Chapter 15 #2
No one stirs as I rise to my feet and cross the grass. I’m almost at the treeline when Therin wakes. He lifts his arm from where it’s been resting over his face and half-sits.
I shake my head, motioning to the still-sleeping Guard around him.
Stay here until I call.
He nods, and stays where he is.
Mist drifts low over the valley as I step out of the trees. The casting site is a quarter mile from the camp, and I take my time walking over to it, then move to the center of the invisible circle and tip my face up toward the sky.
The moon is low in the west, fading as the sun rises in the east. Dawn should be the perfect time for this. It sits on the threshold between night and day, when the barriers between worlds are at their weakest.
The magic the human mages used to seal Underhill away is nothing like fae magic, which is light and delicate.
This is ugly, heavy, and brutally functional.
There are twelve focus points. Eleven spaced evenly around the edges of the circle, with the twelfth standing central where they can draw on the power of the others.
My mind works over it, tracing every place where a thread bends back on itself, every knot the mortal mages tied off, and every joint where their working drew on blood, and salt, and iron.
The salt won’t be a problem. My bloodline was born to a court that has developed the ability to navigate around salt more than the others can. That is one of the reasons I was the one chosen to lead the charge all those years ago.
The iron will be harder. But my magic is strong enough. It has to be.
It was my responsibility to break the magic back then, and I failed. It is my responsibility to fix that failure now.
I draw in a deep breath, hold it for two heartbeats, then let it go.
It’s time.
Reaching down the threads, I call the Guard to me. I urge them to awaken and come to where I stand. They move through the trees in silence, Alleria walking between Serath and Therin. Once they’re a few feet away, I step forward, moving around the circle and waving a warrior to stand where I point.
“The mages laid this out in a way that doesn’t follow how we would work a similar casting,” I explain as I walk. “You must remain still. Do not step off your assigned place. If you do, the whole working could backfire.”
Once they’re all in place, I turn to Alleria.
“The mages were twelve in total. If you join the working, it could fail. I have no interest in discovering how badly that could go wrong today. I need you to stay out of reach. Go back to the tree line and wait there.”
“But—”
“Now is not the time to argue with me. Dawn is coming, and we only have a few minutes to make this work.”
She stares at me for the length of one heartbeat, then nods.
“You may feel me draw on the bond between us. Don’t fight it. But don’t try to push anything down it either. Do you understand?”
“I … I think so.”
I cup her chin in my palm and tip her face up. There’s fear in her eyes.
“If something goes wrong, go back to the clearing. It’s warded and will protect you from any magical backlash. Stay there until one of us comes for you. Promise me.”
“I promise.”
I hold her there for a moment longer, then lower my mouth to forehead. Then I let my hand drop and step back. “Go now.”
I wait until she’s back near the trees before I turn and walk back into the circle.
Dropping to my knees, I press both palms flat to the grass.
The wrongness rises immediately. Iron, worked into the soil three centuries ago, burns where it touches my skin, and the salt residue catches at the back of my throat.
I acknowledge the sensations then dismiss them, reaching for my magic.
I mirror the existing spell first, and lay my own threads alongside it, fae magic to mortal magic.
The Guard’s threads blaze around me, eleven points of light arranged at the eleven points of the working.
Through each thread, I can feel them holding—feet planted, breath steady, magic banked and ready to pour into me the moment I call for it.
Then I begin to reverse their spell.
The grass under my palms turns hot, the heat traveling up my arms and into my chest, then spreads outward, racing to each point where a Guard stands.
“Brace.” My warning comes a second before the heat hits them. Spines snap taut, heads are thrown back, but they hold in place.
My throat where the collar once sat burns. The place where antlers were forced from my skull throbs. I close my eyes, clench my teeth, and shove the pain away.
It isn’t real.
The frame of the spell rises behind my eyes, and I push to my feet and move to the first point. Silver power drips from my fingertips as I move around the circle, and slowly the structure begins to light up.
By the time I reach Therin, who stands as the eleventh point, I’m soaked through. Sweat or blood or both, I have no clue and it doesn’t matter. If the cost to send them home is my blood, then I will bleed.
Around me the spell burns, iron and salt lifting from the ground, spinning and twisting as it flows around me. I walk back toward the center of the circle, drop to my knees, and tip my face to the sky.
