TWENTY-THREE
“Finley!”
Amelia screamed his name, but in a mere moment, there was no one left in the alley to hear it. No one to hear the desperation, the panic, the turmoil in the name that she wailed into the night air.
One second, the narrow space had been filled with bodies, and in the next, Amelia was alone, twisting on the spot, confusion and fear swamping her.
Anticipation of pain made her tense, the breath stalling in her lungs. But it never came.
The feel of her cells lighting on fire, the air being stolen from her lungs never came as it had the last time they had been separated by a great distance. She stared around her, eyes lingering on the spot where he had vanished.
Hand to her chest, she could still feel him, though it was dimmed, subdued. Still there, just simmering under the surface. The tether that joined them irrevocably. She could still sense the erratic swirling of his emotions, aching inside her own body.
Her chin trembled, rubbing at the spot where the dull connection hummed softly.
She held her hand out, fingers grappling at the air as though she could take hold of that unseen thread to pull on it, to bring him back.
She felt nothing in the air, but it was there, Amelia could sense it.
The breath shuddered from her, entire body shivering violently in the cool air.
Her eyes fell shut, arm still outstretched as if sheer will could close the distance. The magic wanted them together, it always had. They had tried to mimic the midnight pull, but it hadn’t worked.
Because of me , she thought, because I wasn’t strong enough .
She felt it in her veins, the magic, but she’d always had such a hard time tapping into it, unlike Silas. She needed it now, more than ever.
The shadows witnessed her struggle as she mentally reached for her magic, and for him. She stood for a long time with her arm outstretched, concentrating, sweat beading on her brow, pleading with herself and her magic not to fail her.
Her fingers twitched, a flicker of something stirring in her chest, like a resistance softening. It sparked faintly before spreading out, sliding down her arm, sizzling along her skin. What had been slippery, elusive, sat in her fingertips.
“ Silas ,” she whispered.
Something tugged at her body.
She fell and twisted.
Pressure pressed in, squeezing her from all sides.
A crunch beneath her feet.
A roaring of wind in her ears.
Cold.
Amelia’s eyes flew open, a bitterly chill wind whipping at her face, forcing her to squint and hold up a hand. She stood in darkness, ankle deep in snow. A torrent wind, carrying the sting of sleet gusted at her horizontally.
For a terrible moment, she wondered if the magic had failed her, brought her to some random southward spot, barren of life.
Then she spotted it.
Ahead of her was a flicker of movement, before she saw a golden light, swaying in the wind.
She shivered violently, arms coming around herself, the brutal gusting air slicing through the fabric of her clothing. She must be further south than she had ever been before.
Amelia trudged forwards, boots slipping in the icy snow. She kept her gaze on the single swinging lamp ahead of her, hoping it would lead her to Silas. Though, that was where her plan ended. She didn’t know what to do if she found him. The attackers had bested them with ease.
The light grew closer as she moved, and when Amelia realised it wasn’t moving further away, she slowed her steps and crouched.
Squinting through the blizzard, she tried to see if someone held the lamp, but it remained stationary.
Amelia got back to her feet, legs near frozen, moving slowly again.
The wall emerged from the snowy fog unexpectedly, and she gasped with fright before realising it was a large slab of stone.
Not just a wall, but a Waystone, the lamp hanging from the side.
Jaw chattering uncontrollably, Amelia squinted to see the rune etched into the side, hoping it might reveal where she was in Aethrial.
The rune was frozen over, the darkness obscuring it entirely.
Amelia turned on the spot, glancing out into the flurries of snow. She could see nothing ahead or behind her.
She moved to the other side of the Waystone, finding what she sought.
Footprints.
Deep wells of snow carved out by a large party of people. The direction they had gone was clear.
Wrapping her arms tightly around herself, Amelia moved quickly, following the tracks in the snow while trying not to keel over from the violent shivers that wracked her body.
She walked on for a while, eyes downcast at the footprints, mind whirring with the possibilities of what she could be walking into. If she reached it before freezing to death.
That didn’t sound like a fun way to go.
Out of the darkness, a dim light appeared, growing as she approached.
Amelia came to a stop in front of the gaping mouth of a cave. A lamp swung in the heavy wind, the metal creaking with each sway.
No-one stood guard, but she still approached cautiously.
The first indication of trouble struck her just before she stepped into the cave.
A soft droning, curling in her ears, alerting her to the steady thrum of magic somewhere nearby. Amelia stilled, foot hovering over the patch of ground where snow merged into dirty cavern floor.
Amelia pressed her lips together, breath catching in her throat, before she backed up a few steps.
Following the sound, the soft humming led to the side of the cave’s mouth. Crouching, Amelia spotted the runed crystal sunk into the stone wall.
She interpreted the rune with ease.
Warning.
If she entered the cave, whoever was inside would be alerted to her presence. She whispered words for deactivation, but nothing happened. They could have linked any word to the crystal. Amelia could crouch there and say words for days and still not conjure the correct one.
Groaning with frustration, Amelia rose to her feet, feeling utterly useless.
She heard no other sounds or indication of human presence.
The cave ahead was shrouded in darkness.
She stood there, shivering, and feeling sorry for herself, trying not to imagine what Silas was enduring that very moment.
The helplessness pressed down like a weight.
She drifted to the swaying lamp, drawn to its glow. She stood beneath it, staring up, her thoughts a jumble. She had no weapons, no Waystone chips, nothing and no one to help her.
