We burst into the cavern where the font of the World resides, our breathing ragged and sides aching. But we don’t stop. We cross to the base of the great statue, I lay out the supplies, and only then do I pause to collect myself, pushing strands of hair from my face.
“Are you ready?”
She nods, and we pick up pens at the same time.
My sister and I move in unison, dipping the tips of the pens into the water at the base of the statue. I press the pen tip to my card at the same time as her. Then we diverge.
I move through the room, around the statue, inking across the floor. I draw lines of raw power through the air. The academy itself is one massive card, every spire and line connecting. And this—much like the vessel card itself—is its center. Everything connects here.
Meanwhile, Arina sketches swirling constellations across the top of her card. She draws a frame worthy of Mother’s praise. She moveswith me, and it is as though our power dances around each other, feeding off each other, growing.
The room is luminous with the glittering strands of magic that hold the vessel card hovering in place before the statue. A web of past and present, of future. A portrait of Mother’s greatest work.
As the ink dries on Arina’s card, I reach for the vessel. Magic breaks apart into crystalline fragments as I tear it free. Her card turns golden.
She holds it out, and my heart squeezes.This is it.I reach to grab it, but then…
A violent streak of light cuts through the darkness of this cavernous room like a shooting star crashing to earth. We both turn, hearts pounding in our throats, frozen in place as the light takes the shape of a chariot that fades to reveal four figures.
One cowled individual I know to be a Major from his clothing—Judgment, probably, the Major who can revive people from death itself if he’s fast enough. Ravin is next to him. Then Cael, the Emperor, of all people. And finally, King Naethor himself.
Naethor’s eyes lock with mine, and a cruel smile cuts his mouth. “Thank you, Clara, for finally delivering me the World. Now I can finish what I started.”
Chapter 79
“I will never let you have it,” I say, seething, hatred oozing from every pore.
I reach for the Star clutched in Arina’s trembling hand. The sight of Ravin has her frozen in place. Her lips part for short, shaky breaths. Just when my fingertips graze the edge of the card, there’s a flash of gold in my periphery.
Stop. Do nothing,Cael’s voice echoes in my mind.
I don’t so much hear the command as Ifeelit. And in an instant, my body heeds it. I freeze in place. My muscles strain as I try to reach for the card, but I can’t. My body has been turned into living stone.
Being frozen as King Naethor finishes stalking toward us has the contents of my stomach threatening to upturn. Arina’s horrified gaze darts between us. She goes to turn, and there’s a flash of golden light again.
A Major that allows one to control another: the Emperor. Not suggest or influence. Full control.
Okay, now I know what I’m dealing with, but how do I fight a foe who can make my body betray me and render my own internalcommands useless? All the while fending off two other deadly individuals, possibly three, depending on what Judgment might do…Did the Hierophant get him on our side or not?
I continue to strain for control of my body. I can feel Cael’s hold breaking. My head turns with agonizing slowness to Naethor, who approaches with the calm of a predator enjoying his ensnared prey.
“I knew if I indulged my son’s fantasiesjust enough,let you get close to him—with precautions, of course—you’d do all the work for me. Or, for him, I should say.” His voice is as smooth as his movement toward Arina. She trembles violently. A silent scream is locked behind her lips but loud in her eyes. Naethor speaks again, this time mostly to himself: “With this, her wishes will finally be complete…”
I struggle to move, to stop him, to do anything.
Naethor tears the Star from Arina’s rigid grasp.
“Don’t,” I force through clenched teeth, a hard-fought victory.
He turns to me next, amusement alight in his eyes. No, more than that. Sheer delight.
Naethor reaches for the vessel and halts, dark brows furrowing. With anger and…sorrow? It’s sorrow that fills his eyes, vanishing as they drag back to mine.
“He gave you her stone.” The words are cold and detached. Like a different man from a different time is saying them. “He does love you.”
The sentiment is so tender it’s jarring. Seeing those warring emotions play out on the battlefield of his face has me reeling.
“Listen to me.” His voice drops, and the king steps directly in front of me. He has the same towering form as his son, but is far more muscular. The harsh lines of his face lend extra severity to his words. “The blood of Revisan was cursed. Nothing could expunge it, no matter what I tried, and it claimed his mother.”
