The Healing Spring
TALIA
I was wrong. Flux channeling isn’t a lost technology.
The hot springs cut the white limestone cliffside into dozens of cascading pools, each one darker blue than the last. Thick steam glowed gold in the dying light.
The beauty felt wrong. Dawn was wrestling Riven down off the horse, and she didn’t know how to help.
He was breathing in fits and gasps, but at least he was breathing.
“Give me a hand, will you?” Dawn said. She’d backed into the bright blue water, tugging Riven’s shoulders back with her, but his hips caught on the stone lip. “Get him in.”
Talia was still upset, but Riven was more important than Dawn being a murdering liar.
His legs were deadweight in her arms, and she stumbled forward on the loose pebbles, nearly crashing face-first into the pool after him.
The water soaked through Talia’s boots and skirts, hot and shocking, dragging at the loose sleeves of her blouse.
It wasn’t too deep, just to Talia’s armpits, and it had a salty, chalky quality that made her feel buoyant. Riven was floating between them, his breathing a little stronger, maybe.
She traced a line of looping Starscript carved into the white stone rim with her finger: Healing requires touch from the source.
“What’s the source?” she asked. Riven’s ragged breathing seemed to echo in the steam. Talia’s glasses had fogged up completely, and she set them aside. The world slipped into a fuzzy blend of shapes and colors, like a pattern cast by stained glass.
Dawn didn’t answer, and now Talia couldn’t see her face. The water lapped and tapped at the limestone. Steam curled between them. Somewhere in the distance, a squirrel chittered.
Talia took one of Riven’s hands in hers, pressing fingers to his wrist. Blood seeped from the wound in his side, ribboning into the bright blue water.
She could see the colors: red to purple, then pink dissolving into blue water.
His pulse fluttered, then dropped so sharply Talia gasped.
The water didn’t do anything. It didn’t glow or shift or change.
“What did the inscription say? Something about touch?” Dawn was reaching down to peel off her shirt.
Talia’s hands froze around Riven’s wrist. Every inch of her body sparkled with awareness as Dawn’s wet shirt hit the rim with a slap. Every governess she’d ever had screamed in the back of her skull: Not proper!
Riven’s breathing hitched. Stopped. Started again.
She stopped caring about the rules. Her fingers worked the ties on her bodice, then her blouse and skirts.
They stripped him down together, Talia’s fingers slipping on the buttons.
She tried to keep her focus on the wound at his side, cataloging damage instead of exposed skin.
Dawn positioned herself on one side of Riven, Talia on the other. They held him upright between them, hands clasped under his arms.
Skin to skin. Three bodies in the water, stripped to the waist. Was that what it had meant?
“Come on,” Dawn muttered. “Fucking heal.”
But the water around them was clouded with blood, and it stayed that way. Riven’s life force unfurled faster into the water.
“I think the springs need a power source.” Dawn’s hands stilled on Riven’s chest. “They amplify flux, but they need something to draw from.” She met Talia’s eyes. “We used our last crystal yesterday.”
It took Talia a second to process what she was saying. No flux. No healing. No way to save him.
“There has to be another source,” Talia said desperately. “Something we can use. I’ll find a foundation stone—”
Riven’s chest went still, and his pulse vanished under Talia’s fingers.
“No.” Talia pressed her fingers to Riven’s wrist, his neck. Nothing.
“There is a way.” Dawn’s voice was subdued, but it cut through Talia’s panic. “It’s called a channel bond. You have an affinity, right?”
None of those words made sense in that moment.
Dawn tried again. “You connected with Sorrel, and with those fluxborn direwolves. Some kind of mindweaving.” Talia could only nod. “Okay, then this can work. I’ll be the power source.”
“You have flux? Without crystals?”
“Something like that.” Dawn’s face was a smudge in the steam. “I can generate extra power with your affinity. But the bond is permanent. Once it’s done, we’re connected. You and me.”
Permanent.
She looked at Dawn through the whorls of steam. Her, of all people.
“Will it save him?”
