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She jolted, but the Scholar didn’t seem to notice. He was still detailing how her forgings would slowly kill her. She could hardly breathe.

“Perhaps this Karvek managed it because his forging tattoo was with both magics at once.” The scholar mused, tapping against the corner of his jaw. “It is likely the magics were already in harmony with each other. If so, was it something he did to achieve that, or the manner of the forging itself?”

Iryana stumbled backward until she collided with one of the student tables, the unyielding wood smacking into her spine. Her hands fumbled against the surface, gripping the edge to keep herself upright. Still Scholar Alar did not shut up.

She was dying?

She was dying.

It wasn’t true—it couldn’t be. She had just moved back in with her clan. Just started repairing her relationships with her sisters and the others. She had been willing to die to save her clan, willing to do anything. She’d only just started allowing herself to hope for a future with Pyetar. Yet now this scholar was telling her that she had actually doomed herself in her desperation to stop Karvek?

No. No, she wouldn’t be taken down like that.

Iryana swallowed, the air going down as easily as trudging through a blizzard.

She dragged her eyes back to the others, who were now talking animatedly among themselves. The Scholar was explaining how the relationships between the magic elements could lead to some combinations and orders being more stable than others, but Iryana didn’t care.

“No,” she interrupted, nearly shouting. It took a few moments to calm herself down enough to form rational words. “You’re wrong. We’re missing something. I just need to help my magic find harmony. How do I do that?”

The Scholar cocked his head. “That I don’t know. But with the rest of the air sect’s library combined with my sect’s knowledge, hopefully I can find something.”

That was all she had to encourage her? A bunch of books that had surely been read by others before.

“That’s it?” Iryana dragged out, voice straining. “What do I do until then?”

“I would suggest you use the forgings as little as possible until we have some idea how to settle them.” How could he sound so calm? So emotionless? It was cruel. “That will probably slow the deterioration of the bonds. I have some theories, but it would be riskier to try them without more research.”

Probably?

That was it, wait and hope? She honestly wasn’t the type.

She’d been so prepared to die before, but it felt like she finally had something to truly live for now. Leading her family as Third, safeguarding their future, having time to repair her relationship with Misha and the others. Time to make the guardians and soldiers work together. Time to make space for Pyetar in her life as Third, if such a thing were even possible.

“And trust that we’re motivated to do so,” Gyerhna added gently. “It would be unwise for us to experiment with more dual-forging until we’re sure yours can be successful.”

She could only nod, teeth clamped tight.

“If that is all, I will leave you,” she bit out.

The Scholar only waved at her to leave, still engrossed in his thoughts. But Gyerhna walked over to her and patted her shoulder.

“Don’t fear, Third. We will figure this out. Take some time. We’ll let you know if we think of anything else.”

Iryana nodded before hastily leaving the room and slipping up the side stairs before anyone else saw her. Her grandmother would have to wait.

There were so many things she was supposed to do, and now she didn’t know how long she’d have. Weeks? Months? Years?

Her clan had already lost their Second, and if they lost their Third too, the next heir would have to come from the fourth generation of which there was currently only one: baby Anara. And the odds of Anara reaching twenty and being forged in a metal well before Iryana’s grandmother passed… it just wasn’t possible. A clan without an heir or without a leader could not go on.

She’d doom her family after all.

Iryana looked at the gate to the valley below the Dovaki Post. She didn’t feel ready.

Her pack was full of everything she’d need, including extra layers for when it grew colder and plenty of provisions. She wore her guardian chest armor underneath her new, long padded coat. It completely disguised her lean frame. Her long brown braid was tied off tightly and hung down her back beneath her scarf and cap.

She had her old bow slipped around her chest, a quiver of arrows at her back. Her trusty falchion was hung at her waist. She looked like one of the unforged. A backup, she’d told them. People would find it strange if she didn’t immediately go for her forgings if they happened upon the dakii, but if the threat was small, she thought she could convince them she was keeping her regular archery skills up.

The sun crested over the mountains—it was time to go.