Power pulses outward and the binding that seals Underhill flexes.
But it’s not enough.
I push harder. Magic flows out of my body, thickening into a flood, and burning along the binding’s pathways. Iron falls, salt scatters.
And I burn.
Gritting my teeth, I reach down the Nightwild threads. The Guard answers, their magic flowing toward me in a rush that makes my teeth ache. But I take what they’re giving me. I drive it down through my palms and into the soil.
The taste at the back of my throat changes. The copper and salt give way to something older, cleaner.
I keep pushing.
I take everything the Guard gives me, everything I have left of my own, and I force it down into the center of the binding.
A cracking sound fills the air and then … silence.
Every bird that has been waking in the trees stops singing. The low, constant hum that has been in this ground for three centuries ceases between one heartbeat and the next.
I throw back my head, the tendons in my neck tightening so much I fear they might snap.
But still I push.
Someone makes a sound, a low, strangled gasp, and then the scent of magic reaches me. The pure, sweet magic of Underhill.
A vertical seam of silver light opens. It’s knife-thin, hanging in the air a hand’s breadth above the ground in front of me.
I keep pushing. The seam shimmers, fades, then reforms.
My teeth are clenched so hard, I’m sure they might shatter. But I don’t stop. Not when the pressure behind my eyes turns my vision white. And not when the magic inside me burns its way from my chest and up my throat.
I don’t stop until the seam widens and I catch a glimpse of Underhill on the other side.
Then I let go, and the ground rushes up to meet my face.
“Cairn!” Her voice comes from somewhere far away, and I throw up one hand.
If she touches me now, while the magic still courses through me, there’s no telling what might happen.
“Let me go!”
“He’s still inside the spell.” Therin’s voice, tight and low. “Wait.”
Whatever she answers is lost beneath the rushing sound in my ears. I breathe through it, focusing on the beat of my heart, the thrum of my pulse, and slowly the magic burning through my body loosens its grip.
I lift my head to see Alleria held against Therin’s chest, his arm across her ribs, her feet clear of the grass. Her fingers are holding onto his forearm in a white-knuckled grip. Her eyes are fixed on me.
“Set her down.”
The second her feet touch the ground she races across the grass and drops to her knees in front of me.
“Cairn? Oh gods, I thought … there was smoke coming from your skin. I thought … I … I …” Her hand touches my face. “Say something.”
I raise one hand and stroke my finger along the line of her jaw.
“I’m all right.” Over the top of her head, my eyes find Therin.
He steps up behind her. My hand slides around the back of her neck, and I draw her toward me. My lips find hers, and my left hand comes up to touch her temple.
It’s the gentlest piece of magic I’ve done. It runs from my fingers into her skin. Her eyelashes flutter, her eyes lose their focus between one heartbeat and the next, and her body goes slack before she has time to register what I’ve done, let alone object to it.
She sags forward, and I catch her. Rising to my feet, I scoop her up into my arms, then face my Guard.
“Summon your steeds. Vessara, take Alleria.”
Vessara slides her arms beneath Alleria, and takes her from me. Her steed, Sythalmir, forms at her back.
“Therin and I will stay and wait for the freed fae to reach us. Once they are safely in Underhill, we will meet you at Nightward. Vel, you will take charge until I return.” I glance around, meeting the eyes of every single one of the Guard in turn, pausing on Vel and Riahn.
“You will all guard Alleria as you would each other. No matter what she was, she is one of us now, and you will treat her as such.”
Vessara settles Alleria’s unconscious form across Sythalmir’s back, then swings up into the saddle behind her.
The rest of the Guard mount their steeds.
One by one, they step toward the opening to Underhill.
Vel goes first. Sorel follows. Vessara is next.
Serath, then Caelum. Kaelith, Brael, Iorel.
Maerwyn. Riahn waits until last, glancing back at me before she crosses.
When the last of them is gone, the seam flickers then dissolves, leaving the two of us alone in the Vale. I check the connection to Underhill. It is alive and well, and as strong as it was all those centuries ago. Opening the doorway when we need it will not be a problem anymore.
Therin shakes his head. “You’re going to pay for that when she wakes up.”
“I know.”
“She might go back to wanting to kill you.”
“Probably.”
“Was it worth it?”
I look at the ground where my Guard stood, then back up at him. “Yes.”