“Demons.” His finger moved to a small section that could have easily been missed. Where Diehle’s magic was now resting. Cirrian continued to point out sections. Fae and mage, then he moved to kinborn witches in a divine detour from the solidcolors of the others. Green, anthracite, and antique gold formed a ribbon of color in their orbs. There were fewer of them than the others.
“kinborn witches must live an extremely long time,” I pondered.
“No. We don’t usually collect their magic. It predates our existence. But, in rare incidences, they’re taken by us. Usually those who have been denounced by source. Those whose magic was used for malicious purposes, who failed to honor it. Then we are allowed to take it because they no longer wish it to be a well from which magic is pulled. I believe they view it as tainted.”
“Doesn’t weaken their lineage.”
He scoffed. “They practice a level of secrecy and restraint that makes it difficult to truly know the extent of their abilities, but from what I’ve observed and have been told, there isn’t much that could weaken their magic. “Ashinwas.”
My eyes traveled to the orbs he pointed to and understood why Jamillah thought she should have found me. They contained similar spools of color, although where there was verdant green, ashinwa was emerald; in place of antique gold, there was metallic. Instead of the blackest gray of anthracite, ashinwa was closer to gunmetal.
“Are kinborn witches omni-magic, too?”
“I don’t know.” The disappointment of the uncertainty was embedded in his words. If he knew for sure, he could have them use their magic to release his friends. But with magic like theirs, would he have been able to coerce their assistance?
Feeling his eyes on me, I looked at him. “If one of your kind dies before the Spellrend, that line of magic is gone,” he said softly. “For me to be able to feel the magic in you means that one of your parents went through the Spellrend. You don’t know which one was an ashinwa, do you?”
I shook my head, not wanting to tell them they were witches.
“Give me your parents’ names?”
“Natalie Glenn-Bennett,” I provided. He didn’t move, so I assumed he was waiting for my father. “Vincent.”
The names whispered into the vast palace reverberated as if they had been screamed into a canyon. Responding to Cirrian’s words, the Laytherium awoke. The room chilled over, energy buzzing throughout, and then two orbs, both an airy pearl blue that indicated the weakness of their magic, came from the midpoint along the farthest part of the room and landed in his hand. He handed them to me. A feeling of comfort and familiarity came over me. I didn’t like it. So many years of healing from the loss of my parents had left me raw. Now it felt like I was with them, sharing a moment, and it took everything in me to refrain from hugging the symbolic version of them. When this was over, my grief would be twofold. Cirrian was pensive, eyes on me for a long time before tearing them away and finding other things in the vast building to look at.
“Which parent was ashinwa?” he asked after a long moment of silence. My eyes followed his to where the orbs had come from, a gradient of light to dark. My parents were only just blue enough to be categorized.
He whispered something else, and another orb materialized in his hand. “This is ashinwa,” he said, as if I needed to see them side by side to see his point.
I quickly came to the conclusion he seemed reluctant to make. “Neither of my parents was ashinwa? So,” I started slowly, “I’m not, either.”
Shit. Things just got worse. What should I do now? Did this invalidate my oath? Would it automatically make me break it, subjecting me to death? He couldn’t kill. No, he was rule-bound not to. Although he’d proved fully capable of killing. What did this mean?
“Were they immune to wards and oaths?” he asked.
I shook my head. When my ability had been discovered, it was Amelia who tested theirs.
His eyes were hauntingly engaging, his lips a taut line as he guided me where his mind had already gone.
“They’re not my parents?”
I tried not to shatter, but it was too hard. Broken in places I couldn’t identify. Tears prickled. Cirrian’s lips parted but then slowly closed. His finger brushed over my hand to get my attention, but I couldn’t look at him and continue fighting back the tears and wrangling the tidal wave of emotions.
He whispered something, and the orbs disappeared.
When I managed to shore up the strength to look at him, my nails were painfully embedded in my palms as I sifted through the ache, hollowness, anger, obscurity of my existence, and a multitude of emotions I couldn’t put words to. I labored for each breath, and the many questions I had were lodged behind the lump in my throat.
Did Cirrian realize he’d just destroyed my world in more ways than that one? Taking away parents who I had believed had withheld important life-changing information and replacing them with people who’d simply raised me and may not have even known what I was. Probably misinformed that I was a witch, too.
The only thing true about them was that they were witches. Witches whose magic was so weak their orbs were barely blue.
I was left with a million questions. My aunt, who cared for me after my parents’ accident, seemed unable to form a real connection with me. Was it because she knew? Who’d put a protection spell on me, and why?
“When did you suspect it?”
“When you told me about the attack. The aura of magic on you is strong.”
“Is it normal for ashinwas to have a protection spell on them?”
