26. EMULATOR
My talk with Nivelle must have bridged the awkward gap between us and broken some seal of silence, because the witch was sitting at the patio breakfast table the next morning, sunning her face in the morning light.
Pale blonde hair flowed freely around her, and the ink between her brows and on her chin was a stark contrast against her skin, marking her as other.
The crisp air was still and calm. Birds flapped overhead, their chirps echoing through the valley.
Nivelle’s eyes opened, and she mapped their path, following their trail until they dipped toward the trees then soared back up into the clouds.
Her head turned to me as I stepped out onto the patio.
She didn’t smile. She didn’t say anything at all. But her expression was lighter.
She was trying.
I nodded in her direction, acknowledging her, then summoned my enchanted candlestick and touched it to the fresh logs on the firepit near the table.
Nivelle watched my every move, not with scrutiny, but with a curiosity that I recognized. I had been that way when I first arrived here in Anbrya. This place, and the fae, had been so foreign to me that everything I witnessed was astonishing.
The way she watched the birds fly, the pinch in her brows as she felt the sun on her pale skin .
. . The witch had never stepped foot off the isles.
She was learning the world, beyond what she knew, just as I had done.
Experiencing things she didn’t know were possible.
Seeing creatures she probably didn’t know existed.
There was an understanding that stretched between us as our eyes met.
“The magic pocket is something Niall taught me to do,” I explained. “Perhaps it is something you could learn to do as well.”
She pursed her lips as she gathered her response. “We deal in spells—a different sort of magic.” She eyed the candle as I slipped it back inside the invisible room in the beyond.
I began warming my hands over the flames, taking her statement as an invitation into conversation. “How do spells work?”
“It depends on how they are cast. They can be used for good, or for ill. Spells manipulate the natural order of things, so they are a dangerous magic to meddle with. Only the most skilled of witches can practice certain spells.”
“Do they require any power on your part?”
“Some do. Some don’t. Most call for something from the earth to anchor the spell into being—seeds, roots, bones, stones. Particular spells might require particular items. There is always a give and a take.”
A give and a take. I knew that part about magic very well.
“So, what of your power?” she asked, her voice quieting ever so slightly.
It was clear that she didn’t like to come off as too eager for knowledge, probably to avoid seeming like she was desperate for answers in a realm that posed so many new questions.
But I recognized her strategy, and I was almost positive that she was well-aware of my understanding.
Which meant she wasn’t just tolerating me, she was making a meaningful effort.
I pulled my hands away from the fire and held one palm up between us, willing an orb of light to manifest in it.
Nivelle watched carefully. The orb pulsed with my heartbeat, then I dug a little deeper and the orb sank into my skin, illuminating me from within.
Slowly, the light spread along my veins until every inch of me was radiating with a white glow.
Nivelle got to her feet and stared. “You have the fallen god’s light?”
I nodded.
She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“I don’t blame you.” I half laughed. “I’m a descendant of both him and Karios.
To defeat a god and expel them from the hierarchy, the one to do it must be descended from them in either blood or power—even if it’s a sliver of it.
Then, the victor will ascend and take that god’s place.
” Just saying the process out loud again reminded me of the reality I’d soon be facing.
The thought was enough to douse my light like water tossed onto embers.
I looked away, training my focus on the landscape beyond.
Nivelle pieced the puzzle together, her mouth tightening as she arrived at a conclusion. “You do not agree with this ritual?”
Ritual. No one had ever referred to it as that.
It was always just explained as the natural order of things.
Divine law. “Sometimes it’s a hard concept to come to terms with,” I answered, swallowing against the tightness in my throat.
“What about you? Any special gift beyond the ability to cast spells?”
I knew the answer already, having seen her perform some sort of magic in her garden—when she wilted the flowers with nothing more than a touch. But I wanted to hear her explanation.
Surprisingly, she answered. “Every witch has an ability of their own, ranging from simple musings to overbearing burdens.” Distaste flickered in her expression.
