“We took a wrong turn, and then several more. This place is a maze,” I say, putting on a shy smile. “But we found my ring.” I hold up my hand to show her.
Ronan looks at me, and he can tell immediately that something is wrong. I do my best to project feelings of needing to leave as quickly as possible to him.
“I’m afraid you’ve missed most of the tour. I have time to show you one more refinery if you’d like to—”
“That won’t be necessary,” says Ronan. “I can catch her up on what she missed. Thank you so much for having me. I was truly overdue for a visit.” He offers his hand, which Hypatia bends and kisses, the tension dissolving from her shoulders as she straightens back up.
The tour must have gone well.
“Return anytime. Your majesty is always welcome here. We here at the Guild are committed to restoring the crown’s confidence in our work.” Hypatia seems to mean this genuinely, although I’m unable to read her emotions to see if she’s concealing anything.
I wouldn’t have the magic to do so even if I could control it. The torch is warming in my pocket despite my best efforts. At this rate, it’s going to reignite at any moment, and I’m going to collapse from exhaustion.
I feel it reach out towards Ronan, but I don’t feel recognition in Ronan’s own feelings. He can’t sense it yet, not while I’m suppressing it. But if it keeps reaching, I’m not going to be able to stop it.
“Calm down,” I mutter as we walk away from Hypatia.
“I’m sorry?” asks Ronan.
“Not you. Fuck.” My pants are smoking. I pat down the flame, trying to act as if I’m checking to make sure I have everything I brought with me.
“Something burning a hole in your pocket?” says Ronan with a wink.
The torch is very pleased with itself. I roll my eyes at it.
“Sorry, darling, I’m going to need something of yours for just a minute,” I say, giving Ronan a meaningful glance.
And then I siphon his magic. I reach out and tug on his power, sensing it like I did when I split the shadows the first time, and I draw it back into me, turning his light into darkness.
The torch responds greedily, urging me to pull on this particular thread.
“My love, I believe you’re taking quite a lot,” says Ronan, an edge in his voice. “I’m not going to make it through that door if you’re not careful.”
“Then we’d better hurry, hadn’t we?”
Taran gets the door for us, and the second it closes behind us, I run for the carriage. “Get in. Close the door and the curtains. Hurry!”
The carriage driver takes off in a rush, jolting us into motion as I pull the torch from my pocket. It falls from my hand, tumbling to the carriage floor.
I draw on the last bit of Ronan’s magic to keep it from igniting. “I told you to wait!” I yell.
Ronan looks at Taran, confused as to who I’m talking to. “Show me what you’ve stolen, my delightfully devious darling.”
I pick up the torch from the ground, keeping it snuffed with considerable effort. “Be gentle. Don’t scare him.”
“Sylvie, you’ve stolen a stick? Are you talking to a stick?”
“She collapsed. She hit her head. I wanted to say something, but I didn’t know if we could trust them—”
“Ah!” Ronan cries out as the torch bursts into light, the last of our magic gone.
“Be careful. It’s a little intense—”
Ronan collapses back into his seat as he touches the torch. His mouth falls open, words spilling out in a language and voice that isn’t his own. His eyes roll back into his head, and his body convulses, his legs shaking violently.
“Ronan!” I scream. I pull on his magic, trying to bring him back to me, but there’s nothing there. The only thing that feels like his magic nearby is this damned torch.
“This is what you did. Exactly,” says Taran, his hand covering his mouth. “You came out of it in a few seconds.”
