Death Bound (The Soulsworn Chronicles #1)

Chapter 43

Chapter Forty-Three

The quiet rustle of parchment and the faint scent of old books filled the air as I entered the library. Therynne was, as usual, surrounded by piles of ancient texts and loose papers, her fingers flicking through the pages with rapid precision. She barely noticed my arrival, too absorbed in whatever had captured her relentless curiosity.

I hovered near the entrance, feeling the weight of the past few days pressing down on me—Ciaran’s kiss, the gnawing uncertainty about the Dragon King’s next move, and the constant reminder that I was living a lie. It was all too much, and I needed a distraction.

And maybe, I was also hiding from Ciaran.

I wasn’t ready to process everything.

“Therynne,” I called out softly, stepping closer. She didn’t respond, her focus entirely on the tome in front of her, her lips moving silently as she read. I cleared my throat louder this time, and her head snapped up, her eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and excitement.

“Aeliana!” she exclaimed, her voice tinged with a high-pitched enthusiasm. “I’ve found something. Something incredible.”

I smiled, trying to push aside my own thoughts. “What is it?”

“ Essencelinking ,” she said, her voice taking on that rapid, almost breathless quality she always had when she was on the brink of a breakthrough. “It’s an ancient form of magic—no, not just magic.. It involves the manipulation of souls. Imagine it, Aeliana—controlling the very essence of a person. The ramifications are… well, they’re profound.”

“Manipulating souls?” I repeated, intrigued despite myself. I pulled up a chair and sat down across from her, the distraction from my thoughts more than welcome. “How does it work?”

Therynne’s fingers drummed on the table, her eyes lighting up as she launched into a detailed explanation. “The concept is rooted in the idea that a person’s soul is the true source of their power. Not just magic, but everything that makes them who they are—their emotions, their will, their very being. Essencelinking is the ability to bind souls together or, in some cases, to split them apart.”

She began pulling out books and scrolls, her movements quick and precise as she laid them out in front of me. “Here,” she said, pointing to a passage in one of the texts. “This is from an account dating back to 542 AL (After Light). It describes a warlord who used essencelinking to control his army, binding their souls to his own so that they moved and fought as one entity. The power it gave him was immense, but it came at a cost. Those bound to him lost their individuality, their autonomy.”

I leaned in, trying to grasp the full extent of what she was saying. “So, he was able to control them completely?”

“Exactly,” Therynne replied, her voice quickening with excitement. “But that’s just one application. The real potential lies in the ability to share or even transfer powers through the bond. If magic is tied to the soul, as I suspect, then essencelinking could allow someone to inherit abilities they didn’t originally possess. Imagine being able to tap into another person’s magic, to draw on their strength as if it were your own.”

My mind raced, trying to comprehend the consequences. “But how does that work? How can one person’s soul transfer their powers to another?”

Therynne’s eyes gleamed, and she began pacing, her hands gesturing rapidly as she spoke. “It’s all about the connection between the soul and the magic it carries. If you think of the soul as a vessel for magic, then the bond created by essencelinking acts as a conduit, allowing the magic to flow between the two souls. It’s not just about sharing power; it’s about merging identities, creating a unified force. But this isn’t just theory—there are historical references, scattered accounts from different eras, all pointing to the existence of this power.”

She pulled out another scroll, her fingers trembling slightly with excitement as she unfurled it. “This one mentions a ruler from the Fourth Age, who was rumored to have used essencelinking to unite his people. But the most compelling evidence comes from the fragments of texts I found about dragons. You see, dragons are different from us—they’re creatures of pure magic, and their souls are intricately tied to the magic of the world itself. If a person could bind their soul to a dragon’s…”

I stared at her, my heart pounding. “You think the Dragon King has done this?”

Therynne nodded, her eyes shining with a mixture of fear and awe. “It would explain so much—his control over the dragon, his unmatched power. Dragons are incredibly powerful, yes, but they’re also volatile, unpredictable. The only way to truly control one would be to bind your soul to it, to become one with the dragon. And if he’s done that, if he’s using essencelinking… it means he’s more dangerous than we ever imagined.”

I swallowed hard, the ramifications of her words settling heavily in my chest. “And if he can do that with a dragon, he could do it with a person too?”

“Yes,” Therynne whispered, her voice barely audible. “He could. And that’s what makes him so terrifying. He’s not just powerful—he’s connected. His magic, his strength, it’s all tied to those he’s bound to him. If he were to bind your soul, he could draw on your power, your magic, as if it were his own.”

I shivered, the thought of Valen having that kind of control over me making my blood run cold. “But how would that even work? Could it be… passed on? Could someone inherit powers through this?”

Therynne’s eyes widened with realization, her mind racing as she pieced together the possibilities. “Yes… yes, that would mean magic is fundamentally linked to the soul. If essencelinking can transfer magic, then it suggests that magic is more than just a skill or a gift—it’s a part of who we are, a part of our very being. And if that’s true, it could change everything we know about magic, about inheritance. It could mean that powers aren’t just passed down through bloodlines—they’re passed down through the soul itself.”

The air in the library felt charged, crackling with the weight of what we were discussing. This wasn’t just another discovery for Therynne; it was a revelation that could redefine everything we understood about magic, about power, about who we were.

