Chapter 19 The Intunar
The Intunar
Iundress and stare at myself in the mirror. I barely recognize what looks back at me. Thinner than I should be, the lines beneath my eyes darker, my face drawn in a way that makes me look older than I am. The scouring has taken the bruises but not the memory of them.
On my thigh, the place where the blade went in is no longer a wound but a pattern. The weaver's work remains, gold and faintly luminous against my skin. The leg holds my weight without protest. At night the pain still comes without warning, harsh enough to wake me, gone just as quickly.
My hair hangs damp down my back, still bright from the scouring, the color almost unnatural against the rest of me.
A knock sounds at the door. I move quickly, reaching for the gown left folded on the bedside table and pulling it over my head before crossing the room. I open the door.
Aunt Jularin stands there, composed as ever, and beside her a man I do not recognize. He is older, his expression measured, his presence quiet in a way that suggests control rather than hesitation.
“Asharin,” Jularin says. “This is Hyverin.”
I step aside and let them in.
He does not waste time. His attention moves over me with practiced efficiency, not unkind, but direct. When he reaches for my wrist, I allow it, watching him as he closes his eyes briefly, something subtle shifting in the air between us.
“You are with child,” he says after a moment. “A strong boy. Healthy.”
He pauses, his brow faintly drawn. “Strange,” he murmurs, more to himself than to me. “The pattern overlaps.”
He looks at me again, the moment already closing. “No matter.”
“He will be stronger than most.”
He hesitates, then adds, “I served your mother as her healer. It was my duty to protect her bloodline.”
His voice is quiet but firm. “That duty remains.”
“The term is still distant,” he continues. “There is no immediate concern.”
No immediate concern. I hold onto that.
He moves then, kneeling slightly to examine my leg. His fingers hover just above the gold tracings, not touching at first, as though assessing something I cannot see.
“The weaver did good work,” he says. “The structure is intact. There is no damage that will impair movement.”
His hand lifts, and light gathers there, soft and controlled. He lets it pass slowly over the markings, the glow sinking into my skin in a way that is both warm and unfamiliar. “This will ease the residual pain,” he adds. “Though it may not remove it entirely.”
The warmth lingers even after his hand lowers. “You must take care of yourself,” he says, straightening. “Avoid unnecessary strain. Avoid danger.”
He looks at me more directly then, something pointed in the way he holds my attention.
I frown slightly. “I have not exactly been seeking it out.”
He does not respond to that.
Aunt Jularin steps in before I can press further. “Thank you, Hyverin,” she says smoothly, already guiding him toward the door. “You have been most helpful.”
He inclines his head once and leaves without another word. The door closes behind him.
Jularin does not speak immediately. She moves further into the room instead, her attention shifting, taking in the space in a way that feels deliberate. Her gaze travels the walls, the windows, the ceiling of glass above us, as though confirming something.
Then she turns back to me. “The escape hatch,” she says, as though I should already know it exists.
I blink. “The what?”
She does not answer. Instead, she lifts her hand, and something in the air changes, subtle but unmistakable.
Light moves across the floor, gathering in a slow circle at the center of the room.
The stone shifts, separating along lines that were not visible before, until a round opening forms where there had been nothing.
I stare at it.
“Do not tell Petunis I showed you this,” Jularin says.
I look at her. “Why would there be an escape hatch in a place like this?”
“Because places like this are the ones that require them,” she replies.
She steps toward it. “Come.”
“I am in a nightgown.”
“That will not matter.”
I hesitate, then I follow. The air changes as we descend, the warmth of the room fading behind us. Narrow steps curve downward, leading into something darker, quieter. At the bottom, the space opens just enough to form a small landing, the walls close, the ceiling low.
It feels like a threshold. Like it leads somewhere beyond this place. I take one more step and something shifts. Jularin’s hand lifts again, and I feel it this time, the magic settling around us, enclosing the space in a way that cuts it off from everything above.
I freeze.
My body reacts before my thoughts can catch up, tension pulling through me as I turn toward her, every instinct sharpening at once.
She sees it.
“I am not here to hurt you,” she says.
I do not relax.
“Then why are we down here?”
“Because you need to understand something,” she replies, her voice quieter now, stripped of the composure she carried upstairs. “This place is not what it appears to be. And what I am about to tell you could put you in danger if the wrong person learns you have it.”
