Chapter Twenty Seven #2
“Where does the other ten percent go?”
Draven twirled a finger and stopped it on Pedr’s cabin.
“Right there. The three other Arcanists share it at roughly . . . three percent each. Jordaire is the oldest, yes?”
“I believe so?”
“Then he might have more, such as four percent. These aren’t exact statistics, of course. Merely a suggestion to help you understand. You see?”
“Yes. But that leaves none for me.”
Draven smiled. “Ah, you see. I believe that is why Onskar fears you. Daughter of a wyvern and siren, you hold the ability to contain the Seat of the Arcane, thus?—”
“—I can take it from him?”
“That is the hope.”
“But I know it’s inside of me.”
“Yes, I sense it too.”
Face screwed up, she said, “So it makes less sense?”
A shrug replied. “As I said . . . approximations. Onskar has done a thorough job of confusing all the arcane beings currently in existence, which has given him the greatest power of all: the truth.”
These concerning facts painted a bleak situation.
For all that Pedr could do, he still had a limited and narrow scope in comparison to the Queens and the Kings, who held triple the amount of Pedr’s arcane abilities.
And Onskar had many, many times what they possessed.
Did the sirens know? They must. Onskar’s sheer brawn lent new meaning to her aunts’ great fear.
Draven swung around to peer at Einar, who stood at the bow, speaking quietly to Drake. The messenger dragon spread its supple wings and turned its face to the sky. Mila hadn’t met Drake. Pedr must have found him after being cursed.
“Other arcane rules have proven themselves through time,” Draven continued.
“For example, when one searches for something within the arcane, the arcane will allow admittance. Pedr sought you, and it allowed him to find you. You sought Pedr in the Seat of the Father King, and found him. Einar sought me under the ground—though he didn’t know I was alive—and he found me. ”
“An odd rule.”
“Is it?”
His simple inquiry startled her.
“Well . . . maybe not?”
Laughing, he said, “That rule is not as odd as this one: Arcanists cannot cross another Arcanist’s domain without first gaining their permission.”
“But Pedr accessed the land.”
Draven’s brow rose. “Did he?”
“Yes, fifteen years ago. He had first become the Arcanist of the Sea and we went on land together all the time.”
His percolation deepened. “Hmmm.” He shrugged again. “You yourself are experiencing the cluster of knots that Onskar has created. He claims the arcane works one way, yet it happens differently in real life.”
Onskar claims. The way he worded each sentence seemed carefully crafted. Clearly, Draven didn’t trust Onskar. Her urgent questions renewed. The day crept toward afternoon already, and they plunged north to study Himmel’s Hall and find the path to Pedr’s. All felt like tattered flags in the wind.
“How is a being like Onskar to be defeated?” she asked, and instantly wished she hadn’t. Portraying desperation helped no one.
Draven lightly wagged his pointer finger. “Yet again, your astute mind asks the right question. This is where the truth is not so firm. Onskar claims many things, but he can claim anything he wants—he is the Seat.”
“No one can question him.”
“Exactly.”
“What else is he claiming?”
“Everything about the arcane.” Draven spread both arms. “Everything we believe to be true stems from Onskar. The rules themselves may also stem from Onskar, as well.”
“You think some of it is lies?”
“Nearly all of it could be.”
Whether true or not, it didn’t help her at all. In the end, she still had to access arcane abilities previously unusable in order to bargain, fight, or protect them against Onskar. If she failed, Pedr would never exist again.
Mila asked in a small voice, “But what should I do about the arcane, Draven? It doesn’t respond to me.”
He reached forward. For the first time in their acquaintance, his touch grazed her skin. He put his soft hand under her chin, commanding her eyes. She saw their similarities—stubborn stare, expressive lips—with such boldness she couldn’t fathom why it took her so long to puzzle it out.
“One step at a time, Mila. It doesn’t feel like it, but you have time.
The arcane is not so strange as all you’ve seen.
Give yourself the grace of belief, and we will try together.
If you don’t believe it’s possible, it never will be.
Come. We are going to attempt various things together for the next hour or so while reaching the arcane as the wyverns do—through the breath. ”
A blast of power slammed into Mila’s back, vaulting her into the air. She comprehended the sea beneath her, a sensation of falling, and another thud yanked her back before she hit the water.
Gasping, she stood on the edge of the Rosenvatten, eyes wide. She whirled around to find Draven standing back there, curiosity etched in his bright expression. She eyed him suspiciously.
“Well,” she drawled. “Clearly, that didn’t work.”
“Correct. You were unable to block my arcane, but it was a good taste.”
“A taste of what?”
“Of what to expect.”
He sauntered closer, his elegant robe shuffling as he strode. He carried his elegance, sweeping it with him as he advanced.
“Onskar will move quickly, and seek the upper hand right away. We don’t want you to stay on defense for long, of course, but you must be prepared for it.”
Another blast of the arcane walloped her from behind, taking her by surprise. She faced Draven, so how had he managed it? As before, it flung her over the water before it returned her, this time dragging the tops of her feet over the waves.
Before she could loosen upon him her annoyance, Draven said, “Another will come, if you are not ready.”
“I’m trying!”
“Then try again.”
Whirling around, she demanded, “How do I get ready?”
“Your breath.”
His unnecessary instruction didn’t help; she’d been breathing into the arcane for several hours now, and nothing had changed.
Before she could voice her rising irritation, a third shockwave of sheer arcane power pummeled her in the stomach, shoving her over the water.
Her ankles dragged in the water this time, drenching the edges of her skirts.
She returned ready to fight, but the arcane didn’t rise to respond.
A forming puddle dripped beneath her.
“It’s not working!”
“Agreed.” Draven tilted his chin, regarding her through narrowed eyes. “You do understand that the arcane is little more than desire manifested? There is no specific word, no process. You simply desire, and it is.”
“I know, but it doesn’t work like that for me.”
Draven tilted his head, spread a hand.
“Try it with your breath.”