“Yes? I’ve never done this before.” Dawn sounded scared. That was a bad sign.
Talia squinted at Riven. His lips were bluish. His skin looked gray. She knew what he’d say if their roles were reversed. He’d stayed behind in Gateway. Thrown the enforcers off their trail to make sure she escaped. Saved them from the wolves. This was the least she could do.
Talia nodded. “What do I need to do?”
“Take his hands. When you hear the question, you say yes. Out loud.”
Talia’s fingers found Riven’s in the water. Dawn moved behind him, bracing his shoulders.
“Close your eyes. And Talia—” She paused, then let out a breath. “You’re choosing this. Not me. Not him. Got that? You can say no.”
She got that this was a commitment she wouldn’t understand until after she’d made it. Trust without clarity. A step taken on faith alone. But Riven was dying, and she didn’t know what else to do.
She closed her eyes.
The water lapped against her ribs. The steam was warm and wet as she breathed in. Then something brushed her mind. The impression of Dawn, her presence. Like standing in a dark room knowing someone else was there. Talia held her breath, and the presence pressed closer. A wordless question.
May I?
This was it. The moment. No turning back. No way out but through. Her fingers tightened around Riven’s stiff hand.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Heat exploded up through Talia’s palms, racing through her veins like liquid fire. The world went white. Then it cracked open. She couldn’t explain what happened next. It felt like her empathy, except with pictures.
She was drenched in Dawn’s memories. Sun on her shoulders, a woman’s laugh, wide open skies, the feeling of flying, a baby’s fist curled around her thumb. This must be her family, Talia realized, remembering Dawn’s confession in the Whisperwood. Warmth stretching—
—and tearing.
Smoke thick enough to choke. A doorway on fire. Roofs collapsing in sparks. Running barefoot, screaming a name Talia couldn’t catch.
Then years slipping past in flashes. New faces. New towns. New graves. Grief settling like sediment, layer on layer, hardening to stone. The sheer number of scenes, decades stacked on decades, it made her dizzy.
Then the whole scene shifted like a page flip, and Dawn moved through Talia’s mind, sifting through memories she’d never shared.
Her grandmother’s study—light on polished floors, the smell of ink.
“You were right to tell me,” her grandmother had said.
The night I ruined everything.
Merit’s empty room. Lanterns on the water. A mother’s anguished cries.
The mirrors showed her own face three times over, none quite right. Running from truth. Searching for love she’d never deserve.
She tried to pull back, to hide the worst angles of herself, but it was too late.
Dawn’s presence settled beside the shame, steady and scarred. Quiet recognition. Understanding. Support.
They were back in Elanvesi, but it had changed. The entire cascade of pools glowed electric blue, and power was pouring into Talia’s chest, hot and endless. Her veins lit up like Gateway’s power lines. The water around her went from blue to white, the glare mirrored in the steam.
Dawn was translucent, a bright glow pouring out of her into the water and through Talia, coursing into Riven.
His body arched, his head snapping back as his hands gripped hers.
Silver lines reached up from between their clasped fingers, flaring up his arms and around his muscled shoulders.
Glyphs curled down his chest and torso. The wound in his side knit shut, muscle weaving back together. Skin sealing over it pale and new.
Talia had never seen this much power. Had never heard of a person wielding magic like this, even in the stories. What had she just done?
Riven gasped. His eyes flew open, shining silver and wild, and the power cut off, and everything went dark.
The world came back in pieces. Steam. Stone. Her glasses were somewhere on the rim of the pool. Everything was blurry.
The three of them stood in the water. She was aware, suddenly, of her own body. His knee pressing against hers.
She looked down. She hadn’t imagined it.
Silver script covered his chest, his arms, wrapped around his ribs and torso.
Presumably under the water too. Fading now from bright glow to dull swirls, but still visible, like tattoos.
She knew those glyphs. She’d copied them from artifacts, translated them one at a time.
Liturgical Starscript. Reserved for fae nobles and those in their service.
“You’re one of them,” she whispered. Riven squeezed her hands. He didn’t argue. She turned to Dawn. “And you knew.”
