THIRTY-TWO #2
“Then we’d best begin tonight,” Fabian said, clapping his hands before moving to a pile of books that threatened to topple near Brinkley’s chair.
Aurora cracked her knuckles before reaching for a book herself. “Will we need wine for this?”
“Absolutely,” Brinkley said at once.
Silas smiled faintly from next to her, and she felt it in her own chest, blooming like a fragile flower.
Hope.
The hour was late, weariness filling the room. Books lay open across every surface, scrolls unfurled across carpets and half-filled mugs of tea and wine glasses lay forgotten among the ink and food-stained pages.
The furniture had been pushed to the edges of the room, with a wide, low table now sitting in the centre. The fire in the hearth burned low and steady, casting long shadows across the floor strewn with scraps of parchment covered in notes.
Silas leaned over the table, brows furrowed, sleeves rolled, and ink smudged across his left cheek. He was copying sections of an old incantation loop for marriage ceremonies from an old tome, eyes flicking between the thick book and his own mad scrawl across the parchment.
Amelia had perched herself on the arm of a worn chair, hair tied hastily away from her face as she traced her finger along an old rune sequence that matched the patterns of the Midnight Rite.
The shellwork was maddeningly intricate, a layered spiral pattern that looked almost floral in design when laid out across the page, and seemed dangerously unstable if it were cited incorrectly during the ceremony.
So much, too much, room for error.
Her brain buzzed as it tried to absorb everything, learn everything.
“Don’t let it close there,” Amelia murmured quietly to herself, finger moving along the spell’s pattern. “If the closing of the spell goes wrong, it will fail. If we seal it here, it will work.”
Brinkley crouched nearby with a piece of charcoal between two fingers, sketching a schematic onto the wooden floorboards, uncaring of the mess he was making in his own cottage.
His lips were pursed as he leaned back, looking down at his handiwork.
“If you invert this rune,” Brinkley said over his shoulder, “the flow of the spell changes direction from inwards to outwards…that would destabilise the bonding altogether. I don’t think this part of the original spell can be changed at all.
This section is too steadfast in its intent for sacrificial bonding. ”
Aurora glanced up from her text, eyes tired and heavy. She looked at Brinkley with an air of not comprehending a single word coming from his mouth. She blinked for a moment, and then yawned before looking back to her own text.
Fabian held up a section of parchment he had torn in two after making his own notes.
“This,” he said in a low voice to Brinkley, “is the soul-binding rune, very similar to that one you’ve drawn.
We could attempt to remove and replace. That could help divert the ritual from the sacrifice to a marriage ceremony with mirroring vows.
If we embed this rune into the incantation instead… could work.”
Silas looked up. “Mirrored vows?”
Fabian glanced at him before nodding. “You each speak with absolute intention, with promise. The magic will then flow with perfect equality, harmony. You bind yourselves…not one into the other as the original ritual requires, but bind together, as equal partners.”
Amelia straightened. “Which fits our working theory,” she said, reaching for Fabian’s notes, which he handed over.
She scanned over them quickly, heart racing as that flower of hope within her grew with a little more vigour.
“It follows the same logic as traditional pair bonding but is more…of a voluntary nature. Like rewriting a contract at the last moment.”
Halpert grunted, standing behind her chair with his arms crossed as he, too, looked down at Fabian’s theory. “You’re trying to outwit a ritual older than the Spire itself,” he said. “You must realise how easily this could backfire.”
Amelia’s heart sank as she looked back to her old mentor. His face was grave and serious, mouth pulled into a frown. He caught her eye and leaned away, clearly attempting to school his expression. He held up a placating hand.
“I’m just trying to add some levity to the situation. There’s a lot at stake.”
“I understand,” Amelia answered softly. “But if we don’t try, someone dies.”
The room fell quiet again, and even the wind outside and the fire in the hearth seemed to dull into a hush at the reminder.
Halpert gave her an understanding smile and nodded.
“Then let’s get back to it,” Brinkley said finally, kneeling back down to focus on his drawings.
They returned to their work, with ongoing murmuring, sketching, and writing. Aurora moved around the table, lighting fresh candles, and removing the stubs of burnt-out ones.
They continued late into the night, until eyes grew heavier and early morning chill pressed in at the windows of the cottage.
Parchment littered the floor and lay across Aurora’s chest who was asleep on the couch.
There was a hum floating through the room, Fabian sitting cross-legged in the middle of the area, eyes shut as he murmured a soft spell, the magic vibrating around them while he concentrated.
Amelia’s voice broke through the quiet. With a weary sigh, she said, “we’re close. It’s not perfect, but it’s looking doable.”
Silas looked at her, eyes rimmed with exhaustion.
She sent him a tired smile. “I think it might actually work,” Amelia whispered.
He reached for her hand, giving her fingers a light squeeze. “Then we try.”
Halpert smiled faintly from his spot by the embers in the hearth. Brinkley raised his mug of coffee in a silent toast. Fabian only cracked an eye open to glance at them briefly before returning to his concentrated murmuring of whatever spell he was trying.
“Let’s get some rest,” Silas said to agreements around the room, including a rather loud snore from his sister.
And for the first time in weeks, hope didn’t feel so foolish.
