Chapter 11 #2
“What do you think?”
“I don’t know.” I pulled my hand free to run it through my hair, frustrated with myself, with the situation, with everything. “It’s been so long. They might not want to help. They might not even remember my family. Or worse, they might blame my grandparents for the coven falling apart.”
“It is your choice. Your family, your magic.” He recaptured my hand, threading his fingers through mine. “Whatever you decide, I support you.”
“You’re not going to tell me what to do?”
His mouth quirked in that way that always made my stomach flip. “When have I ever successfully told you what to do?”
“Fair point.”
We sat in comfortable silence for a moment, both of us thinking. The library was quiet around us, the only sound the occasional crackle of candles and the distant footsteps of guards on patrol.
“We can wait,” he said finally, still stroking my hand. “Do nothing. Hope Igryside backs down or gets distracted by another target.”
“They won’t. I read they’re obsessed with rare magic. With immortality. They probably want Killian and I for their creepy collection.”
“You’re right. They will not stop.” His jaw tightened. “Which means we cannot afford to sit here and hope for the best.”
“We can be proactive. Find Tyreen. Learn how my family fought them before. Get actual information instead of just waiting to be attacked.”
“Yes.”
I stood, pulling him up with me. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“To check on Killian. I need to see him before I can think about anything else.”
Killian’s room was dark and still. We opened the door carefully and stood in the doorway, watching him sleep.
He was sprawled across his bed in a position that looked deeply uncomfortable, limbs everywhere.
The flower crown had fallen off and was lying on his pillow.
His dragon shirt had ridden up to show his little belly, and he was snoring softly.
So small and vulnerable. So completely unaware that monsters from another realm wanted to hurt him.
Over my dead body would anyone touch him.
I stepped carefully into the room and adjusted his blanket, smoothed his hair back from his forehead. He mumbled something in his sleep, probably about cookies or dragons, and rolled over.
Mal’s arm came around my waist, drawing me against his chest. We stood there together, just watching our son breathe.
“We made a pretty great kid,” I whispered.
“We make pretty great everything.”
We backed out carefully and closed the door without a sound.
In the hallway, I stopped walking and took a deep breath. In and out. The decision had been forming in my chest since I’d watched Killian mumble in his sleep, and now it crystallized into certainty.
“I want to do it. Find Tyreen. Whatever it takes.”
“Then we find her.”
That was it. No hesitation, no doubt in his voice. Just complete, unwavering support. Sometimes I forgot how lucky I was to have someone who trusted me this much, who would follow my choices even when they were terrifying.
We walked together to Casimya’s guest room a few floors down. I knocked softly on her door.
She answered almost immediately, still fully dressed, a book in her hand. Like she’d been expecting us.
“You have decided,” she said. Not a question.
“We want to do the tracking ritual.”
She nodded once. “I can begin preparations tomorrow. But it will take days to prepare properly. The magic is complex.”
“How long?”
“Three days. Maybe four. And the ritual itself will be draining. You are the link to Tyreen, remember the spell will pull from you.”
Mal’s hand tightened on mine. I hadn’t shared that bit of information with him. “Is it dangerous?”
“Not dangerous,” Casimya said carefully. “But exhausting. She will need significant rest afterward.”
“I can handle it,” I said.
Casimya’s expression softened slightly. “I know you can.”
With that, we returned to our chambers, both of us exhausted but too wired to sleep right away.
Mal and I climbed into bed and he gathered me against him, wrapping around me like he was afraid I might disappear if he let go.
His chin rested on top of my head, one arm banded across my waist, our legs tangled together in a familiar knot.
“We will figure this out,” he murmured against my hair. “We always do.”
“I know. Together.”
“Yes. Always, my little mate.”
I fell asleep like that, safe in his arms, knowing that whatever came next, we’d face it as a team. We’d survived the rejection and found our way back to each other. We’d survived the accusations at the banquet. We’d survive this too.
***
Three days later, I stood in a ritual room that Casimya had prepared. Candles everywhere, dozens of them, maybe hundreds. Herbs burning in bronze bowls, filling the air with sweet smoke. Magical circles drawn on the stone floor in what I really hoped wasn’t blood.
“Are you ready?” Casimya asked.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
Mal stepped forward. “I am staying.”
