CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR ISI
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
ISI
“We’re twin flames, remember?” Trew said. “We burn together or not at all.”
I tilted my head up, closing the distance between us until our lips met. The kiss was brief but potent, tasting of promises and shared determination. When we pulled apart, I felt steadier. Ready.
“Your office,” I said. “Then we fly south.”
We left my room and made our way through the castle corridors, past servants doing morning chores. A few curious glances followed us.
He unlocked his office door, and we stepped inside. Neat stacks of papers covered his desk, and maps had been pinned to the walls alongside lists written in his precise hand.
He went straight to a cabinet where I’d found papers before, not understanding how significant they might be, and opened the door. He searched the cabinet briefly before pulling out a leather-bound journal similar to Velacross’s but larger.
“Everything my father wrote in the months before he died,” he said, moving aside some maps to set it on the desk.
I stood beside him as he opened the journal. The first page held a date from sixteen years ago, the handwriting neat and controlled.
Initial reports of creatures emerging from a rift in the veil. Witnesses describe beings that feed on magic itself, draining power from the land and leaving devastation in their wake.
Trew flipped to the next page. More notes, more observations. Sketches of Skathes in various forms, their anatomy detailed with the precision of someone who’d studied them extensively.
Halfway through the journal, we came across the symbol, the same circular design with intersecting lines, drawn larger here and annotated with notes in the margins.
Connection to ancient magic. Bloodfire traces. Warning of corruption.
I sucked in a breath. “Bloodfire. That’s what Coralee said the woman used.”
“My father was tracking it.” Trew’s finger traced the symbol. “He knew someone was using forbidden magic.”
I leaned closer, reading the cramped text below the drawing. Warning. Danger. Connection to—
The sentence cut off, unfinished.
Trew turned the page. The next entry was also dated sixteen years ago, shortly before his father’s death.
Growing certainty that at least one Skathe controller exists. They’re directing the wretched creatures. I’ve traced their power signature to—
Again, unfinished. But this time, there was something else. A second symbol, smaller than the first, drawn in the corner of the page.
A crescent moon with embedded blue jewels.
“Trew.” My voice came out strangled. “That looks like my mother’s pendant. My father gave it to Addie when she turned seventeen.”
He went very still. “You’re right.”
I tugged it from beneath my tunic, turning it until the light streaming in from the window hit it. “A crescent moon with jewels.” I pointed to the drawing. “Exactly like this.”
We stared at the page.
My mother’s pendant. In his father’s handwriting. Sixteen years ago.
Two people who had both died within weeks of each other, in different kingdoms, under circumstances nobody had fully explained. Two people who had apparently known something the wrong person didn’t want known.
The pendant felt heavier around my neck.
“Did they know each other?” I whispered. “They may have been working together.” It was a stretch but something we had to consider.
I wouldn’t believe my mother had been using bloodfire magic. She wasn’t capable of doing harm. I’d swear that on my life.
“If they were, they may have both been killed to keep from revealing whatever they knew.”
A knock at the door made us both tense. Trew’s hand moved to the blade strapped to his side.
“Come,” he called out.
Coralee entered, her ermine draped across her shoulders like always. She carried a leather portfolio, the kind scholars used for precious documents. Her expression was carefully neutral, but I caught the tightness around her eyes.
“The bloodfire research you requested,” she said, setting the portfolio on Trew’s desk.
“I’ve kept it locked away all these years.
Looking at it again…” She released a slight shudder, her fingers twitching as they touched the leather.
“I believe this contains the most complete information about bloodfire in our realm.”
“Thank you,” Trew said softly.
She nodded, her gaze distant. “Your father asked me to stop this research. He said some knowledge was too dangerous to pursue.” Her voice dropped. “I should’ve listened. Then maybe he’d still be alive. Please be careful.”
So much sadness in her eyes.
After she left, Trew opened the portfolio. The documents inside had yellowed over time, and the ink had faded in places.
I leaned close, reading over his shoulder.
“Midnight’s Sorrow is extremely rare but quite effective in creating the potion needed to facilitate bloodfire magic.
The only documented growth is in northern coastal regions with specific soil composition.
It blooms once every three years under new moon conditions.
” I frowned. “Northern coastal regions?”
“Emberkeep, Noctvale, and Solwynd are the only northern courts,” he said.
The next section contained an incomplete diagram covered in notes. The same symbol from the dead spy’s wrist sat in the center, but the surrounding annotations were fragmented.
Two casters minimum.
Anchor point must be blood-bonded to primary.
Secondary caster provides— The sentence ended, the rest of the line too faded to read.
“Blood-bonded,” Trew said, his finger hovering over the words. “Like a companion bond?”
“Or something darker.” I pointed to another note in the margin. Could artificial bonds be created? If so, would that not be forced servitude?
We continued reading, horror building with each page.
Coralee had documented what happened to bloodfire casters themselves. The magic wasn’t just forbidden, it was actively destructive to the person taking on the bloodfire bond.
Premature aging appears to be common in the caster. One bit of research in an obscure journal suggested the caster aged twenty years in the span of three months. It was suggested the body could not handle what the power demanded.
Pherin chittered from the windowsill, a sound of pure disgust.
Bad magic, she said. Wrong, wrong, wrong.
The next page made my stomach turn.
