“The last royal battle destroyed most of the palace.” His fingers drummed restlessly against his leg. “My nanny had already smuggled me out by then, and I never saw the book again.”
He trailed off, lost in thought, but my brain had already moved ahead.
Two weapons existed—the blade and this gun Manshu had—so someone had the knowledge. Someone knew how to mess around with this magic.
“Did he have any apprentices? People he would’ve taught this to?”
Syris shook his head. “Not that I knew of. He tried to keep it to himself, using it as a bargaining chip with those in the high council and the royal family, those he could manipulate for more power.”
Which means someone has this book. It made sense. Especially after all the stuff we’d seen lately.
“Can you stop it?” I asked sharply.
Syris immediately shook his head. “No.”
The word landed hard, and I didn't want to believe it. There had to be something we could do to combat this.
“Once the magic is infused,” he explained, “it has to burn itself out naturally…” His eyes flicked toward the blade. “…or be released.”
He lifted his hand and hovered it over the blade, which began to tremble violently. It moved as if it were trying to escape and attack his hand.
“Holding the magic inside an object traps it,” Syris continued quietly. “And because the power source is finite, it feeds on outside magic to sustain itself.”
My stomach tightened immediately. That explained why the experimental supes burned out so violently as well as why the turned ones lasted longer.
The fae magic had been consuming the magic sustaining their altered bodies, and once the magic ran dry, so did they.
“We don’t have time to let it burn itself out,” I muttered. “And I’m not letting it feed on people.”
Syris gave a slow nod. “Then the magic has to be released.”
“How?” I scratched my head, feeling like I was back to square one. At least I was working with better information this time, though.
“Find the book,” he said quietly. “And speak the release spell written inside it.”
I stared at him. That was the solution?
Find a centuries-old lost royal artifact somewhere in existence before a terrorist organization weaponized corrupted fae magic against the Syndicate?
Fan-fucking-tastic. My hand dragged down my face roughly.Oh, Ezra is going to love this.
“But we have to do this, Calix. We have to stop this no matter what.” Syris leaned forward, desperation cracking through his composure for the first time since the conversation started. “We cannot let this spread.”
His hands clenched tightly together.
“If more people learn how to use this magic…” His eyes closed briefly. “There won’t be a Faerie left to save. Then the magic will start to gobble up every supe creature here, ruining everything we’ve built until there is nothing left.”
The room went dead silent again, the seriousness of the situation setting in.
Syris looked directly at me, jaw set, eyes burning.
“We’re the only ones who can stop it.”
I looked back at the blade resting on the table, its surface catching the light with that familiar warped shimmer. It almost looked alive now that I knew what it really was. The faint pulseof magic running through it felt less like power and more like something breathing. Waiting.
Syris watched it too, his mouth drawn tight with old grief and fresh disgust, and for once none of us joked. None of us pushed. The weight sitting in the room had settled deep into everyone’s bones.
He was right.
