly. "Something small," he concedes.

I release his hand, closing my eyes to center myself. I reach for water, the element that comes most naturally to me despite my unbound status. I can sense it everywhere—in the air, in our bodies, in the basin across the room. I draw it toward me, coaxing rather than commanding, and feel the familiar tingle of magic flowing through my fingertips.

A small sphere of water forms above my palm, wobbling slightly but holding its shape. It's nowhere near what I could do at full strength, but it's something. I open my eyes to find Raith watching with undisguised fascination.

"It's still there," I say, relief flooding through me. "My control."

"Did you doubt it?" he asks.

"After what happened with the siphon... yes." I let the water dissipate, the droplets returning to the air. The small exercise has left me more tired than I'd like to admit, but I count it as progress nonetheless. "That void magic is drawn to whatever lets us channel. I think if it stayed in our bodies long enough, it could completely cut us off from our abilities. It would?—"

I sway slightly, and Raith is there immediately, his arm returning to my waist. The sudden movement brings us chest to chest, his face inches from mine. I can feel his heartbeat accelerating, matching the quickening of my own pulse.

"Nessa..." he begins, his voice rough.

Someone knocks at the door, dragging Raith’s focus from me. He guides me to sit on the edge of the bed again, taking time to make sure I'm settled before he moves to answer the door.

I hear him stopping each person before they can enter and see them whispering what I assume is the daily passcode in his ear.

Mireen bursts in first, Beck and Ambrose close behind her. Brunhild brings up the rear, her massive frame filling the doorway as she surveys the room with obvious curiosity.

"You're looking better," Mireen says, assessing me with a critical eye. "There's actually some color in your face now, though you still look like you could use about three more days of sleep."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," I say dryly, but I can't keep the smile from my face. Despite seeing them just yesterday, the sight of my friends brings comfort. "I'm getting stronger by the hour."

"Looks like you could already get on your feet and give us a run for our money," Beck notes, dropping into Raith's desk chair and immediately putting his feet up on the small writing desk.

"Get your feet off my desk," Raith says, voice low and deadly.

Beck pops out of the chair like he's been stung by a bee, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yep. Yes, Sir.."

"It's remarkable how quickly you're recovering," Ambrose says. "I assume it's a benefit of your healing manifestation?"

"I'm still not sure how to explain it," I say, conscious of Raith watching from the doorway, his posture alert as if he expects danger to follow my friends into the room.

"Any other perks manifesting?" Ambrose asks, his expression eager behind his glasses. "After what you did for Raith, I've been theorizing about the possible extent of your healing abilities."

"Nessa has better things to do, Ambrose," Mireen cuts in. "She's probably dying for updates on what's going on while she's stuck in here."

Brunhild strides forward, assesses me, and nods seriously. "Good. Power returns," she says with an approving nod. "Need strength for Crucible."

Her presence here and apparent knowledge of my status means she must officially be our fifth member, now. And if we can’t trust her… well, I suppose the consequences would’ve already come for me.

"Speaking of the Crucible," I say. "What's the latest? I heard you had some kind of important Crucible prep to do last night."

"We spent the afternoon doing reconnaissance," Mireen says, settling beside me. "I think we've identified where Malakai's allies are storing those weapons I mentioned."

"Where?" Raith asks, suddenly interested.

Nobody mentioned stored weapons to me, but I assume it must have been something I learned while half-conscious. Either that, or they’re assuming I won’t be recovered in time to help.

"Eastern wing, third floor, behind a false panel in what used to be an old armory storage room," Beck says. "And these aren't just practice blades. We're talking actual steel. Daggers, short swords, even a few bows and arrows."

"How did they get those?" I ask, stunned. "Weapons like that are locked up until graduation. And I can't imagine upper years caring enough about their... cause to risk their own status here by providing them."

"That's the interesting part," Ambrose says, leaning forward. "Based on the markings I glimpsed, they appear to be Empire issued weapons. Not the kind made for Confluence primals-in-training. The kind given to rank-and-file soldiers."

Raith and I exchange looks. "Someone on the outside is helping them," Raith concludes, his voice hard.

"Exactly," Ambrose confirms. "But I asked around and consulted a few texts. Soldiers can't just ask nicely for replacement weapons. And the blacksmiths under Empire employ get only enough raw materials to make what is ordered."

"So you're saying someone should know these weapons are missing," I say. "Somebody high up. Or somebody with enough power to cover up that number of weapons going missing is helping them?"

Ambrose nods. "Right. Either way, somebody important with a lot of power is trying to help Malakai and his people slaughter us during the Crucible."

"Legacies have power and connections," Mireen says slowly. "Could it be one of them? Bastian, maybe?"

"No," I say a little too quickly. I wince when every head in the room turns to me.

A faint throb of jealous anger flashes in my mind. I have no doubt it's from Raith.

"It just doesn't add up," I continue. "If Raith told you everything, I assume he told you about the conversation we heard Bastian having with his father."

Mireen's eyes fall. "That's right. Bastian wanted him to call off the Crucible entirely. Not exactly logical if you're risking everything to smuggle weapons in to make it more deadly."

"Unless he planned on you hearing that conversation," Ambrose suggests. "Or if the weapons are for something else unrelated to the Crucible."

"There are more legacies," Beck says. "I only know of one that wishes he could get in Nessa's pants. Probably safer to assume it's another one of them. Or somebody completely on the outside. Does it really matter, though? The bad guys are going to have sharp pokey sticks. So fucking what? We've got magic and elementals. Fuck 'em and their weapons."

"How many weapons are we talking about?" I ask.

"Enough to arm at least forty students," Mireen says grimly. "Maybe more."

"Brunhild has been helping us develop counter-strategies," Mireen adds. "She's surprisingly knowledgeable about fighting against armed opponents when you're unarmed. Considering we’ll have practice blades, we might as well be against their military-grade steel.."

"Is common where I come from," Brunhild shrugs. "Raiders, pirates. Must know how to fight when surprised."