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Her father had gifted this to her. To the baby. His grandchild.
While she couldn’t banish the resentment that constantly burned in her heart, she felt the edges smooth out.
“I think he’s sorry,” Larylis said, shifting closer to her. “Though I know you’ll eventually have to tell him…”
He didn’t finish, but Mareleau knew what he was trying to say. Soon she’d have to tell her father that her condition had come to an end. That had been the plan, at least.
With the gift in her lap and the emotions building in her chest, the cruelty of her original scheme struck her like a knife to the chest. Yes, she’d been willing to do whatever it took to be with Larylis, but couldn’t she have gone about it another way? She’d been desperate then, fueled by anger and indignation. But she’d lied about a subject that no longer felt like an easy pawn to play with. It felt fragile. Tenuous. Precious. Something that shouldn’t be treated like a game. She remembered how Cora had praised her for not wanting to treat children like pawns. The princess had given her far too much credit.
Again her hand went to her belly. She hadn’t made peace with her pregnancy and had no clue how Larylis would react. She remembered his bitterness over her lie, but that didn’t mean he wanted children any time soon. Yet…something brighter than fear ignited inside her. A fierce and protective fire she’d never felt before. She let it grow. Let it warm her heart and soul.
Her vision blurred beneath a sheen of tears. She felt the pallet shift, then Larylis’ arms gathering her to his chest. “It’s all right, Mare,” he whispered into her hair. “We’ll tell him together. I’ll support your lie in every way, then we’ll never need to speak of it again.”
Her pulse sped like hummingbird wings, drawing words to her lips. Once she said them, she couldn’t take them back. With a deep breath, she pulled away. He kept his arms around her shoulders, as if he feared she’d fall apart. Maybe she would. Her voice trembled, her tone a whisper. “It isn’t a lie. Not anymore.”
Larylis blinked at her several times. “What do you mean?”
“It isn’t a lie. I…I’m with child.”
His eyes went wide.
“At least I think I am,” she said in a rush. “I haven’t been seen by a physician, but the signs are rather hard to ignore—”
Larylis pulled her back to him again. His embrace was tighter this time, as if he too felt that protective fire. They stayed like that for endless moments, saying nothing, letting their shared tears relay the promises in their hearts.
* * *
The edgesof Teryn’s consciousness threatened to fray, but he forced his focus to remain steady, narrowing onto the thin strand of light he drew with the tip of his finger. He didn’t know how long he’d been drawing, but the pattern was nearly complete. A rectangle composed of interlocking loops and lines hovered midair beneath his hand. Just a few more lines remained…
Teryn turned his hand, executing a precise loop with the glowing light that trailed his finger like ink. Finally, he made the final mark, a straight line at the very top. With a gasp, he broke away from the pattern. Emylia stood beside him, remaining silent as he connected with his vitale. One breath. Two. He counted his heartbeat, sank into the rhythm of his pulse. Once his nerves had settled, he lifted his gaze to the pattern that hovered before him.
He and Emylia were in her temple bedroom, and the weaving glowed like an apparition in the air. Emylia had taught him how to manipulate the crystal’s light, how to use it to cut through her illusions to create markings in the air. It took all of Teryn’s concentration to focus on drawing with light, but without a body, much less paper and ink, this was the only way he could practice the pattern.
“It’s perfect,” she said, stepping closer and studying it from every angle.
Teryn nodded. He already knew it was. This was the seventh time he’d perfectly replicated the markings they’d found in the book from memory alone. Before this, he’d practiced tracing it, then copying the image beside the original. He’d lost count of how many unsuccessful attempts he’d made before his seven perfect ones, but he knew how many days had passed. Five since they’d discovered the pattern. Six since he’d had last seen Cora.
Despite Emylia’s insistence that the blood seal would eventually fade, they were still unable to project themselves outside the crystal unless Morkai was sleeping. That wouldn’t have been a problem, for Teryn would have an easier time taking over his body while Morkai slept, but the sorcerer was already a step ahead. Each night, he’d begun tying a wrist to the bedpost, and the vials of blood Teryn needed to draw the pattern with were always at the far end of the room. This meant Teryn had to first throw all his efforts into untying the binds around his wrists before he could attempt anything else. Even so, Morkai almost always awoke before Teryn could free his wrist. The one time he’d managed to free himself, he was so fatigued that he hadn’t managed more than a single step away from the bed before he lost consciousness.
He hated his own futility. While he’d grown more adept at seizing control over his cereba at night, it still wasn’t easy. His moves were uncoordinated, erratic, his limbs too heavy as if they weren’t his own. The only time he’d felt somewhat whole was when he’d stepped into his body to kiss Cora.
His heart ached at the thought of her. Where was she? Was she somewhere safe? He had no idea what was happening during the day. What dark deeds had Morkai accomplished in Teryn’s absence?
He had no answers. All he could do was practice.
Practice.
Practice.
So that when the time came, he’d be ready to act.
He waved his hand through the weaving and the light dissolved. “Again,” he said, and started the drawing all over again, working from the bottom up.
Emylia had shown him the memory of the original weaving. She’d been telling the truth about it being too far away for her to clearly see. The crystal had been resting on a stone in the forest while a pair of hunters held down a gray unicorn with iron chains. Morkai had stood in the shadows far from the crystal—beyond the radius Emylia could project from—while he’d woven his pattern of blood. Unlike Teryn, Morkai didn’t use his hands to manipulate blood. Instead, the blood moved on its own above the sorcerer’s palm. Still, Teryn had been able to make out one important detail: where the pattern started. It began with a straight line across before weaving downward toward Morkai’s hand.
After studying the pattern, Teryn knew it had been forged of a single unbroken line from top to bottom. All Teryn had to do was draw it in reverse. To fully break the spell, he’d need to draw it with the sorcerer’s blood, and to do that he’d need to memorize the pattern.
He had one step down. One step that he was determined to repeat over and over—