Amelia sat on the edge of her bed, head jerking up when Silas finally entered the room after bathing and changing. He came to sit beside her, silent for a moment.
“So, what’s the tally?” he asked lightly. “At this point, who’s saved who more times?”
Amelia huffed a soft laugh, turning to face him. “For once, the competition doesn’t matter to me. As long as we both survive.”
“You only say that because you know I’ll catch up eventually.” His tone was light, a small smirk on his face, but she could sense his unease beneath it. Silas had always been good at hiding himself, but she knew him better now.
“I’m scared,” Amelia admitted, barely audible.
Silas reached for her hand, giving her fingers a squeeze. “So am I.”
Their bond stirred faintly between them, a low thrumming beneath their skin. It was so familiar to her now, something she no longer feared or despised. She leaned into him, pressing her shoulder into his.
The candlelight in the room was soft, warm.
Warmer than any artificial glow of an arcane lamp, the flame gently flickering in the stillness of the room around them.
The curtain was drawn across the window, covering the sight of the moon that was almost full.
Outside, the wind pressed against the glass panes, making the walls creak, a slight chill leaking into the room.
Silas’ coat was folded neatly beside Amelia’s leg, and she reached for it as they sat together quietly, fingers toying with the hem of the sleeve, gaze distant and mind cycling madly. She had a million thoughts in her head, all of them threatening to spill over.
Silas was still, watchful as always.
She sighed, dropping the sleeve of the soft material, turning to meet his eyes in the near darkness. Something passed between them, something that felt too much like a goodbye, although not quite. It was the possibility of one, lingering in the background.
“I keep thinking,” he murmured, voice low, “if this were a different world…maybe we would’ve found each other sooner.”
Amelia’s throat worked as she swallowed. “And maybe we wouldn’t have been too proud to admit we needed each other.”
His lips curved faintly. “Maybe you wouldn’t have pushed me away at every available opportunity.”
She laughed softly, but it faded fast.
A silence settled between them, full of unspoken things. And then, slowly, Silas reached up, his fingers brushing against the side of her face, making her shiver.
“You’re shaking,” he said softly.
She nodded, barely. “I know.”
“Don’t be afraid.”
Amelia twisted on the bed, bringing a knee up to face him, her legs pressing against the side of his. “The day after tomorrow…we’re going to fight against magic that wants to destroy us, and you’re still here worrying for me.”
Silas tilted his head, eyes warming as he trailed his gaze across her face. “I’ll always worry about you.” His hand shifted along her cheek, down past the curve of her jaw to skim down her neck. “I don’t think I could stop.”
Amelia leaned into the touch, sighing softly. And something broke open between them.
A moment later, he was kissing her, his mouth finding hers like it was the first time, like the world might end if he didn’t hold her closely enough.
His fingers slid into her hair, desperate and trembling, and he gathered her into him like a man starving for something he’d already lost. The press of his lips was soft, yet firm and unyielding.
Amelia leaned into the feeling, into the tenderness of the moment.
He pulled back, forehead coming to rest lightly against hers as they shared quick breaths.
“You ever think about what it might’ve been like?” he asked her quietly, “if none of this had happened? If we’d just stayed…scientists.”
She moved her head away, meeting his eyes and letting out a slow breath. “I think about it all the time…I might’ve hated you forever,” Amelia joked with a flicker of a smile. “Published before you, dismantled all of your theories with glee.”
Silas chuckled. “I would’ve loved that,” he said, brushing a curl away from her cheek.
Amelia looked down, her fingers weaving with his. “And now?”
He tugged her closer, pressing his lips to her temple. Her eyes fluttered closed, and emotion clogged in her throat. “Now, I’d give anything to make sure you walk out of this alive.”
Her breath caught and she leaned back. “Finley…”
“I mean it,” he murmured, voice cracking at the edges. “If we’re not one hundred percent certain, if anything goes wrong…then it has to be me. I won’t risk you.”
“It won’t go wrong.”
He let out a small breath. “You don’t know that.”
“It won’t,” she said fiercely.
“Amelia—”
“No,” she said, letting go of him and stepping from the bed to look down at him, voice sharp. “Don’t you dare give up. Don’t try saying goodbye. We didn’t just spend all night rewriting an ancient ritual and risk tearing the fabric of magic apart just for you to back out.”
Silas looked up at her, eyes searching across her face, stormy with all the things he wouldn’t say.
She moved forwards, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“I won’t lose you,” Amelia insisted, her voice breaking, “not after everything. Not when I—” She cut herself off, taking a step away again.
The silence was louder than anything either of them could say.
Silas’ face crumpled for a moment, like he knew what she had been about to say, whether it was something she had managed to admit to herself or not.
He stood, hands coming up to cradle her cheeks.
She could see the terrible sadness on his face, before he leaned forwards and kissed her, slow and careful, like he was memorising it. Like he didn’t trust time to hold it for him.
He pulled away. “This isn’t the end,” Silas said. “I promise I’m not giving up. We’ll walk into the ritual together and…”
Amelia swallowed as he trailed off, uncertain what he had been about to say. “Together.”
They climbed into the small bed, the bond between them pulsing softly like a heartbeat shared between two souls.
Amelia fell asleep to her mind conjuring the same thoughts over and over again.
This was not an ending.
This was a beginning.
And they would be ready.