“The nature of our abilities has become more unpredictable ever since we fled our homeworld. Power is always its strongest where it hails from, and it will always seek to find a way back to wherever that is.” She said the last part with a pointed look in my direction, as if to remind me not to forget yesterday’s conversation about Niall’s power.
I nodded, even though her words were unsettling.
“As for me,” she continued, “I’m an emulator.”
“A what?”
She closed her eyes as she raised her palm and willed a blue-white orb of light into existence.
The power appeared identical to mine, and when it seeped into her skin—as mine had—and illuminated her from within, I stumbled back.
When she opened her eyes again, she couldn’t suppress the grin that spread across her face.
“How did you . . .” I checked my own power reserves, making sure she hadn’t somehow dipped into them and robbed me.
She let out a quick laugh, and I bristled, not expecting to ever hear that sound from her.
“Relax,” she said. “I didn’t steal your power.
I can emulate another’s power if I’m close enough to them.
” She looked down at herself, admiring the glow.
It didn’t radiate nearly as bright as mine, but it was similar.
“It’s never at the same capacity as the natural wielder’s—it’s my own version of it.
Just a fraction, but still useful.” The light fizzled out, flickering like she had burned through the little amount that she’d conjured.
Emulation . . . That’s what she had done to Roirdan in her cottage, and again in her garden. The rope of lightning.
Roirdan’s lightning.
And that meant . . .
“You can emulate anyone’s power?”
“If I want to,” she answered. Then, as if sensing the unspoken question lingering on the tip of my tongue, she said, “Even your mate’s.”
My heart stuttered at the thought of Nivelle latching onto Niall’s ability and wielding it. The act alone seemed oddly personal, and judging by how precious the fae regarded their individual abilities to be, emulating them might be offensive.
“I know what you are thinking,” she said quietly. “And yes, I already tried it.”
The look of shock on my face elicited another grin from her, this one more playful than I had seen, but in no way apologetic.
Then, as if recalling the memory of his power at her fingertips, her grin faltered, and her expression sobered.
“It was unlike anything I’d ever felt before.
I know I do not have much to go by, given that I’ve only ever emulated the gifts of other witches—never that of the fae.
But, I could feel the darkness within it.
” She grabbed at her wrist, rubbing it slowly.
“That is partly how I knew where it came from—something inside me confirmed it.”
But if she had used it . . . I hadn’t seen her—
My eyes widened as I suddenly recalled what I had seen her do in her garden. How everything had wilted and died with a simple touch. “But, what I saw was . . . was like . . .”
When I couldn’t finish the sentence, Nivelle did. “Death.” The word was barely more than a whisper. She glanced down to her hand, as if it bore a permanent stain from Niall’s power that she couldn’t remove.
“But his power is shadowfire—it manifests in shadows. What you did . . .”
“I think I tapped into the baser side of his ability. The shadows are just how it manifests. The fire within them is their vengeance. The power itself, in its raw form, is darkness. A darkness that brings death.”
I shook my head as I let her words sink in. “What about his other abilities? What about mine?” Each of us were capable of more than what the witch had tapped into, yet she hadn’t seemed to glean those abilities.
“I only accessed what was most prominent from the both of you. I would need to dig deeper to emulate anything else you might harbor.”
“But you could?”
“Yes.”
I paced the space, thinking, wondering, processing. “I didn’t even feel anything when you emulated my light.”
“No one ever does. I’m not actually drawing from your power. I’m using my own, just manipulating it into the form I perceive it to be. I can sense power without ever having to see it in physical form.”
That explained how she knew of all our powers simply by being in our presence. I couldn’t decide if the fact was more intriguing or alarming.
Her voice lowered as she said, “That is how I was able to give Silas his summons from Torin after our mother passed away.”
I lifted my eyes to her.
“You do know he’s my brother, don’t you?”
“Yes. But that is all I know.”