Chapter 1 #3
Teller rose to study me. “No matter how many times I witness it, I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to Lumnos magic.” He pointed. “Your shoes. I can see their imprint in the ground.”
I was grateful he couldn’t see the irritation on my face. That was a novice mistake—one I should have caught, had I not been distracted by the shouts of find her in my head.
I bent my wrist, and my magic erased the outline into undisturbed sand. I kept my footsteps light and silent while I crept around to Teller’s back.
“Perfect,” he said to the empty air. “I can’t see anything.”
“Good,” I said loudly behind him.
He whirled around just in time for me to drop my magic and reappear an inch from his face.
He stumbled back, then scowled. “That’s something D would do. You two are perfect for each other.”
My chest ached. “Let’s try something more difficult.”
My magic spread up my arms and through my body, seeping from my skin into the fabric of my clothes.
Teller’s eyes widened as my leather breeches grew longer and slimmer.
My tunic tightened on my chest, sprouting a collar and wide, elaborate cuffs.
The scratchy wool jacket I’d bought off the burliest man at camp, despite being far too small and coming apart at the seams, deepened to a garnet-hued velvet, its edges gleaming with intricate silver thread and precious gems.
When my magic settled, my ill-fitting mortal rags had transformed into the scarlet suit I’d worn to my uncle’s funeral.
Illusion magic worked best when based on memories tied to strong emotions, and the intimate moment Diem and I shared in her chambers after the funeral had made that a day I’d never forget.
I pulled the magic over my head like a hood. My beard disappeared, and my unbound hair became sleek and tied back. All trace of dirt vanished beneath the facade of the immaculate Prince I’d always pretended to be.
Two sets of eyes—one mortal, one gryvern—squinted in scrutiny. Sorae let out an unimpressed-sounding snort.
“The clothes look right,” Teller said, frowning. “But there’s something about your face . . .”
Damn. This was the part of illusion magic I’d always feared.
Turning something invisible required power more than skill. With enough magic to fuel it, the godhood could blend into surroundings easily enough on its own.
Redrawing an image was more complicated. It required a detailed mental picture of what was being shown and what was being hidden. In this case, that meant my ruined, scar-torn face, something I’d spent a lifetime trying to forget.
I closed my eyes and thought of how Diem had used her Umbros magic to let me into her mind back in Sophos.
I’d seen myself through her eyes, enrobed in her fondness and admiration.
No disgust. No scorn. No judgment of my choice to keep my scars, no pitying thought of how much better I’d look without them.
None of the stares or whispers that had wounded me as a child and enraged me as an adult.
When everyone else looked at me, they saw something to fix. Diem saw someone to love.
“You did it,” Teller said. “Now it’s perfect.”
My eyes cracked open. He was staring at me strangely.
“You were thinking of her, weren’t you?” he asked.
I forced my expression to blandness—a move so familiar, it had become a reflex. “When she returns, I have to be ready.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I’m always thinking of her, Teller. Every moment, awake or asleep.”
His throat bobbed. He slumped down to the boulder. “What if she never comes back?”
“Don’t go there,” I said sharply.
“You saw the same thing I did when we flew away. Someone else was at that Temple.”
The memory of a month ago flashed into my mind.
Sorae had plucked me off the island’s soil just in time to avoid the deadly spell the Crowns had cast. By the time Teller pulled me onto her back, we’d been too far away from the Temple to make out anything more than a white-clad figure walking up behind Diem—and the last ray of sun glinting off something in their hand.
Something that had looked suspiciously like a blade.
FIND HER, my godhood bellowed. FREE HER. SAVE HER. TOUCH HER. PROTECT HER.
Sorae whined softly.
“Whoever it was, Diem could handle them,” I insisted, unsure which of us I was trying most to convince.
“Luther, before you got to the island, something happened with the Crowns. The Ignios King—I think he killed the Umbros Queen.” Teller looked up at me, anguished. “What if he . . .” His voice choked. “What if Diem is—”
“Stop.” My fractured heart thrashed against my ribs. “She’s alive. Don’t even think of saying otherwise.”
Suddenly, Sorae bolted upright. Her head swung toward the forest, a low rumble building in her throat.
“What’s wrong?” Teller asked her.
Then it hit me, too—a magical aura.
A strong one.
For the briefest, most beautiful moment, I allowed myself to believe it was her—that somehow Diem had escaped and found her way back to my side.
But my godhood knew her aura as deeply as my heart did, and when its chants grew enraged, the truth hit me like a firestorm. This wasn’t Diem.
A Crown was nearby.
And their aura was coming from camp.