Chapter 31
“Dry’ash na hud,” he said. “Dry’ash na nar. Repeat.”
“Dry’ash na hud. Dry’ash na nar.”
“Your accent is good,” he said. “Is Devanhan teaching you?”
“I was picking it up from both of you,” I said. “I’m practically Rhi’Ahr now.”
Suns, I could never keep my tongue to myself, so I tried to grin, hoping he would know I wasn’t serious. His lips twitched, and I was relieved.
“It is helpful to know how the enemy thinks,” he said.
“Not all enemy,” I said. “Not anymore.”
“I am glad of that,” he said. “But never trust the Rhi’Ahr.”
“Not even you?”
“Especially me,” he said. “Close your eyes.”
I did, and I held my breath as he stepped closer. My runescars reacted to his nearness, my skin alive with sensation, heart racing like sailsquid at the prow of a ship. Slowly, he raised a hand and pressed the tip of his finger between my eyes.
I gasped.
Patterns, lines, runes, more. Farther out, suns, moons, stars, circles, strings.
“See it,” he said. “See the Worldrune singing as you cast.”
“I see it,” I breathed.
The RuneTree, her branches reaching to the heavens, her roots deep in the erthe, and the chimeric pulsing through her veins. The same chimeric that now pulsed through mine. I could lose myself in these patterns. I could dive forever and stay deep.
“Your chimeric brightens it, Aro’el,” he said. “Tightens it, spins a sharper, very distinct chord. It is glorious.”
Even with my eyes closed, I could see the runes that wove his body. They beat his heart and danced through his muscles. He was almost a part of the Worldrune, indistinguishable from it, and I found the intoxicating rhythm that was Kier Gavriel Thanavar. I found it, and I leaned in.
“Dry’ash na hud,” he said, his voice distant yet powerfully near. “Dry’ash na nar.”
“Dry’ash na hud. Dry’ash na nar.”
“Keep the incant in the front of your mind,” he said. “And now, think of the creature you wish to mirror. No sharks, please. Lessons would be problematic.”
Yes, definitely a joke. I was getting to know how he thought, and I liked it.
“No sharks, I promise,” I murmured. “No wyrmaids. No dragon eels to munch my toes nor whales to swallow me whole.”
Tumbling, spiralling, falling into the glorious abyss.
“Direct your thoughts and relax,” his voice drummed my heart. “Think of the mirror.”
He was a winter hawk.
I could be a hawk. Or I could be his mirror. I could be anything I wanted, but the truth was, I wanted him. He was night. I would be morning. He was the depths, I the stars in the midnight sky.
“Now, focus on your skin.”
No matter what I became, he could catch me. He would hold.
And he took my hand.
I gasped as the chimeric shot through my palm, up my wrist, and into my jaw. Colors and patterns, rune and line. I could have lost myself in bliss at the sensations. I could have tumbled into his arms full of magik. I would eagerly fall.
I felt his breath on the side of my face and opened one eye a crack. Suns, he was so close. He was right there.
“You’re a runechaser, yes?” I asked.
“For years. I said close your eyes.”
I obeyed, heady with this gentle sparring, delirious with his touch.
He pushed my linen sleeve up past my elbow, revealing the runescars that covered every inch of my exposed skin. I didn’t need my eyes to know that they glittered with chimeric light, as beautiful as the stars in the heavens.
He was a runechaser, and I was covered in rune.
Forge. I was falling. He would catch me.
“Say the incant,” he said. “And think of your mirror.”
But I would not be a winter hawk.
“Dry’ash na hud. Dry’ash na nar.”
“Again.”
“Dry’ash na hud. Dry’ash na nar.”
“Again.”
And with a deep breath, he tugged my wrist and ran his fingers down my arm, brushing my skin with the lightest of touches but leaving blinding fire in their wake.
I cried out as the skin opened up and tiny daggers appeared along my arm.
“Again!”
