Chapter Fifty Two
MILA
Once Onskar withered to white sand, the arcane swept Mila elsewhere. At least, she thought it did.
In the new place, she saw nothing of the Hall of the Sea, Einar’s bloodied body, desperately clinging to life, nor the noxious smoke that once was Onskar. She viewed nothing familiar, known, or certain.
The arcane shoved her to this other place, where massive currents ribboned through her still body. Holding it all exposed her to the arcane’s patterns and truths, unwinding Onskar’s half-truths and falsehoods.
The arcane chose the Arcanist, not Onskar. Obliteration was a lie. The restrictions on Arcanists to avoid other domains was a weak rule that belonged only to Onskar, and ended with his reign.
Lies.
So many lies. And why? The answer didn’t come.
Or she missed it, lost in the expansive arcane.
She contained the force with humility and awe.
Never had she imagined such brawn. The arcane was not a force to be controlled.
In fact, under the wrong circumstances, the arcane took control instead of allowed control.
Whatever bounds Onskar had placed on the arcane, he had done so out of necessity, but his necessity led to power hunger and a desire to control.
The arcane would not allow such a thing forever.
Thus, Mila.
Einar.
Without Mila’s siren song, without Einar’s humanity, they would have failed.
She surveyed the white-washed landscape as the arcane leeched away from her, lessening by degrees. It was . . . departing. Traveling to the new Arcanists it had already chosen. Tendrils of it escaped in four currents, and she felt each as they left.
Sky.
Land.
Sea.
Soul.
Sorrow filled her at the loss, although the arcane had never belonged to any one being.
Yet, she would feel lesser without it. She had served her purpose: a vessel to hold all collapsing Arcanists.
A vessel to keep order when chaos threatened.
She created space for the beginning of a fresh start.
Mila was the ultimate Seat of Power. Unable to use the arcane, but able to hold it, which protected the arcane, Elestra, and all souls.
No one being should hold all the power and ability.
The glowing rope that led to the new Arcanist of Souls had the thickest band, the longest duration, the brightest colors. The arcane flowed more readily there than anywhere, streaming in a bold ribbon.
It stopped.
Mila’s lips parted as the haze cleared, revealing a familiar, fallen form on the ground. Einar sprawled on the ebony floor where Onskar had disappeared, arms sprawled to either side, the burned-out diasvard on the ground at his feet.
Already, there was an aura of radiating instinct. Capability.
Victory.
The soul arcane dropped into a pool at Einar’s feet.