He never did.
Never would.
Not when, against the dark warmth of the back of his eyelids, two silver-flecked emerald pools stared back at him.
Cedric clenched his fists and, forcing his eyes open, focused on the dusty pages before him. Thinking about it—abouther—was pointless. It would not lead anywhere. He couldn’t let himself go down that road again.
As if telling himself as such made a stars-damned difference.
The reminders of her were persistent, immovable. Engraved on his bones. The melodic lilt of her voice, the strength of her will, the beautiful onslaught of her power, the feel of her...
Stars above, thefeelof her.
That spark of magic that had zipped through him, touched him right down to his soul whenever their skin grazed.
When it did more than graze.
It’s over, he reminded himself for the thousandth time. The golden thread that had bound them together during the Crucible was, Cedric had decided, just that—a product of the Sanctum, a machination of the celestials. Something meant to encourage their bond, to fosterunity. Without which, they never would have been able to claim the crown.
Whatever it was, that thread snapped the moment Cedric died.
And yet.
When she brought him back—whenElyriabrought Cedric back, something else anchored itself in its place. A tether tied somewhere behind his ribs, pulsing dully with a power wholly separate from the furnace that simmered within him. An incandescent rope that had made his chest ache since the day he’d left the Lost City.
It made him feel . . . unbound.
Like it was still searching for whatever lay at the other end. Whatever he was tetheredto.
The clap of a leather-bound book being shut with gusto pulled Cedric back to the present. His eyes flew open in time to witness a cloud of dust ballooning into the air—and Tristan’s subsequent sneeze when he inhaled it.
“Shh!” came a harsh rasp from a few stacks over. Cedric grinned at the color that flushed in Tristan’s cheeks, though the amusement quickly fell away, his vision blurring as he skimmed through a chapter detailing Queen Daephinia and King Juno’s historic marriage and the ritual that bound his lifespan to hers. Admittedly interesting, but irrelevant.
He shut the book with poorly hidden ire.
Tristan scowled. “Still nothing?”
“Still nothing.”
“And, uh, what about theother thing?” Tristan wiggled his fingers, blue eyes twinkling conspiratorially.
Cedric’s own eyes narrowed. “What about it?” he said guardedly, dropping his voice even lower.
“Have you been able to?—”
“No, still nothing when it comes tothateither,” Cedric hissed.
Tristan looked disappointed. “You haven’t even been trying.”
“And you want me to, what? Try wielding volatile magic in a building full of parchment? To play with fire amongst the most precious books in Arcanis?” His voice was little more than a harsh whisper, but the instant the words left his lips, Cedric regretted saying them. He craned his neck to check for eavesdroppers.
“Yes, obviously that’s what I want. That is exactly what I’m saying,”Tristan deadpanned. “Don’t be an ass. What I want is for you to?—”
“There are more important things we need to learn about here,” Cedric admonished. Tristan was the only person on this side of the Chasm who knew about Cedric’s recently acquired, entirely unexpected magical ability, and telling even his most trusted friend had been a risk.
The last thing Cedric needed was someone overhearing he was in possession of the kind of magic no human should be able to wield.
Flamecalling was an Arcanian power.