Dawn’s mouth twitched. Then she was grinning. “We grew up together, remember?”
Grew up together.
Talia thought back on what she’d just seen in Dawn’s mind: cities burning, years and years of graves. The two of them must have lived entire lifetimes before she was even born. And now she was bound to one of them.
A channel bond. She had so many questions.
She’d need to read the journal again with this new context.
This whole time she’d been looking for answers, and Dawn had them.
It was infuriating, and still—gods. What she’d been through.
Talia didn’t fully forgive her, but she was starting to understand the weight that Dawn carried.
Suddenly Talia felt dizzy, like she was standing on the edge of a cliff. The bond hummed in her chest, and Dawn’s ancient heartbeat folded next to her own.
“What does it do?” she asked, sharper than intended. “The bond. What do you know about me?”
“I can feel you, physically.” Dawn met her eyes. “Your location. Your heartbeat. Things like that. I can’t read your mind. Or your emotions, unless you share them. That’s your ability, not mine.”
“What’s your ability? Can you control me?”
“It’s a fire thing, don’t worry about it. No. I’m just the source. The bond amplifies my power, and we share it.” She sounded tired.
Talia pulled her hands back from Riven’s. The knotted feeling held tight inside her chest, but at least she could pretend she had some space. She moved to the edge of the pool and struggled to pull on her sticky wet blouse.
They hiked back to camp as the last light died. Water squished in her boots.
Holloway looked up from the fire, eyes widening at Riven. “You’re—”
“Alive again,” Riven agreed. He sat down heavily.
Lore hadn’t moved from where they’d left him. The black veins had spread to his neck. It seemed like he was struggling to breathe.
Dawn started pulling supplies from the packs. “I’ll get dinner going. You can help him now.” She nodded at Lore. “Burnout shouldn’t be a problem from here on. Plenty of flux to go around.”
Lore let Talia help him up. He leaned heavy on her shoulder as they pulled away from camp, far enough for privacy.
“You’re soaking wet,” he said with a low chuckle that turned into a cough. “And not the way I’d like.”
“You’re delirious.” Talia glared at him. “Be quiet, let me try something.”
She closed her eyes and reached for the bond, feeling the coil of power somewhere in her chest. She wasn’t quite sure what to do, but she tugged, like she’d done with the flux stone, and energy prickled in her fingertips.
When she opened her hands, blue light bloomed in her palms. She pressed both hands to Lore’s chest. He went still, then his eyes opened wide.
“Oh, Talent. What did you do?”
The black veins in his neck pulsed, then she watched them pull back. Lore held his arms out, rolling one sleeve up to inspect where the burnout had spread. The skin was clear. His hand trembled slightly as he tugged his shirt back in place.
“Thank you,” he said quietly. “I wasn’t sure I would see Valrotala.” He flexed his fingers, testing. “The power you just channeled. You didn’t have a crystal.”
“Dawn did something,” she admitted, not sure how much she could say.
His eyes raked over her, then a smile broke over his face. It wasn’t the slow deliberate one she knew. It was wider. Unguarded. He pushed a hand through his hair.
“She bonded with you?” He was still staring, and she found herself looking away. “Truly? How fascinating.”
Warmth crept up her neck as she nodded. Gods, she wished she wouldn’t blush. Not in front of him.
“Do it again. I want to see how it works.”
She pressed a palm to his chest and tugged on the bond. When she opened her eyes, her fingers were glowing blue. She felt a little tug on her fingertips, as if Lore was drinking it in.
“By the gods, Talent.” His voice dropped. “You are dangerous.”
It was a strange compliment, but his praise sparked something warm in her gut. She caught herself smiling.
“We should get back,” she said, pulling her hands away.
Dawn was stirring a rabbit stew over the fire when they returned to camp. Was that the only thing she knew how to cook?
They ate in silence; everyone was so tired. Talia curled into her bedroll and stared up at the stars, trying to breathe normally, to calm her mind and sleep. In her chest, two heartbeats rattled instead of one.