Before I could respond, the door creaked open, and Isolde entered the room, her presence quiet and deliberate. She carried a small vial in her hand, her expression as unreadable as ever.

“I brought you something from Maris,” she said, her voice low and steady. “A tonic to help you sleep.”

Therynne barely glanced up, her mind still wrapped up in the enormity of her discovery. “Thank you,” she muttered absently, her fingers still tracing the lines of the ancient texts.

Isolde’s gaze drifted over the documents spread across the table, her eyes narrowing slightly as she took in the details. “Essencelinking,” she murmured, almost as if to herself. “An old magic.”

I studied her, sensing a subtle tension in her posture, a guardedness that I hadn’t noticed before. “You know about it?” I asked cautiously.

Isolde’s fingers tightened around the vial, her expression carefully neutral. “I’ve heard of it. It’s not something to be trifled with. The consequences… can be severe.”

Therynne, oblivious to the undercurrents in the room, looked up with renewed excitement. “That’s what makes it so fascinating! Imagine the possibilities—if magic is tied to the soul, then essencelinking could allow for the transfer, the sharing of power. It could redefine our entire understanding of magic.”

Isolde’s gaze flickered to me, then back to Therynne. “And what would you do with that knowledge?”

Therynne’s excitement faltered, just for a moment, before she answered. “Study it, of course. Understand it. If we could harness it, we could… we could change everything. But it’s not just about control—it’s about connection, about understanding the very nature of our existence.”

Isolde’s expression remained unreadable as she listened. “Essencelinking is not just about power,” she said quietly, her voice almost lost in the vastness of the library. “It’s about control—control over the soul, the essence of a person. Once a soul is bound, there’s no turning back.”

Therynne’s brow furrowed, the weight of Isolde’s words sinking in. “But if we could understand it, we could use it for good, right? To heal, to protect…”

Isolde’s eyes darkened, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Essencelinking has never been about protection. It’s about domination. And those who wield it are bound by the consequences, whether they understand them or not.”

I glanced at Therynne, who seemed to be processing the gravity of what she had uncovered. But there was something in Isolde’s words, that hinted at a deeper knowledge, a personal understanding that she wasn’t sharing.

“What do you mean by that?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to Isolde’s cryptic warning.

Isolde hesitated. “It’s just… dangerous. Magic that involves the soul is always dangerous. Once a bond is formed, it cannot be undone.”

I studied her, noting the subtle shift in her posture, the way her fingers tightened around the vial she was holding. She was guarded, her usual calm veneer slipping just slightly. “But you must have seen it before, right? You sound like you’ve encountered something like this.”

“Stories. Old stories,” she said, her tone evasive. “Every kingdom has them. The ancient magics, the warnings left behind by those who wielded them.”

I didn’t buy it, not entirely. “Isolde,” I began. “I never got to ask you—what’s your power?”

Isolde’s eyes narrowed slightly, the question clearly catching her off guard. She glanced away, her gaze fixing on one of the ancient texts spread out on the table, as if searching for an escape. “I’m not of noble blood,” she said finally, her voice measured, controlled. “I don’t have a power.”

Therynne looked up, her brow furrowing. “But everyone in the royal household has some form of power, even if it’s minor. How did you come to marry the king if you’re not of noble blood?”

Isolde’s lips tightened. “Ciaran has… different reasons for his marriages,” she said, her tone neutral, almost dismissive. “He marries women who are useful to him, who can offer something. Maris, for instance, is a healer. Therynne, you have your knowledge. And I… I’m here for Maris.”

She delivered the explanation so smoothly, but there was a hollowness to her words, a sense that she was holding back.

“So, you’re here only for Maris?” I pressed, my curiosity now tinged with suspicion.

Isolde’s eyes flicked to mine, a coolness settling over her features. “Yes,” she replied, her voice clipped. I knew Ciaran well enough by now to know that he didn’t do anything without a reason. He wouldn’t marry someone who wasn’t useful to him in some way, and Isolde was no exception.

I glanced at Therynne, who was back to her books, her focus entirely on the ancient magic she was studying. I wished I could get her opinion on this, but she was too wrapped up in her own thoughts.

“Isolde,” I said, still careful, “Why are you really here?”

She stiffened. “I told you, I’m here for Maris. That’s all you need to know.” Isolde’s lips curled into a faint, humorless smile. “Trust is a treacherous thing, Princess,” she said, her tone icy. “And not something I give lightly.”

She turned away from me, her movements precise and controlled, like a predator that had decided it wasn’t worth the effort to strike. “If there’s nothing else, I have duties to attend to.”

Before I could respond, Isolde was already heading toward the door, her posture stiff. The door closed behind her with a soft click, leaving the room feeling colder than before.

I stood there for a moment, the weight of her departure settling over me like a heavy cloak. Therynne’s voice broke through the silence, startling me. “Oh, did she go?” she asked, looking up from her notes with a distracted expression, as if she had only just noticed that Isolde was no longer in the room.

“Yeah,” I replied, my voice sounding distant even to my own ears. “She left.”

Therynne nodded absently, already lost in her own world again. But the unease that Isolde had left behind lingered, gnawing at the edges of my thoughts.