Chapter 18
Marigold
KEANE’S PORTAL HAD OPENED ONTO the stone corridor outside the Raynoff Tower war room. It was warded, distant from Wickem, and off the record. Now the four of us stood around the tactical map, tension coiled tightly.
I shifted my weight, my fingers grazing the chain at my neck.
Lord Raynoff sat at the head, the interim council flanking him. The small group consisted of trusted people only.
Everyone here already knew this wasn’t going to be easy.
Raven Singer, I began. Corrupted for at least four months. Held at the master’s Alps compound. We’re going in.
Extraction timeline? Raynoff asked.
One week, Keane said. Portal insertion during guard rotation. Four-minute window before compound security responds.
And the corruption level? Voss leaned forward, his expression grim.
I felt the weight of their stares, waiting to see if I’d flinch. Long-term exposure. If she’s too far gone, extraction could kill her.
The silence after said everything.
So this is a suicide mission, Voss said flatly.
No, I replied, my fingers pressing against the edge of the table. Because there’s a test. If it works for her, it might work for others.
I continued, If I can reach her consciousness, if she responds to a specific anchor, her core self is still intact. Recoverable. If she doesn’t respond, we abort and switch to containment tracking.
And if the corruption tries to spread during contact? Raynoff’s amber eyes were sharp.
Scout gave a soft clatter of bone against my shoulder, barely audible but sharp in the quiet.
I looked at Cyrus, and he met my gaze steadily.
Then I burn it, Cyrus said. Even if it hurts Raven. Team protection is nonnegotiable.
The bluntness landed hard, but it was honest.
He expects us, Elio said. This is bait. We’re going anyway.
Because? Raynoff’s tone held challenge but also curiosity.
Because four months is near the edge of what we think we can reverse, Elio said. We’ve seen the pattern in the wellsprings we’ve cleansed. The longer corruption stays embedded, the more carefully we have to extract it.
He paused, meeting each council member’s eyes, and then continued, “We need all four of us: Marigold for consciousness contact, Keane for portal timing, me for illusion traps, Cyrus for fire containment. If any part fails, we pull out.
Who makes that call? Hartwell asked.
I assess recoverability, I said. Keane monitors portal stability. Elio tracks threat emergence. Cyrus initiates abort if things go badly.
You’re giving abort authority to—
To the person whose magic can contain corruption spread fastest, I cut in. Yes. Because if this goes wrong, seconds matter more than consensus.
Raynoff studied us. You know you might not save her.
I know this could end in containment, I said, but doing nothing guarantees she stays lost. This gives her a chance.
A small chance.
Better than none.
And timing? Hartwell asked, her sharp eyes assessing. Four weeks before solstice?
The master needs her—connected to me—to destabilize the ritual at solstice, I said. After that, she loses value. We go now while he has a reason to keep her alive.
You’re betting he won’t sacrifice a useful asset preemptively, Raynoff observed.
Elio added, And if we can’t extract her, the intelligence we gather on corruption helps us plan the solstice assault. Either way, we need this mission before the endgame.
Voss said. Walk us through the plan. Full tactical breakdown.
I nodded to Elio. He stepped forward, calm and precise.
Primary: extract Raven, Elio began. Secondary: gather intelligence. Tertiary: damage the compound if extraction fails.
Abort conditions, Keane added. Portal destabilization. The master manifestation. Corruption jumping to team members. Raven nonresponsive to consciousness test. Any of those trigger immediate withdrawal.
Even if she’s still alive? Voss asked.
If her core is gone, forcing it could kill her, I said. The words tasted bitter. Better to try again than destroy what’s left.
Raynoff’s gaze lingered. You’ve learned to make hard calls.
Had to.
He stood. The interim council will maintain defensive posture here. If you don’t report within two hours of insertion, we assume compromise and seal the portal routes to prevent counterinvasion.
Understood, Keane said.
Raynoff looked at each of us in turn. Good luck.
When the council finally filed out, the war room didn’t feel bigger.
It felt emptier.
The doors shut. The wards settled back into their low, constant hum. Somewhere down the hall, footsteps faded, leaving only the quiet crackle of the map’s enchantment and the soft drag of paper as Keane gathered the loose reports into a neater stack, like tidying could make any of this less brutal.
I exhaled slowly, realizing my lungs had been locked for half the briefing.
Cyrus stayed standing at my shoulder, close enough that I could feel the heat rolling off him.
Elio leaned against the edge of the table, his arms folded and expression too calm to be real.
Keane’s fingers hovered near my wrist, almost touching but not quite, like he was waiting to see whether I’d break or hold.
