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Amaria’s lips flipped up in the smallest of smiles.

“There was definitely something wrong,” Phoebe said in Nyndrec, her voice sharp with disapproval.

“What was it?” I asked when she didn’t offer anything more.

She pursed her lips and tilted her head, still focused on the mark of the spell.

“The best I can explain is that it was burrowing into your mind, almost like it was a siphon. I’m not sure how they could make that kind of mistake. Siphoning is an entirely different spell from the translation. But I’ve neutralized that part of the spell. It will take a few hours for the ache to fade enough to know if it has fixed the pain.”

Amaria’s brows furrowed. “What could it have been siphoning?”

“I don’t know.” Phoebe shook her head. “It felt… messy. Unintentional. I wonder if the mage was just inexperienced. An amplifying component was utilized, so it stands to reason that perhaps they didn’t learn the proper notation and structure for translations.”

Amethyst frowned in confusion.

“Could that explain why she wasn’t given Nyndrec, then?” Amaria asked me.

Phoebe twisted, her frown as deep as Amethyst’s. She still had her hand covering the spell’s mark. “What do you mean she does not have Nyndrec? The Grand Rite’s requirements are quite clear for those that join from the Far Lands.”

“She was only given the languages of Ferias,” Amaria offered, dropping into Alwesh. “It was Sepra’s ticket that brought them into the Rite.”

“The woman who prepared us,” Amethyst said with a rough voice that made me want to haul her into my arms and soothe away her pain. She sat up straight and traced the thin chain that held the lapis pendant, untucking it from the tunic and staring at it. “It’s… fuzzy from both head injuries. But I think she said the Archmage didn’t know the languages from here.” Her eyes fluttered closed as she twisted the pendant’s chain a couple times around her finger. “She mentioned Tousir and Senona.” She tripped a bit over both the names. “But she didn’t mention Marish at all.”

“Do you think you can tolerate another spell?” Phoebe asked Amethyst carefully.

“Will it be that bad?”

Phoebe hesitated. “I’m not sure. Each person reacts differently. Your magic is quite substantive, though, which is likely to make it more painful than someone who has none, like Monique.”

Amethyst clearly swallowed whatever her first response was before muttering, “Come on, Amethyst. You can do it.” Then, louder, “All right.”

Phoebe didn’t hesitate. She murmured a single word, and her magic amassed around her, more dilute than before. Amethyst cried out again, her eyes squeezing shut as she grimaced. This time, I closed that last bit of distance, palming the side of her throat unmarked by the spell. She breathed through her teeth, her entire body held taut as a bowstring.

When Phoebe dropped her touch, Amethyst fell into me rather than Amaria. I wrapped my arm around her waist, soaking in the feel of her without the ache of knowing it was only temporary.

“Well, I didn’t throw up this time,” Amethyst muttered, “so definite improvement.”

“I wouldn’t have minded if you did,” I murmured in Nyndrec.

She frowned as she straightened, brushing her hands down the tunic and pants she wore.

“I would have. Once is plenty to be embarrassing for a lifetime.” There was a beat of quiet before her eyes widened. Her mouth dropped open, her lips forming a perfect ‘o’. Her voice was full of surprise when she said, “It worked.”

Phoebe laughed. “It should work the other way for us, as well. You’ll need to be intentional about thinking of which language you want us to hear when you speak. Since we haven’t been speaking in either language of Ferias, your mind’s been naturally opting for Alwesh. Now that you have Nyndrec, you’ll want to keep in mind which you’re focusing on.”

28

AMETHYST

Though less crowded, the ride to Vincent’s house was just as beautiful as the one to the basilica. More of those green and pink ribbons decorated the streets, hanging between trees and lamp posts and balconies of houses. When we crested a small hill a few blocks from the basilica, the rest of the city spread out below us, stretching farther into the distance than I’d expected. The sight of it stole my breath even as I drank down the details.

Along one edge was a river, wide and tame, its water a crystalline blue that reflected the sky as it wound around docks and smaller, squat buildings nestled right up against its banks. Within one of those bends of the river was a large glass building, trees and other plants obvious even from this distance. A greenhouse? Even as I wondered over its design, I soaked in the rest of the city. In the center of everything stood four buildings that rose nearly as high as the basilica. Their white stone pillars and pitched roofs and bold rotundas felt more in line with the rest of the city, leaving the basilica apart, reinforcing the feeling it was built at a different time than the rest of the city. Or at least for a different purpose. Between the four buildings was a large square. From our vantage, it was clearly a marketplace with stalls manned by vendors selling fabric and food and jewelry. Interspersed between the stalls were lounge areas, the grasses still dormant, though that didn’t stop some from spreading blankets and setting up picnics.

But most of my attention was for the large body of water that consumed the horizon, spreading as far as I could see. It reminded me of the time Sloane and I had gone to Chicago on a whim one spring morning. We’d stood on the beach of Lake Michigan, its choppy waves lapping our feet, and it had felt like we were standing on the cusp of an ocean in truth, its edges unknown. The water here was the same deep blue that was almost black, adding to the feeling of its expanse. Following its shore were a series of buildings and docks, large cargo barges with multiple sails and expansive decks anchored alongside smaller vessels that were probably used for fishing. Out on the water were three or four of those smaller boats, their single sails angled to catch the wind.

To our right, nearly opposite where the river carved a path through the buildings on its way to the water, nearly-sheer white cliffs at least fifty feet high fell into the choppy waters. Along the top of those cliffs were larger houses, sprawling estates that felt understated compared to a lot of the wealthy homes in America.

Even as Callum guided us toward those expansive homes, I murmured, “Wow.”