In much the same way Sasha Lekarev had done in Ansel Chappelle’s hospital room, Emre’s eyes unfocus as he looks inward and along The Plain.
“Oh my, look at that. So vast. I’m going to poke around a bit.”
Nix can’t feel a thing beyond the usual warm surge of his bond with Grayson, but his soulmate tenses up, squeezing his hand.
Growling, Rowan sets his teeth into Grayson’s pant leg.
“He’s not going anywhere, Ro. Right, Grayson?”
Visions of Grayson levitating off the couch to float in the rafters make Nix’s question more of a request for reassurance than a statement of fact.
Emre gets up so he can sit on the coffee table, closer to Grayson.
“I think Selinde is right. When I come closer, your magic tries to meet me. Is that the way it was with Sasha? Or when you were following Withers’ magic?”
“I can see you poking around. Nothing offensive, though, right? It’s gentle.”
“So you are tense because…”
“The Plain wants free.”
“It’s a part of you,” Emre reassures. “It’s pushing because you’re holding back. Nix? How are you feeling?”
“I’m great. Let it free, we can handle it,” Nix says, pressing closer along Grayson’s side.
“What? No!”
“Not all at once, then. Just a little at a time. I promise to let you know.”
Grayson hesitates, and they lock gazes. Nix knows this is the right decision. Can feel the rightness of it hum along all of Nix’s bonds.
His magic is a gift.
“Yeah? Okay, but…”Tell him right away. “Just a bit at a time.”
“Your control is admirable. I’m ready if you and Nix are.”
Everyone holds their collective breath.
Only Grayson and Emre startle when Nix feels the heat of Grayson’s magic pour through their soul in a gently increasing intensity, until it’s full but not overflowing. The Plain surges into their soul in a deluge, filling its dim corners with light.
Where Nix had thought his bonds had been steady before, now they are pure light, and so bright he has to shield his mind’s eye at the brilliance before they settle—still bright, but not blinding.
Emre gasps. “Well, I have never.” He grins before looking at Grayson. “How does that feel? Incredible, I expect.”
The scent of patchouli blends beautifully with Grayson’s basil-vanilla, like the most sophisticated perfume.
Rowan sits up, licking Grayson’s cheek, and Nix spots a single tear rolling down until it falls onto their joined hands.
“It’s so good. A relief, you know?”
Smiling, Vaayu brushes tears off their cheek.
“It would be. I cannot fathom the willpower that would take to voluntarily separate yourself.
“Your connection to The Plain doesn’t look like any I’ve seen before. It’s intense, and while even the strongest connections—like Ignatius or Selinde—are beautiful, they’re not multi-hued outside of their range.”
“What do you mean, Emre?” Selinde asks curiously.