If her magic worked the way it was supposed to, perhaps she wouldn’t feel so alone.
When she concentrated, she could feel it there, sitting dormant in her blood, simmering faintly, as though waiting. Watching. Wanting.
Amelia wanted to know what it felt like, whether it was similar to Silas’, or if it would differ. Would it project outwards, or would it be something else entirely?
Her mind drifted to the Southern Monolith, it's jagged silhouette sharp in her memory, so different from the northern version.
The obsidian surface that devoured all light, all warmth.
Her fingers brushed over the empty holster at her hip, as though seeking the blade it had housed.
She could only assume their magic would be different, too.
The lamp she stared at flickered, and she blinked, coming out of the reverie. It might have been her imagination, but the lamp seemed dimmer.
Something inside her stirred, a flicker of power.
Swallowing, Amelia narrowed her focus on the lamp. On a hunch, she sank back into the state of concentration, picturing the Monolith, the overwhelming darkness and the power it emanated.
It happened again, more pronounced, and obvious. The lamp weakened again, glow faltering, and in the same instant, she felt it. The magic sliding into her, quiet and sure.
Breathless, Amelia reached out a trembling hand, fingertips grazing the side of the lamp. The light flowed into her like a tide, filling her. It saturated every inch of her with something warm, something right.
She stumbled back as the lamp went dark, surroundings swallowed by shadows. Her chest heaved, overwhelmed by the intensity of the feeling, like she could do anything.
Turning sharply, she jogged back to the warning crystal, kneeling before it. She placed her hand flat against it, no hesitation this time.
The transfer happened more instinctively, the magic flowing into her. When she drew her hand back, the crystal was dead, grey, and empty.
She stared at her palm, wonder blooming in her chest.
Silas pushed the magic away from his body, an outwards blast of power. She pulled it in, breathing it like the air around her.
She understood now, why it had never worked before. She’d been trying to force herself into his shape.
This was her shape, hers.
Amelia stood, heart steadier, turning towards the waiting darkness. Without another thought, she slipped into it, moving silently into the depths of the cave.
Silas’ head hung forwards, strands of blonde hair sticking to his forehead, damp with sweat. The iron cuffs binding his wrists to the chair were etched with runes that burned cold against his skin, slowly chilling him to the bone. He recognised the rune. Unbreakable.
He felt wrecked.
There was something wrong with him, and it wasn’t just that he had used pulses of magic during the fight.
No, this was something else.
His entire body felt drained of energy. Each time he tried to lift his head or move his legs, it was like trying to shift through a viscous jelly, costing him with every tiny movement.
His eyes felt heavy, brain sluggish.
He tried assessing his surroundings, tried pulling details into his weary brain.
It was the pendant they had placed around his neck.
He could feel it sitting heavily against his chest, taking something from him the longer he sat there, leeching away the magic that should have been his strength.
He had fought when they had first arrived, but the longer he was restrained, the weaker he became.
The cave chamber was small, its stone walls flickering with the glow of a lamp.
His eyes shifted to the left. A doorway, but no door. Just a hole in the wall with a lazily fluttering piece of fabric closing him into the small space.
He was alone, as far as he could tell.
He could only be grateful for one thing in that harrowing moment.
Amelia was safe.
Silas presumed the pendant around his neck was what allowed him to be separated from her without the agonizing pain. He could only hope it would also disrupt the midnight pull, that she would stay far away, safe.
He was so tired.
Eyes drifted shut, brain sinking into oblivion.
Time passed.
A shift of his leg.
Silas groaned weakly but didn’t open his eyes.
A rougher kick to his shin that had him letting out a ragged noise before peeling his eyes open, glaring up at a masked man.
“Do you mind?” Silas asked angrily. “I’m a bit low on sleep, see?”
The man laughed softly behind the covering. “I knew you would be a difficult sort.”
Silas smiled sardonically. “Glad to meet your expectations.”
The man huffed another small laugh, and again, the voice and something about him was so familiar, making a part of his brain itch to make the connection.
“Do you know why you’re here?” he asked Silas, voice curious, probing.
Silas shrugged, lifting his lips into a smirk. “Needed some comic relief?”
The man blinked at him with dark eyes, saying nothing. Those eyes roamed over him in an unsubtle perusal, and again, the familiarity struck him, yet his brain refused to recall the reason.
Silas sighed. “I would assume you know some things about me and the woman you ambushed, and you want to exploit that.”
“Exploit?” the man said before laughing. “You’re in the Sanctum of Equilibrium, Silas. I lead a team with certain beliefs, and you’re wrong. We don’t exploit, we correct .”
Silas frowned. He had never heard of them.
“Correct?” he asked. “Correct what, exactly?”
“Imbalances,” he answered simply, “injustices.”
“And what injustice have I committed you hope to correct?” He had a feeling he knew what the response was going to be, but Silas wanted to hear it.
“Everything.”
Silas kept his stare, chewing on the word for a moment.
Before he could open his mouth to query further, he heard someone else speak, saying his name in a voice so familiar that a sense of betrayal immediately slammed into him.
“Silas.”
His eyes shifted from the man to the door, the piece of fabric still fluttering from her entrance.
His heart squeezed in his chest as he looked at her, disbelieving, like perhaps his tired brain was hallucinating, conjuring her out of thin air.
But the masked man turned to the sound of the voice, too, looking at her. She was really there, come to make the betrayal utterly clear.
He swallowed the bitterness in his throat.
“Mother.”