Boaz nods to me and withdraws his hand.
"And what happens to Avalon?” Ares snarls, his grip threatening to shatter his glass. “To the magick? To Yggdrasil?"
Domlia speaks from across the table, her melodic voice carrying the weight of centuries. "If we lose even one of you, nothing ever changes. We never get the siren’s soul mate magick restored. Yggdrasil continues to die and the magick holding the worlds together will continue to unravel and become more unstable."
Silence sits over the table like a heavy cloud of fog. Isabella and Nari exchange worried glances while Maven's knuckles whiten around her device.
Well fuck.
"That's depressing," Boaz says, dabbing the corner of his mouth with a napkin. "And here I thought all I needed to worry about was not turning into a garden statue before I have a chance to woo the woman carrying around the missing piece of my soul."
Ares chuckles first. Then Boaz joins him. I shake my head and laugh too. Wraith is the only one who doesn't, but I see the slightest curve at the edge of his mouth and a spark in his bright golden eyes.
The rest of the table just stares at us in disbelief.
"You're turning into a garden statue?" Nari asks, leaning forward with a mix of concern and fascination in her expression.
"Not if he drinks his ambrosia like a good boy," Ares says, his smile taking the sting from his words. "It's the only thing keeping all of us sane right now."
Isabella's eyes widen. "Is that why you're all so—" She gestures vaguely at our group.
"Tense? On edge? Angry? Radiating barely contained violence?" Maven supplies helpfully, taking a big bite of her bread.
"You don't need to worry about ambrosia," Nimue cuts in, her tone gentling. "Ares has been helping us build up a stockpile here at the ranch. You can get more any time you check in here."
The relief that floods through me is almost dizzying. Or maybe that's just the wolf settling slightly at the news. I'm not the only one affected—Wraith's shoulders drop a fraction, that barely-there tell speaking volumes about his own fears. Boaz actually slumps back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. Even Ares, who never complains, closes his eyes briefly. The constant fear of losing control has worn us ragged.
"Speaking of checking in," Nari says, rising from her seat to retrieve a stack of folders. "We've been doing some digging. When we discovered Queen Melinda's connection to the Stormblood family’s very distant bloodline, it gave us a foundation to work from."
"Descendants… here? All of us?" Wraith asks.
"Yes. You’d be surprised how many stayed behind," Nari says. "We've identified clusters of families that are more likely to have inherited your shards."
Nari stands, gesturing for everyone to follow her into the adjoining room. "Let me show you what we've found." She approaches a massive black rectangle mounted on the wall and touches something that makes it spring to life with light and color.
"By the gods," Boaz breathes out. "What manner of scrying mirror is that?"
"Television," Isabella says with a laugh. "Think of it as a window into information."
"A window anyone can look through?" Wraith asks sharply. "Who else can see us through this magick window?"
"It doesn't work that way," Nari assures us quickly, though the question makes me realize how vulnerable we are in this new world. We don't even know enough to know what dangers to watch for.
Images appear on the screen—maps, photographs, family trees. Faces that share features with people I knew centuries ago. Places are marked in red that span across continents. My wolf stirs with each new image, searching.
She's there, somewhere in that sea of faces and locations. A woman carrying a piece of my soul, maybe sensing the same hollowness I feel, the same growing darkness. Does she wake in the night, haunted by dreams she doesn't understand? Does some part of her feel the pull of a bond she never asked for? My claws threaten to emerge at the thought of her alone and unprotected while these groups are potentially hunting her down, too.
"We've identified several promising locations," Nari continues, manipulating the images with small movements of her hands. "But we're running out of time. The Enclave's getting closer to figuring out what we’re doing, and if they are then the Inquisitors won’t be far behind."
"We stay together," I say immediately, but Wraith shakes his head.
"We can't." His golden eyes are hard as he turns to face me. "You know we can't. The ambrosia is working for now, but we're all feeling it—the deterioration is accelerating. We don't know how long even increased doses will hold back our darkness."
I hate it, but he's right.
"Boaz comes with me," Ares says. "At least initially."
“Absolutely not,” Boaz growls angrily. “We all have our own shard to find. You’re not wasting your time following me around worrying.”