Casimya raised an eyebrow. “The ritual requires her as the blood link. You cannot participate in the magic itself.”
“I am staying beside her.”
Casimya looked at him for a long moment. Mal stared back, immovable. Finally, she sighed.
“Very well. But outside the circle. Do not break the boundary.”
She positioned me in the center of the largest circle, easily ten feet across, and Mal settled himself just outside it, close enough that we could link hands across the boundary. His palm was warm against mine.
“Be strong,” Casimya said as she prepared her materials. Herbs, crystals, a silver blade, a bowl. “This may take hours. Hold your focus through the drain.”
“I will.”
She took my free hand and made a small cut on my palm with the silver blade. I winced but didn’t pull away. Blood dripped into the bowl at my feet, dark red against bronze.
The magic began to build at once. I could feel it in the air, electric. The candle flames flickered and grew taller. Pressure built against my skin.
Casimya started chanting in a language I didn’t recognize. Old, powerful words. The pressure increased with each syllable.
The spell pulled at me, not painful, but insistent. Like invisible hands tugging at my energy, using it to search across dimensions.
Then, in the middle of the building magic, a small portal opened about three feet to my left. Shimmering and unstable, clearly created by someone still learning.
A piece of paper fell through.
Mal caught it before it hit the ground, and despite the serious ritual happening around us, his face softened with affection.
“I miss you,” he read quietly. “Love Killian. That is supposed to be a heart.”
I looked at the crude drawing on the paper. Stick figures of our family and a blob that might have been a heart or might have been a potato. With Killian’s artistic skills, it was impossible to tell.
Despite the magic already pulling at me, I smiled.
“He’s such a cutie. Gets that from you.”
Mal scribbled a response and sent it back through the small portal. “We miss you too, pup. Be good for Grandma.”
The portal snapped shut with a small pop.
Casimya continued chanting, unbothered. She’d probably seen weirder things in her centuries of practicing magic. A four-year-old sending love notes through portals during a blood ritual barely registered.
Hours passed in a blur of candlelight and smoke. The spell used my energy like fuel, burning through my reserves as it searched across dimensions. Through realms I couldn’t name. Looking for one specific magical signature among millions.
My bones ached. My vision blurred at the edges. Sweat dripped down my temples.
More notes from Killian appeared periodically, breaking through the monotony. One was just a drawing of flowers. Another had “when are you done?” written in Sorcha’s careful handwriting, a note next to it saying Killian had dictated the words and wanted Grandma to write it.
Mal read each one to me softly, his voice a lifeline. He wrote brief responses, “Soon” and “Love you” and “Be patient,” and sent them back. Each note brought a flicker of warmth to my chest even as I felt myself fading.
I was pale now, I knew. Shaking. The spell was taking everything I had and reaching for more.
Casimya’s chanting reached a crescendo. The candles all flared at once, flames jumping. The magic surged through me like lightning.
“I have her!” Casimya shouted. “Tyreen. She is alive!”
“Where?” I gasped out, my voice barely a whisper.
“In Lytopia. Noctherion woods. Deep in the interior, heavily warded and hidden.”
“Did she feel the tracking?”
Casimya’s expression turned grim. “Yes. She knows someone found her. She will be wary. Possibly hostile.”
That was the last thing I heard clearly before my legs gave out. The world tilted sideways and I had the distant sensation of falling, of the floor rushing up to meet me.
But Mal was faster.
His arms caught me before I hit the ground, and then I was being lifted, cradled against his chest like I weighed nothing at all.
“I have you,” he said, worry threading through his voice.
“I can walk,” I protested weakly, though the words came out slurred and unconvincing even to my own ears.
“I know. I am carrying you anyway.”
“Stubborn wolf.”
People probably stared as he carried me through the castle corridors, gossiping about the queen being hauled around like a damsel in distress. I was too spent to care about anything except the warm comfort of being held, the steady beat of his heart against my cheek.
Then the softness of our bed beneath me, the pillow under my head. Mal sat beside me, his hand brushing hair from my sweaty forehead.
“Do you think she’ll help us?” I asked, my eyes already closing.
“Anyone who meets you sees how incredible you are.”
“You’re biased.”
“Completely.”
I managed a weak laugh. “We found her though.”
“We did. Rest now. I’ll look after you.”
I fell asleep still holding his hand, knowing we’d found our first real lead.