Page 149 of Blade of the Nightking

I sucked in a breath as the illustration rose into the air between us. Not flat, but suspended and life-sized—glowing strands twisting into shape as they rebuilt the strange picture in three dimensions. Color bloomed through the magic itself, violet deepening into green, gold, blue, and silver, the light playing across all our faces.

Rìan gave a small nod, apparently satisfied with the replication. “Animate it.”

At once the currents began to move.

They came alive all at once, curling and shifting around one another, each line following its own invisible course before crossing and folding back again.

I gaped, my eyes watering against the brightness of Segolayne’s magic.

Rìan stepped back, his head tipped upward, his face awash in shifting color. “You were right, Eidra.” He remained transfixed, something in his expression changing—a glimmer there that looked dangerously close to victory.

“This is a map.” His gaze landed on mine, silver catching in his eyes. “A map of the Veins of Elantis.”

CHAPTER 31

He spent hours studying the reproduction.

Veylan and Segolayne hovered nearby, murmuring suggestions and gesturing to the different currents as they tried to identify the wells within the Veins and locate them upon the map of Elantis.

Rìan didn’t acknowledge me, but he didn’t dismiss me either. I had nothing to contribute as the three of them worked through possibilities I could barely follow, yet the fact that he hadn't sent me away felt unexpectedly significant. A small, undeniable thrill stirred inside me.

I’d been the one to figure it out.

I’d found the gates.

I was certain dawn had come by now. Rìan was so completely immersed in his research that I doubted he even remembered our morning training. Or perhaps he'd simply decided it no longer mattered now that we were one step closer to breaking the bond.

Whatever the reason, I was glad for it. Weariness tugged at me after a night without sleep.

Across the table, Rìan scrubbed absently at the stubble roughening his jaw. Shadows bruised the skin beneath his eyes from what had to be days without proper sleep, yet they still burned with a restless, fevered intensity.

Realizing abruptly that I’d been staring again, I pulled The Book of Old Tales into my lap and opened it to a random page, fixing my attention firmly upon the text instead.

“These aren’t right.” The frustration in his tone was unmistakable. He leaned heavily against the table, the wood groaning ominously beneath his weight, and gestured toward the long sweeps of gold curling westward. “These should be the Veins crossing through the Mirrorlands, but they’re too far over.”

His hand sliced through the air, mirroring a broad sweep of green flowing horizontally. “And these should move through the Thornlands and weaken toward the mortal realm, but they’re wrong too.”

“Maybe she was wrong.” Segolayne’s glare burned into the side of my skull. “Maybe this isn’t a map at all. Just a colorful drawing.”

“They’re Veins. There’s no doubt.” He crossed his arms, fixed on the moving currents. “But perhaps the mapmaker was imprecise. A loose approximation.”

“The drawings are too detailed for that,” I said before I could stop myself.

All three of them looked at me.

I turned the book toward them, opening to the illustration of the Keeper of Return standing before the horde of corpses.

“The Infected look like this,” I said, tapping the page where dark webbing showed beneath their skin. “At least, that's how I see them. Once they're bitten, black veins spread through them as the Infection takes hold. It's the sort of detail no one would think to include unless they had intimate knowledge of it.”

“Then perhaps Segolayne’s reproduction is flawed,” Veylan suggested.

Segolayne shot him a look sharp enough to strip flesh from bone. “My replica is not flawed,” she snapped.

Rìan pushed off the table and began pacing. “Then we’re missing something.”

Segolayne hummed. “It'll be crude, but I can try...” Once more, her magic slipped from her hands. With a small grunt of effort, she drew it downward, her fingers moving in quick, deliberate motions as though working an invisible loom. Violet threads followed every sweep of her hands, crossing and knotting together until a shimmering likeness of the map took shape before us. When she finally lifted it into the air, the reproduction was uncanny. It lacked the astonishing detail of the original, but the shape of Elantis remained intact, each Court defined by the same borders and contours.

She spread her fingers wide, and the glowing replica expanded until it matched the size of the suspended map of the Veins. Carefully, she guided it over the other, aligning every edge before pressing the two together.