Page 26
My magic had been starving. Burning through me for months without its other half, without the Threadbreaker power it was meant to work with. And now—touching any magic that could potentially intertwine with it—it wanted. A starving thing that would accept even poison if it meant not dying empty.
“Lily.” There was warning in Beatrice’s voice now. “Your magic is pulling. Hold it back.”
I tried. But the hunger was building. My restoration power was reaching toward Beatrice’s magic, desperate and uncontrolled.
“Hold it back,” Beatrice repeated, more urgently.
“I’m trying—“
“Try harder.” Her hand tightened on mine. “If you let it progress to stage three—“
Too late. The restraint snapped.
My magic surged. Not gentle this time. A lunging, feral thing, completely beyond my control. It was searching for the missing half it had been denied, and finding him absent, it turned on the nearest substitute.
The power latched onto Beatrice’s magic and pulled, trying to drag it into the pattern, the rhythm, the dance.
Trying to weave.
“Stop—“ Beatrice’s voice cracked. “Lily, stop—“
I couldn’t. My magic had tasted the possibility of bonding and now it wouldn’t let go. Wouldn’t stop trying to complete something that was never meant to be completed with her.
Stage three. Active collaboration.
But there was no collaboration. Just my magic trying to force Beatrice’s into patterns it wasn’t meant to follow. It tried to braid what could not be braided, to stitch lightning into linen.
Pain exploded through my chest—not the dull ache of earlier, but something bright and catastrophic. Like my magic was tearing itself apart trying to force something impossible.
Beatrice screamed. Or maybe that was me. I couldn’t tell anymore.
Hands grabbed my shoulders and yanked me backwards.
The connection broke.
The world vanished in a violent tilt. Stone slammed into my spine hard enough to jar the breath from my lungs. For a moment there was nothing but impact and the metallic taste of blood flooding my mouth.
Syra knelt beside me, her hands on my shoulders, her face pale. “Lily—“
“I’m fine,” I choked out.
“You’re not fine.” Syra pressed something against my face. “You’re bleeding everywhere.”
I turned my head, trying to see Beatrice.
She stood a few feet away, one hand pressed against the wall, the other placed flat against her sternum. Her breath came in shallow pulls. She'd aged—not metaphorically, but visibly, the lines around her mouth deeper, the skin beneath her eyes thinned to tissue. Whatever the failed bond had cost her, it had taken years.
“What was that?” Syra demanded, looking between us.
“A mistake,” Beatrice said. “My mistake. I pushed too hard.”
“I tried to bond with you,” I whispered. The words tasted like blood. “My magic—it just—“
“It did what it’s meant to do.” Beatrice lowered her hand slowly, like she wasn’t sure her chest would hold together without it. “I should have anticipated that. Should have prepared better safeguards.”
Her eyes found mine. “Your magic is strong, Lily. Stronger than I expected. And it’s desperate. The moment it recognized magic that could intertwine with it—even the wrong magic—it tried to complete the bond.”
“What happens if I can't control it?” I asked quietly. “If I touch August and my magic just—takes over?”