They think this is a trap, Cyrus said, his voice flat.
His gaze didn’t go to the door. It went to me.
Elio’s mouth curved without humor. It is a trap. The difference is whether we walk out with Raven… or empty-handed.
Keane tapped the corner of the map once, sharp and controlled.
Ninety seconds, he said. Once the compound knows we’re inside, that’s how long the portal stays stable. After that, the wards will crush it.
My pulse spiked. Ninety seconds to reach her, run the test, and pull her out. Tight didn’t even cover it.
Keane nodded. Which is why Cyrus has final call.
He didn’t say it, but I heard it. Don’t make me choose for you.
Cyrus calls it, Keane finished. And we move. Immediately.
I turned to Cyrus.
His expression didn’t soften. It never really did when the stakes were this high. But something had changed in him lately—something quieter than confidence. A kind of acceptance. Like he’d stopped believing he could control how this ended, and started focusing on what he could still protect. Me.
Cyrus stepped closer. If the corruption reaches for you, he said, steady and low, I burn the link. Even if it’s still attached to her. He didn’t blink. Even if it hurts her. I won’t let it take you. His gaze locked on mine like a promise. I will not let it take you.
The room felt too warm. My throat tightened hard enough to sting.
This was Cyrus, in his clearest form—fire as mercy, fire as brutality, fire as boundary.
The words should’ve terrified me. Instead, they made something in my chest loosen, just a fraction. Like my body recognized safety even when my heart wanted to argue.
I know, I said.
Cyrus stepped closer. Close enough that the heat of him reached my skin through my sweater, close enough that it felt less like command and more like… grounding.
And you’re okay with that? he asked.
No, I said honestly. But I accept it’s necessary. You protect the team. That’s your role.
Something settled in his expression, like agreement without needing to discuss it further.
What, exactly, is the consciousness test? Elio asked.
I pulled out a small object—a pin Raven and I had found together in September, during orientation week.
Silly thing, shaped like a raven with purple stones for eyes.
We’d laughed about the on-the-nose symbolism.
And we’d never told anyone else about it.
Not because it was a secret—just one of those dumb, perfect things that stayed ours.
It had been a joke. Now it was a lifeline.
I show her this through the necromantic connection, I said. If her core self is reachable, she’ll recognize it. Give me the exact phrase we said when we found it. If the corruption has consumed her consciousness completely, there’ll be nothing. No response at all.
Binary, Keane said approvingly. Pass or fail. No ambiguity.
What if there’s partial recognition? I asked quietly, voicing the fear I’d been carrying. Uncertain response?
Then you decide in the moment, Elio said, not unkindly. But the operational standard is binary. She either gives you the phrase or she doesn’t. Anything else is corruption trying to buy time.
The harshness helped, making the decision clearer.
I hate this, I admitted. I hate that we’re going in knowing we might have to leave her. That the best we can hope for is recoverable with massive intervention and the worst is mercy killing before she’s completely lost.
Four months is what it is, Elio said. We didn’t choose the timeline. The master did by holding her this long.
We should practice the extraction sequence, Cyrus said. Make sure the timing works.
We spent the next three hours drilling until we could execute it without thinking, using muscle memory, instinct, and trust.
We were as ready as we’d ever be.
THAT NIGHT, BACK AT WICKEM after Keane had portaled us home, I found myself drawn to the wellspring.
I hadn’t planned to come here. But my feet had carried me down the familiar corridors, through the secured doors—my heir access overriding the new restrictions Cyrus had implemented after the student incident last week—into the chamber where ancient magic pulsed beneath stone.
I knelt beside the wellspring’s edge. Scout nudged my collar with his skull and then settled there, still as a charm meant to keep me from falling apart.
I need to know if I can do this, I whispered to the wellspring.
The wellspring responded—not in words but understanding.
My necromancy was strong enough. The question was whether I’d have the discipline to accept limitation and abort if Raven couldn’t be saved cleanly, letting Cyrus enforce boundaries even when every instinct screamed to keep trying.
I left the chamber with that clarity settled in my chest.
I found Keane in the royal suite common room, still running portal calculations on his tablet. He looked up as I entered.
Couldn’t sleep either? I asked.
Running worst-case scenarios. He set the tablet aside, pulling me down beside him. Tomorrow we find out if planning was enough.
His hand found mine, grounding and steady.
We’re going to try, he said quietly. Give her every chance we can. But we’re also going to survive.
I leaned against him, feeling the solid warmth of his presence.
One crisis at a time, he said.
One crisis at a time.