Chapter 17 #2
Simultaneously, I felt the bond tighten around my ribs. It wasn't physical, but psychic—a cold, metallic constriction. The Void.
Cain.
He couldn't hear us. He couldn't hear Aemelia’s voice or know who I was speaking to, but he would be able to feel the sudden, blazing heat of my relief and joy. To a creature of the Void, my sudden burst of emotion must have felt like a blinding flare in the dark.
I felt a pressure shift in the back of my mind—a cold, alert heaviness. He was sensing the anomaly, a predator raising its head to investigate a change in the wind.
“Aemelia”, I sent, trying to calm the frantic beating of my heart so the feedback loop wouldn't alert him further. “I’m here. I’m okay.”
“Don’t you dare tell me you’re okay,” Aemelia snapped back, her thought-voice trembling.
“When we spoke in the powder room, you were shaking, Ophelia. And then you walked out of the ballroom with him and vanished. I haven’t heard a single word since.
The consuls are saying it was a romantic retreat, but I saw his face.
I saw yours. Did he punish you for the scene on the dance floor? Is he hurting you?”
The questions hung in the ether, dangerous and sharp. The fear in her voice spiked my own adrenaline, and I flinched as a wave of cold washed over me from the bond—a reflex reaction from the other side.
“No”, I lied, forcing my internal state to smooth out, dampening the panic so he wouldn't feel the jagged edges of it.
“He hasn't raised a hand to me. But he had flayed my mind open. His quiet, calculated cruelty was a more insidious poison. It’s… it’s strange here.
The air is so heavy with nothing. No emotions.
It's like living in a library full of ghosts he refuses to release.”
The cold pressure in my mind intensified. It felt sharp, agitated. I didn't know if he was angry or simply disturbed by the foreign warmth of my connection, but the sensation was like ice water trickling down my spine.
“A library full of ghosts sounds better than living with that brooding, terrifying prince of darkness”, Aemelia scoffed, her mental tone filled with disdain.
“I hate this, Ophelia. I hate that you are the one paying the price for the world’s safety.
It makes me sick to think of you trapped in that ice box, serving as some sort of stabiliser for a monster who doesn't know the meaning of mercy.”
I laughed, a genuine, rusty sound that felt foreign on my tongue. It was a sound of grief, not humour, but it was a release. I savoured the feeling. If the bond truly worked both ways, let him feel the phantom sensation of my laughter. Let him choke on the pure, uncomplicated joy of friendship.
“I can’t change it, Em,” I sent back, the laughter fading into a heavy resignation. “I am the sacrifice. That’s what we were born for. If I leave, the balance tips, and everything we love turns to ash. I have to stay.”
“Then make him regret underestimating you,” Aemelia’s voice was a hiss of pure frustration, mixed with a fierce, protective steel.
“If you have to stay in the cage with the monster, you make sure he knows you have teeth. You are not just his Void calmer, Ophelia. You are the only thing standing between him and total madness. That gives you power. Use it.”
The words wrapped around me, a shield against the cold.
“The family I choose”, I sent, the words a silent prayer.
“The family I choose,” Aemelia agreed, her voice softening, dropping the frantic energy for something deeper, something unbreakable.
“We’re not like them, Ophelia. We don’t have High Houses or ancient power.
We have each other. And we’ve learned how to survive.
We know how to bend without breaking. The Alistairs and the Valeriuses of this world, they don’t know what real power is.
Real power is being able to laugh in the face of a calamity.
Real power is having a friend who would burn the world down just to keep you warm. ”
Burn the world down to keep you warm.
The phrase echoed in the room for a second, resonating with a ferocity that made the Scry Stone flicker violently.
Friedrik’s voice boomed again from the roof, carrying a rare note of genuine approval that vibrated through the glass. “That’s a good one! ‘Burn the world down to keep you warm’! Write that down, little Aenite! That’s insightful! That lad just doesn’t know how to dust the damn thing!”
Aemelia's words were a balm to my soul.
“She’s right”, Poppy whispered in my mind, her tone fierce. “That's a much better kind of power than what he has. He has power over death. You have power over life. Life is messier, harder to control... but it burns brighter.”
"I know," I whispered aloud, clutching the dying stone as if it were Aemelia’s hand. I know I can't break.
“Anytime, you brilliant, stubborn creature. Just promise me you'll reach out again. And if you hear anything, anything at all, about what he's up to… you tell me.”
“I will”, I vowed. “You stay safe on your consortium missions.”
The magical connection went dead. The light in the stone sputtered once, twice, and then vanished, leaving a dull, cracked piece of rock in my hand. The warmth of summer faded, replaced instantly by the creeping cold of the Alistair estate.
Silas turned from the door. The five minutes were up.
He approached the vanity, his movements silent. He looked at the dead stone in my hand, then met my eyes. There was no triumph in his gaze, only a weary resignation.
“The sweep is complete, My Lady,” he said, extending his hand again. “Contraband located.”
I placed the dead stone in his palm. It felt heavy, like handing over a piece of my own heart.
“Thank you, Silas,” I whispered.
He bowed, low and formal, tucking the stone into his coat. “I merely serve the House, Lady Alistair.”
He turned and left, taking my last voice with him.
But the warmth remained, a lingering echo of Aemelia’s presence.
Cain thought he had stripped me of my weapons by taking the stone, but he had only sharpened my resolve.
I felt a quiet, simmering determination settle in my gut, displacing the fear.
The library he forbade, the books of his House's secrets—that was the knowledge I needed to protect my soul and everyone else’s.