Raw bloodfire magic is inherently unstable. It must be anchored to physical objects or it dissipates within minutes. Tested anchor methods include blood-infused ink (wards, symbols), crystallized compounds (poisons, potions), and organic matter (living tissue shows promise but degrades rapidly).
“So the spy’s poison didn’t just kill her,” I said. “It was the vessel for the magic that burned her body to ash. A gruesome but effective way to destroy evidence.”
We were near the end of her research. The final page was dated sixteen years ago. The handwriting was shaky, unlike Coralee’s usual precision.
I made a disturbing discovery in the Velmire archives.
Bloodfire can temporarily sustain a corpse.
It’s not true resurrection. That remains impossible per all natural laws.
But a semblance of life can be maintained through continuous magical application.
The caster would not truly live, though to anyone seeing them, they’d appear as normal as you or me.
I pray no one has attempted this horror.
And, at the bottom of the page, a few final lines.
I have destroyed all evidence of this research wherever I found it. I’ll maintain only this one document as proof of what I discovered, should it ever be needed. May the Fates forgive me if this knowledge is stolen or misused.
Silence filled the office. Even Pherin had gone quiet on the windowsill.
I stepped back from the desk.
A person. Walking around. Looking alive. Being trusted. Being spoken to. And not alive at all.
How long? How many years of rooms and conversations and decisions, all of it coming from something that should’ve been in the ground?
“Someone could use bloodfire magic and while they’d age, they could use more to maintain their life,” I whispered. “Life or something close to it.”
“The cost would be extraordinary.” Trew’s hands shook as he set down the papers. “It would likely take continuous application of bloodfire magic to sustain them. They’d age years in months. All that to keep their corpse animated.”
“Unless they had another source of power.” I thought of all my court’s people killed for their magic. Of the west tower and its horrifying secrets. “What if they were draining magic from others to fuel it?”
Trew’s eyes met mine, and I saw my own horror reflected there.
“The Day of Mercy,” he said hoarsely. “Harvesting magic from the condemned. It would give them a renewable source.”
“Enough to sustain something dead. To keep themselves alive despite the body’s breakdown.” My mind raced, connections forming. “And if they had access to multiple courts’ resources…”
“They could gather the ingredients for bloodfire poison.” Trew stood, pacing to the window. “They could maintain themselves for years. Decades even.”
I joined him. “Your father discovered this. And whoever’s behind it may have killed him to keep it secret.”
“Coralee said she destroyed all other evidence, but what if they had this research before she could eliminate it?”
The pieces were there, scattered across Coralee’s careful documentation. But the picture they formed was still incomplete and out of focus. Someone wearing two faces. A person who had access to multiple courts. Alive despite using magic that should’ve killed them.
“I assume the second controller is their anchor,” I said, wondering who that might be.
Trew gathered the papers, sliding them back into the portfolio. He placed it inside a cupboard, below a false bottom, then warded the cabinet itself. “Someone would have to know what they are looking for to find this now.”
Returning to the desk, he stared at his father’s unfinished notes. “I suspect whoever killed your mother and my father is still out there, still controlling the Skathes and maybe using bloodfire magic to sustain their deteriorating life.”
“If they looked the same, it could be anyone. How will we identify them?”
“We may find answers with Addie.”
“I hope so, because whoever this is, they’re hunting us.”
“We may be chasing ghosts.”
“Not ghosts.” I turned to face him fully, my hands finding his chest. “They’re shadows with teeth, and we’re going to drag them into the light.”
His arms came around me, pulling me close enough that I could feel the steady thud of his heart beneath my palms. “You’re fierce when you’re determined.”
“I learned from the best.” I tilted my head back to meet his gaze. “You’re not exactly known for backing down.”
“True.” His mouth curved, though the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “But I’ve had years to build that reputation. You managed it in weeks.”
“I learn fast.”
“You’re stubborn.”
“We’re going to find the truth about all of this and end it. Burn the entire place down, remember?”
“That was meant for Caldrith.”
“My ancestral home.”
“I’ll do what I can to preserve the structure, but your father owes me for hurting you.”
“He owes me.” Would I ever be strong enough to face him and make him back down?
I’d find a way.
“We’ll make whoever’s responsible pay for this.” The words came out cold. Final. “Every life they’ve taken. Every secret they’ve buried.”
Trew’s eyes darkened with fierce approval. “There’s my bloodthirsty minx.”
“I thought I was your radiant celestial body.”
“That too.” He leaned down and gave me a quick kiss. “Though I prefer the version that threatens vengeance.”
“We should go. The others will be waiting.”
We put everything away. Trew gathered the maps from his desk, and we slung our bags over our shoulders. Leaving his office, we met up with our friends outside.
Pherin launched from my shoulder, spiraling up toward the sky before diving back down to land on Trew’s outstretched arm. Gavelle flew in and settled beside her.
The two companions touched beaks, a gesture so tender it made my chest ache.
Twin flames bond twice.
“I sent word ahead,” Trew said. “Helena should have the dragons prepared by now.”
We strode toward the forest path that would take us to where we housed the dragons.
No one spoke.
The answers we needed lay somewhere south, in a place my mother had hidden from the world.
Trees closed around us.
Behind us, Caldrith castle waited. Eva’s cell. The prisoner who’d said don’t forget us. Twenty-three people counting days.
Ahead, whatever my mother had hidden in the south.