Chapter Forty • Three Fold • Lillith
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The solution honestly feels too simple to me. Too obvious to work. But that’s often how magic works. Sometimes you spend way too much time looking for zebras when you can get perfectly well trampled by horses instead.
Then again, it could just be that I know Damien would absolutely lose his shit if he heard the insane idea we’ve come up with.
“It boils down to the same concept as the one that keeps me trapped in his power. In order to be rid of the subjugation, we must overwrite it,” Aemon says.
“And the way we plan on doing that is by placing another subjugation working on me,” I say.
“Yes,” he says.
“Your subjugation working,” I say.
“Well—our subjugation working. We’re likely not able to usurp his subjugation as individuals. Because we would need to assert enough power to override his. But as we know, three is a number which exponentiates the effects of any working.”
I know I can trust Wren and Bastion with this plan. I don’t quite trust Aemon with that yet. Not at all.
“Couldn’t we do it with Damien instead of you? He has some of my magic now,” I say.
“He has your magic, which means it won’t overwrite a working that subjugates your magic.” Bastion says. “In fact, it could destabilize the working and cause a nasty rebound.”
I rub at my temples. “I don’t like this,” I say. “And it’s hurting my head. Won’t this just put me at your beck and call, magically speaking? I trust you guys, but what’s to stop you from taking all my magic if we have a disagreement?”
“We would have to all agree and have the same intention for that to happen.”
“It just feels invasive,” I say.
“It would only be in place so long as the other subjugation is in place, once we figure out how to do away with the other problem, we can undo this three-fold subjugation,” Bastion says.
“That’s a mighty big ‘if.’” I sigh. “And what if the three of you together still isn’t enough?”
“It feels like you’re trying to poke holes in this,” Aemon grumbles.
“No, I’m making sure there are no holes. What happens if the spell rebounds anyway?” I ask.
Bastion pinches the bridge of his nose. “She’s right. It’s risky. A spell with this much power rebounding could be catastrophic. It could do anything from making The Abberant’s subjugation take immediate hold to killing her,” he says. “We need to go back to the drawing board.”
Wren shifts a little bit between her feet. “I don’t know. I think we’re being too pessimistic. I think we need to try,” she says.
“What is wrong with you today?” Bastion sneers. “First you were cracking jokes about her death, now you seem fully willing to risk her actual death.”
“That’s not what it is,” I say, meeting Wren’s eyes. “You saw something, didn’t you?”
Wren looks at Aemon and the familiar shakes his head, drawing a path over his creasing brow with his middle fingers.
“Okay. New fucking rule,” I say, my frustration peaking. “No more withholding information. No more secrets. No more ‘protecting me’ from the truth.”
“Agreed,” Bastion says, crossing his arms.
“What did you see, Wren?” I ask.
She swallows and looks down at her feet, having the grace to at least look a little guilty.
“It was when we were trying to revive you a few nights ago,” she said. “After Aemon’s first shock to your body, when I was breathing for you. I saw you at the age you’re at now. With black hair. Weak, gathered in Damien’s arms.”
“Dead?” I asked.
“Not sure,” she says. “But you were somewhere unfamiliar.”
“There’s no way to know if that happens because of what we have planned here,” Bastion says. “Sometimes your visions came to pass because of the attempts made to prevent them.”
“Yes, but usually something is in motion by then. Some awareness, some kind of decision made. I had this vision before we even knew there was a working placed on Lillith.”
I’m suddenly so tired. So, so tired. I sink to the floor, crossing my legs and dropping my head in my hands. “Fuck this. And fuck me,” I groan.
“I know,” Wren says, crouching next to me and rubbing soothing circles over my back. “It sucks.”
“Understatement of the fucking year,” I say.
“Try the century,” Aemon says, sitting down on the floor, too.
Bastion comes to join us. And we all just sit there in silence for a long time.
I weigh the options, or lack thereof, in my mind in the oppressive quiet of the room.
Either I let the Aberrant’s subjugation take hold, or I risk placing my magic in the hands of others—one of which only recently became an ally.
My friends are loyal, but we haven’t exactly been seeing eye to eye between the three of us lately.
Bastion may still harbor some frustration with me for ending my bloodline.
Wren—I love her and I know she loves me, but I can’t really tell where her head is at right now.
She’s making out with a demon—familiar—whatever who, up until recently, seemed to be my enemy.
But then again...maybe it would be a relief not to have to worry about my magic anymore.
Even if it did all get stolen, who cares?
Maybe it would be nice to just be a regular woman and be able to travel the world with Damien.
Live a short, but meaningful life and die with the knowledge that I did everything I could?
Even as I think it, though, it feels like a lie. My magic is as much part of me as my damned soul is.
But what choice do I really have?
None. I have no choices.
“What do we have to do to prepare the working?” I ask.
The words sound so small and weak, about as small and weak as I feel. Wren takes my hand in hers, and Bastion presses his knee against mine.
“We need about a week to get the materials together,” Bastion says gently. “And we’ll do the working on the waning crescents of all three moons, effectively wielding that lunar energy like scythes to cut away at the other bonds enough to put our own in place.”
I nod, stomach churning. “And if it rebounds?”
“It’s not going to rebound,” Wren says. “We all need to go in believing that as fact.”
Aemon stays quiet, maybe aware of how nothing he says would feel reassuring.
I’m kind of grateful for it. I mentally calculate how to tell Damien that we have a plan without telling him that it could kill me or drain all the magic out of me.
He would never go for it. He would abandon his band to be at my side when we tried it.
No. I’m going to have to wait until I know the results to tell him, and that might be the worst fucking part of this whole thing. I hate lying to him.
But I won’t let him give up everything he’s worked so hard for. Not for me. All this garbage happening has already ruined my life. I won’t let it ruin his too. Even if he claims he’d prefer it. I just couldn’t live with myself if he lost his music to this.
I can keep a secret for a week.
And I will.