Rianne
The ice is so cold it feels like a burn.
It shoots from the book, covering my hands, racing up my arms like a thousand frozen needles. I yell and rip my hands back, stumbling away. I trip over the salt line and fall hard onto the carpet.
The magic in the room dies. Instantly. The shadows outside, which had been still, press against the glass again, agitated. The library feels wrong. Empty.
“What the hell was that?” I push myself up on my elbows. My hands sting, bright red where the ice has touched them.
Stenrik stands perfectly still. He looks at his own hands, then at me. His face is impossible to read. It is just... calm. That almost makes it worse.
“The ritual failed,” he states.
“I got that! Why? You said it wouldn’t hurt.” I get to my feet, rubbing my arms. I feel stupid. And cold.
“It was not intended to. The magic recoiled. It failed at Stage One. Synchronization.” He speaks like he is delivering a report. No emotion. Just facts.
“It recoiled? What does that mean?”
“It means the connection was rejected.” He looks at me, and his blue eyes are just... flat. “You rejected it.”
“I didn’t do anything! I was breathing. I was looking at you. I did what you said.” I am defensive, and I hate the sound of my own voice.
“You were present,” he corrects. “But you were not open. The magic requires trust, a willing synchronization. Your defenses are... significant.”
I stare at him. “My defenses? You’re blaming me?”
“I am stating a fact. The ritual cannot force a connection that is not offered. You see me as a threat. Or, at least, as an unknown. You do not trust me.”
I want to argue. I want to yell at him. But I can’t.
Because he is right.
How can I trust him? He appeared in a blast of ice, told me I was trapped, and looked at me like I was an inconvenient variable.
He is seven feet tall, has pointed ears, and is literally made of winter.
I’ve known him for maybe six hours. My trust is reserved for my cat, and even that is debatable most days.
“So what?” I say, finally. “You expected me to just... open my soul? To a stranger who trapped me in a library?”
“I expected you to follow instructions.”
“I did follow instructions!”
“You followed the physical steps. The rest was absent.” He turns away from me and picks up the Chronicle. The book looks dark. Dormant. “We have failed. The ritual is complete for tonight.”
The finality of it hits me. We’ve just wasted one of our three chances. Because of me. Because I can’t “synchronize” with an ice elf.
“So that’s it? We just... wait until tomorrow?”
“We wait until the next midnight.” He sets the book on the reference desk, away from the circle. “And this time, Rianne, you must actually participate.”
He walks away. He just walks away, toward the history section, leaving me standing alone in the failed salt circle. I can feel the cold radiating from him. Or maybe that is just me.
I sink onto one of the reading chairs. My hands still tingle. We have two chances left. Two.
I pull out my phone and stare at Martin’s unanswered texts. At least he was human. At least I understood what went wrong.