“Dry’ash na hud! Dry’ash na nar! Dry’ash na hud! Dry’ash na nar!”
I tried to steady the rush of my heart as the chimeric burned along my arm.
“Dry’ash na hud! Dry’ash na nar! Dry’ash na hud! Dry’ash na nar!”
My voice was hoarse when finally the burning faded, leaving me breathless and dizzy.
Slowly, I opened my eyes.
It wasn’t a winter wing. No, these feathers were black like a swift or a crow or a raven.
“It worked,” I panted.
“Hmm,” he said as he studied my arm. “Ilyn’shar.”
I remembered that from somewhere. I’d heard the word before.
“Well done,” he said softly, and he squeezed my hand. “Mirror the feathers, now, and send them back.”
“How?”
“Reverse the incant and make them skin.”
I took another deep breath.
“Dry’ash na nar. Dry’ash na hud.”
I gritted my teeth, hissing as the feathers shrank back to be replaced by the soft, tiny hairs of a homani arm.
“Forge, that hurts,” I moaned.
“This is the easy part, I fear,” he said. “Do it again.”
I reached up with the back of my hand to wipe the sheen from my forehead. I puffed out a breath and nodded.
“Dry’ash na hud. Dry’ash na nar.”
Again, the skin burned, and the feathers rippled into existence, and within moments, I held up my hand, the palm and fingers covered in shiny black.
“But it’s not a wing.” I glanced up at him. “Why isn’t it a wing?”
“Small steps,” he said. “Making a wing involves changing your bones, and that is a very different thing.”
“Teach me.”
“Tomorrow night.”
“Now.”
His hand still held mine, his thumb pressed against my thumb, his fingers under my palm. They were long and elegant and threaded with gold, and I wondered how they would feel on the rest of my skin.
He noticed my gaze, and once again, his eyes flicked to my lips.
I wondered how his would feel on my skin, too.
He stepped back, releasing me.
“Tomorrow.”
Fog it all to hels.
He turned to his books, raised a hand, and a slim journal slid out of its own accord.
“You do that with a Kinestorum?” I asked.
“I do.” He opened the journal and flipped the pages.
“Did you teach that to Smoke?”
“I did not,” he said. “It was one of the spells he could cast before he joined the crew. Most likely saved Dev’s life. And his own, in fact.”
He tried to jump but failed miserably, Smoke had said that day on the beach. I had to catch him in a flawless Kinestorum…
He passed me the open journal. Its pages were filled with hand-written rune lines, complex patterns, and scribbled hand positions. Sketches of fingers and thumbs, palms and wrists and arms in a simple yet effective attempt at illustration.
“This is a breakdown of the incants and processes needed to become a mirrormage,” he said. “Use the cy fwthilu.”
“You wrote this?”
“It is one of my journals, yes.”
I grinned.
“I like your drawings.”
He lowered his eyes and smiled. Suns, was that a blush?
“I am not as talented as you in that regard.”
“Clearly,” I said. “But they do the job.”
“High praise,” he said. “I have seen your work.”
I closed the journal and clutched it against my chest, steadying my heart before I glanced up at him again.
“I haven’t drawn you yet.”
His smile froze.
“Just a simple pen-and-ink sketch,” I pressed. “Really quick. I promise.”
He looked away, at the floor, at his boots, anywhere but my eager face.
“May I? Please?”
“I would not make an agreeable subject.”
“That’s the challenge,” I said. “I like a challenge.”
He stepped back and swallowed, composing himself in a heartbeat.
“You should go,” he said. “Devanhan is on first Dog tonight and will be back soon.”
Fog Devanhan Fahr.
“Why?” I asked. “He won’t approve?”
“He is protective of you,” he said. “He thinks I will lead you into dangerous waters.”
“Will you?”
Now he met my eyes like an anchor in the deep. The waves went quiet, and the winds grew still.
“Yes,” he breathed. “Unapologetically, I will.”
