More, those minor spells had hit with incredible force. Magic had sung through them, louder than it ever had, all while they tried not to imagine their last bolts of fire and force failing, the troll closing the distance, but everyone gone, everyone escaped—
Sick, they were going to be sick. Kell wasn’t supposed to save them.
Saeldian made a fist and then opened it. When the magic unfurled from their fingers, Saeldian bit back a gasp. A hand glowed, floating in the air a few inches away from Saeldian’s.
This shouldn’t be happening. But they flexed their fingers and their will, and the magic obeyed.
The hand curled around the clay cup, lifted it, and brought it floating back to their lips. Their magic tilted the cup perfectly. Saeldian didn’t stop swallowing until the cup was empty.
This couldn’t be happening. They’d broken their pact. There was no way they hadn’t broken it. If giving your life to save another’s wasn’t enough—
Their power was intact. But it wasn’t just intact. Saeldian had never felt stronger in their life. They had driven that melded troll back hard enough to break bones. Their fire bolts had burned hot and stubborn. And they had such control over the hand they’d formed from their own will, Saeldian bet they could write a letter with it—or at least a list.
They had never been capable of the power to use a Mage Hand spell so subtly. That they could do it now, after everything, was not possible.
But Saeldian couldn’t deny the truth. Somehow, they’d become even more powerful than they were before. That had never happened without Osalor’s casual statement,You know, I think it’s timeyou learned something new,while they were meeting through the mirror.
And Osalor had never granted them this much strength. This new potency was a bucket’s worth next to a teacup, and it didn’t make sense. How had this happened?
The cup floated back to the nightstand and landed so gently it didn’t make a sound. The jug rose—it had some heft—and Saeldian used more magic to pour water into the cup.
They set the jug down and let the spell drop. “What in the Hells is going on here?”
“That was unexpected, I take it?”
Saeldian twisted around. Kell sat in the chair by the bed with his ankles crossed and resting on a padded footrest. A book cradled in his hands blocked the view of his bare chest until he set it on a little shelf. A scar that looked like he’d nearly lost his arm curled over his pectoral, leaving a bare streak in the hair on his chest. That hadn’t been there last night—or whenever they had been in that bed in Hearthaven’s Repose. And that scar, rose pink and shiny, was the story of a time he’d almost died.
For them.
Saeldian trembled and stared at Kell like they’d never see him again.
Light by the window shone on his hair. He had glasses. Round lenses rimmed in gold, sitting on his nose. They’d never seen Kell wearing glasses, but they had to be to help him read his book. When humans got older, they needed glasses to see things better.
The gray hair. The lines at his eyes when he smiled at Saeldian. Kell hadn’t smiled at them like that since Baldur’s Gate. Why the change? What had changed?
“It was a very good demonstration of the Mage Hand spell. But you seem troubled.”
Saeldian shrugged. “It was too good. I shouldn’t be able to do that.”
“As I get stronger, my spells are easier to control. Your heroic acts have strengthened you, obviously.”
“Don’t. I’m no hero.”
“Saeldian. You gave everything you had to save us without hesitation.”
No. No, they didn’t. “We all win, or nobody does.”
Kell reached up and pinched the temples of his glasses, taking his time lifting them away from his nose. “Just like you vowed. But you’ve changed. Your adoptive tiefling family has done you some good.”
Their middle turned to ice. “I haven’t changed.”
He smirked, not buying it. “The old Sheld wouldn’t have stood their ground and fought back, not when an easy exit would do.”
Saeldian shrugged. “Lorzok had to figure out that spell. There wasn’t anywhere else to go.”
Kell laughed, delighted. “I woke up yesterday. We had to rouse you to get half a cup of soup in you.”
Simple drawstring trousers, no shirt, bare feet…“You slept in my bed?”