My eyes shift toward the opening above us, now sealed. “You are asking me to trust you.”
“I am asking you to be careful,” she corrects. “And to keep what I am about to tell you to yourself."
I stare at her, the pressure still pressing in around us, the air thick with whatever she has placed there.
“Keep what to myself?” I ask.
Jularin studies me quietly, then says, “You are carrying twins.”
“That’s not possible,” I say immediately.
“It is,” she replies, calm and certain. “Both are strong. Both are present. You would not have known. They have not allowed themselves to be easily felt.”
My hand moves to my stomach before I can stop it.
“That makes no sense.”
“It will,” she says. “But first, tell me this. Have you ever noticed that you can feel intent before action? Not what people say. What they mean. What they feel before an action.”
I hesitate. “I only ever use it when I’m fighting,” I say.
“I see.”
Her gaze sharpens slightly. “And who taught you to use it?”
“The Protector,” I answer, more quietly. “Teorin.”
“That would make sense,” she says.
“Why?”
“He is said to be very intelligent. Very calculating,” she says.
“So I have learned,” I say dryly.
“It makes sense he would learn your magic, making sure he understood it well enough that you would need him in a place like Veynar,” she says with a shake of her head.
I absorb that, though it does not sit easily.
“How do you know so much about intunars?”
Jularin smiles sadly. “Someone I care for deeply has the same ability.”
Before I can probe further, Jularin speaks again. “What you have is more than instinct,” she continues. “We call it intunar. It is the ability to feel intent before it becomes action. Some develop it in small ways. A few are born with it more strongly.”
I look at her. “And you think that’s what this is?”
“I know it is,” she says. “And I know you have not been using it fully.”
Before I can respond, she adds, “The children you carry have it as well.”
I go still. “That’s not possible.”
“It is,” she says again. “And they have already been using it.”
A cold unease settles in my chest.
“What do you mean?”
“They sensed danger,” Jularin says. “The undead are drawn to power. To anything that marks itself as worth taking. Your children understood that.”
My fingers press more firmly against my stomach.
“They made themselves smaller,” she continues. “Quieter. Harder to find. They reduced what they gave off so that nothing would notice them.”
My breath slows.
“That is why you could not feel them,” she says. “And I could. I was not feeling their presence,” she says. “I was feeling the absence they created. That is how my magic works. It can read truth."
I shake my head once. “No.”
I think of Hyverin. The way he paused. The way he said "strange" and then closed it off.
“The healer just now. He knew," I say. It is not a question.
Jularin nods once. "He served your mother for decades. That is why he said nothing today. He understands what is at stake. Your secret will be safe."
"You are certain?"
"He has kept greater secrets than this," she says. “He is still here."
I look at her. “Did you know it was twins earlier today?”
“Yes. Their intunar is what made it possible. In the throne room, you were surrounded by people who needed something from you. Stability. Continuation. A future they could claim.”
“They sensed that,” she says. “They understood what would protect you in that moment. And they responded by letting me feel them.”
I stare at her. “You felt both of them?”
“Yes. I just opted to only share the news of the male.” She smiles. “The other twin is just as healthy. A female, I believe.”
A girl. A boy. Both with abilities I myself do not understand.
Silence presses in around us.
“It sounds impossible,” she adds. “I know.”
I swallow.
“But it is true." She sighs. "But you should know, it is not a gift usually held by Alarnans."
She smiles reassuringly. "But perhaps your line is mixed with other types of magic. Nonetheless, your children are thriving despite all their mother has been through."
"But," she says quietly. "Twins are coveted and feared across the Thronelands and especially among Alarnans.
If it is thought that you have battle twins, those who fear you may fear you more.
Others may try to use your vulnerability as a mother against you by harming the children once they are born.
Worst yet, there will be concerns that the children will be born with Thren bonds, and the extremists may think they should act against the children. "
"Battle twins?"
"Yes, this is what they call twins born with powers that can be used in battle."
I think of what Nyara said about her and Junis. I wonder if they are considered battle twins.
As though she can read my mind, Jularin says, "Battle twins are stronger than most, born with power meant for war.”
I look down at my stomach. "So now what?"
She looks at me kindly. “Now you wait,” she says. “For your husband. For Uralish. Or for the danger to declare itself.”
"Declare itself how?"
"Declare whether or not your children are safe to be born in Alarna, or if you are better off elsewhere."
Fuck.