There was no ship. There was no crew. There was only a man and a woman in a cabin on the sea.
“I know how to swim,” I said quietly.
Hels’ hooks. What was I doing?
“I need you on deck for a while longer.”
“To serve the Ship of Spells.”
“Just so.”
“And after that?”
The grin tugged his mouth to one side.
“After that, I have no plan.”
I was sure it was almost the truth.
“Consider this a booking, then,” I said. “I’ll get you in my b—book before you know it.”
Fog my mother. I’d almost said bed.
Clutching the journal to my chest, I turned and slipped out of the cabin, leaving the thunder of my heart behind.
Sister.
The next morning, the chimeric was gone.
My hands were sparking, my scars glowing, so clearly, the problem wasn’t with me. When I dipped my fingers into the sea, the runes shot straight down, sending light-filled bubbles up in their wake.
Sister wood, sister rune, sister of tangles, defeated, consumed.
Oh Forge, not again.
“Coming up, Blue.”
I looked up, surprised to see Fahr hauling the line that brought me on deck. He grabbed my hand and did not wince as he pulled me over the side.
The three ironmages had gathered on the main, and to watch them cast was like watching a theater. They moved, they swayed, they sent incantations across the deck like arcane music.
I glanced to the pup, where Thanavar stood, arms folded across his chest. Suns, I had so many wylde, rushing thoughts now, and I didn’t know what it meant.
Months ago, I’d wanted to kill him, but now, I wanted to fall into his currents and drink his dark wine.
My mother wove schemes for him in my bed, and for once, I couldn’t argue. It was where I wanted to be.
I tore my eyes away. Tonight couldn’t come soon enough. He’d promised another lesson tonight.
I leaned into Fahr.
“What are they doing?” I whispered.
“The magisters say there is something beneath us,” he said.
“Another creature?”
“The source of this strange chimeric.”
Oh suns. Sister.
I bit my lip and glanced back over the side. The sea was glassy still, but a rush of tiny bubbles rose from the deep, popping and bringing with them the smell of decay.
Fahr touched my arm.
“Blue, listen,” he said. “I need to ask—”
“Ascentionus!” roared the magisters, and as one, the three slapped their palms on the deck of the ship. The Touchstone heaved, dipping low in the water, then rising anew. She heaved and rose, heaved and rose, as rune spilled all around us and pattern flooded down beneath.
The runes were going down.
Down, down, down, and the Touchstone pitched on the waves, gently at first but growing rougher.
Soon, the crew was rushing to secure crates, barrels, and cannons.
Within minutes, a large bubble burst the surface, and then another, and it seemed clear that something was moving from the depths of the sea.
Soon, a dark, rippling shape appeared at our stern. It was the size of a whale, but as the shape rolled in the water, a huge wooden fin spun eddies along with it. I saw the fluttering of canvas, and my heart sank at the sight.
Sister.
Of course. The source of the strange chimeric was a ship.
It was clear now, with masts and yards, sails and decks. The fin was her keel, and the spells wove through her until she broke the surface with a spray of white. The small boats tossed hooks and line to heave her aright.
She was a large ship, a four-masted man-of-war, her sails torn, her keel pocked with holes.
Three of her masts had been eaten away and most of her deck scrubbed clean by the sea.
There were large swaths of planking simply gone, and I could see through her hull as if she were a skeleton, half eaten by crows.
“Name!” barked Ben on one of the boats, and she yawed slowly in the waves until her transom swung toward us.
It was the Andomiehr, the missing Rhi’Ahr ship responsible for cutting down the Tree.
I turned to the pup, where Thanavar was watching.
Forge, Gav, Fahr had said. You’re going to kill us all.
Coming upon this particular sunken ship was far more than chance, and my heart sank at the sudden realization.
Thanavar was not simply taking the Court of Sand to the Cloudgate.
He was going back to where everything first began.
And he was taking all of us along with him.