Lara rolls her eyes dramatically. But Vren has a point.
Ronyn raises his hands in mock surrender. “You know I hate Thalmyr as much as the next Virellin slum rat he’s personally victimized, but Calira has a point,” he ventures, keeping his hands raised. “The Barrier only exists to protect Virellin Castle. Keeping the Starborn in to defend it from Ilyra. No—Nyrielle. Whoever she is now. I’m not saying he’s made good choices, but if we don’t make a move or get him a dragon or two, The Barrier comes down and the north will move before we have a plan anyway. So, you know… time is of the essence. That’s my point.”
Hold on. What?
Elyssara’s mind scrambles.
“What do you mean ‘get him a dragon or The Barrier comes down?’” she demands, eyes narrowing to slits.
Lara huffs audibly and mutters something under her breath. Vren moves to speak but Ronyn winks in a gesture that says ‘allow me.’
“Dragonblood holds up The Barrier to keep the evil bitches out. Every month, one of them sacrifices themselves to Thalmyr. So yeah, he needs their blood, or goodbye Barrier, and helloopportunistic attack from the north.” Ronyn answers simply, finishing his explanation with a nonchalant shrug.
Time stills. Realization sharpens. Like the fog has lifted. Everythingfinallystarting to make sense.
“We give our blood and our lives, witch. What do you give?” Vren snaps at Lara, a haughty arrogance taking root in his demeanor.
Elyssara ignores it. Her gaze lands on Rubi. She’s rifling through her bags like a woman possessed.
“What is it?” Elyssara whispers.
Rubi holds a finger, searching frantically for something, her mouth moving as she recites words, calculations, scientific jargon Elyssara doesn’t understand.
Teddy notices, too. “What is it, Rubes?”
She hisses a noise in irritation, like any sound could interrupt the delicate hold she has on her thoughts.
Bowls fly from her bags, vials, powders, a pestle. She drags them in front of Vren. No one speaks.No one.The tension teeters on a knife’s edge. Everyone moves in, crowding around whatever Rubi is doing. Likethisis what could unite a room full of rivals and enemies.
She pours vials of dark powders in equal measure in each bowl. Her fingers work deftly with the materials. She moves like a woman who has done this thousands of times. Like a woman who has lived inside the Nymerian apothecary with a point to prove.
“When I was in Nymeris, I discovered that there is a unique resin from Caeloria being sold to Nymeris,” Rubi says, her hands still working the powders, the pestle.
“Ilyra signed off on the import of ironsap. The resin. When mixed with threvenar, it takes what is normally a temporary memory suppressant that exists in the bloodstream, and carries it inside the cell making it a permanent and absolute occupationof a body,” she says, her voice a steady stream of facts and observations.
She measures more powders, this one with a slight tinge of amber.
“Ironsap is strong—it cannot be flushed, cleansed, or dissolved. No binders have been successful in extracting it. No tonics. No elixirs. It cannot be purged.”
She grinds the powders together, watching them mix into an indiscernible blend.
“Any techniques I’ve used have resulted in the altered threvenar repelling it, pushing it away. Effectively protecting itself from extraction. This is why the threvenar in Dravara has caused permanent memory erasure.”
Holy fucking Stars.
Her eyes lift to Vren, who looks at her with confusion.
Rubi unhooks her sickle blade from her belt. “Give me your hand,” she commands, and the Melder offers it, no hesitation. She slices into the flesh of his palm, and thick crimson blood blooms in a single bead.
“Into the bowl,” Rubi instructs.
Vren squeezes his fist, allowing one drop to fall into the bowl.
Two.
Three.
Rubi pushes his hand away, and hovers over the bowl, watching like this moment could make or break the realms. The blood runs down the inside of the bowl, following the curve of its interior. It falls slowly, patiently. And finally, the blood meets the powder.
