Chapter Eighteen
Tor
“Now he has to come back,” Tor muttered, disgusted with himself.
He knew that Pel knew that he didn’t actually hate him—the man had said so explicitly—but the idea that this was the last thing Tor had said to Pel and that it could therefore prove to be the last thing he said to him ever filled him with prickling anxiety.
He was never, ever saying something like that to Pel again.
Tor wanted to pace, anything that would help him lose some of this frantic energy, but that wasn’t exactly conducive to them remaining quietly hidden right now.
Rin came over and wrapped an arm around Tor.
It wasn’t as good as Pel, but Tor sagged against his friend and tried not to think about anything for a little while.
It made him sympathize even more with what Pel must have gone through while Tor was unconscious.
It was the worst feeling ever when the person you loved was in danger and there was absolutely nothing you could do about it.
Tor found himself constantly turning his focus inward, searching out his core and trying to sort of mentally run his fingers over all the magic inside him. He’d know if something went wrong, wouldn’t he? He’d be able to feel it? Soon enough that he could burst out and run to the rescue?
(Bonds didn’t really work like that, but if Tor could ignore reality for a little while right now, that made him feel a lot better.)
Pel and their unborn baby were off in an enemy castle relying on the fact that Pel was unnoticeable.
Tor knew that Pel wasn’t particularly remarkable.
He knew that he’d thought so himself when he met him in Tond—having forgotten him from their previous encounters at royal events.
He knew that was true. But the man loomed so large in importance to Tor now that it was hard to cling to that older memory and remind himself that other people probably still felt the way Tor used to.
Just because Pel meant everything to Tor didn’t mean that was true for anyone else.
But Tor hated everything about this. He hated Pel being in danger, he hated the idea of Var being trapped in a shield underwater under constant attack.
He hated not knowing where the others were.
And he hated standing around waiting for other people to help.
And sure, that no doubt served him right for the times that he’d been the one acting while others couldn’t.
Was this how Pel had felt while Tor kept the shield up on the mountain during the landslide? It was the worst.
With a jolt, he realized that there was something he could be doing with his time that was far more constructive than worrying about Pel. (Not that he was going to stop doing that.) Tor’s twin was under constant bombardment from enemy forces, and Tor was sure that his shield could use some support.
Finding Var was a weird combination of reaching inside himself and reaching outward, following a connection that was inside him out to another source when there was actually no tangible connection at all.
It wasn’t easy to do when you weren’t close to one another—most people didn’t even try when they weren’t touching—but Tor had proved he could manage it across almost the entirety of the United Realms. The desperation was different right now.
Those right around Tor were safe—but his entire family was in danger.
Plus, he’d gotten a boost from the Fealty since then. That should make this easier, right?
Closing his eyes, he brought to mind all the times that he and Var has used their magic together, from the age of fourteen until Var had taken the throne at twenty-eight.
Maybe it hadn’t been quite as frequent as they got older, but they’d done so with such regularity for at about a decade that it had almost felt interchangeable, one person instead of two.
There was a time when that connection had been the strongest one in Tor’s life. And even if that wasn’t true anymore, it was still there, it would always be there, because they were brothers, twins, and Tor loved Var even when he couldn’t understand him.
There. That warm, pulsing feeling of magic, different from Pel, different from the exiles who’d given their Fealty. This was Tor’s brother, the strand of magic thinner than it used to be, but there just the same.
Tor imagined clasping it in his arms, imagined his own magic reaching out to coat it and strengthen it.
This wasn’t the same as putting his own shield over his brother’s.
This was giving his brother some of his magic, just like he’d borrowed some of Var’s on the mountain, and letting Var use it for his own.
Tor could feel the faint tug of the magic going, but he couldn’t feel what it was doing or how Var was faring.
Shield my brother. Protect him. Keep him safe.
He wasn’t sure if he could do the same with Ada or Cala, and he castigated himself for not paying enough attention. He adored both of them, but as much as he strained, his magic couldn’t seem to figure out how to connect to them from a distance like this.
Goddess, please shield and protect them, even if I can’t. Please.
“How can you shield someone if you don’t know where they are?” Terila asked.
Tor’s eyes snapped open in surprise, but a look at Terila said this was a generic question, not related to what he was doing. Perhaps it was a normal thing to wonder, under the circumstances.
“Because your magic doesn’t need to see. And because you need to do it,” Tor answered, shrugging.
He’d never really needed to explain it before, and he struggled for words.
“It’s more of a feeling than anything else.
Like when you’re mantling a blade.” He eyed her, suddenly not sure if she’d done that, but she nodded, casting a fleeting glance at Rin.
So apparently, there really had been some actual training along with whatever else they’d gotten up to.
“You send your magic to mantle it, but it’s not as if you’re describing to your magic every inch of the blade to cover.
You’re not looking at the blade but at your opponent when you’re using the weapon to defend yourself.
You’ve expressed to your magic what you need done, and it does it.
” He shrugged again. “It’s not quite as simple as that.
Your magic does need to know what to shield as opposed to shielding what’s right in front of you.
If you don’t have enough of a connection or can’t feel the person with your magic, you probably won’t find them. ”
“It’s hard to do,” she said carefully, no animosity in her voice.
He nodded. “Hard to make the connection, often, and it’s like your magic belongs in your core.
That’s where it resides for everyone. Unremarkable have enough strength to push it far enough to Tendril and bond.
Illustrious can send it farther, so that it can mantle their bodies and objects they hold.
Extraordinary can go farther still, so that the magic can leave the body entirely.
Except it’s sort of still attached. I don’t know how to describe it, really.
Like there’s an invisible tether between the magic and me. ”
Terila was nodding. “And the farther you stretch that tether, the more difficult it is.”
He cast her a fleeting smile. “Yes, exactly. So as strong as my brother is, it can’t be easy to cast shields over people who are somewhere else in the castle, not when all the shields are probably under attack.”
There had been that moment up the mountain when Tor had realized he couldn’t hold two shields anymore, no matter how desperate he was to do so.
The division of his focus with the constant bombardment of the landslide had been too difficult, and he’d known he was going to drop one of the shields if something didn’t change.
He’d needed to combine them into one, which had made the focus easier, even though the force should have been the same. Var didn’t have that option here.
But at least he and Var had had practice with separate shields and sharing magic, even if the stakes had never been so high.
He was suddenly desperately glad that he’d been a very curious child and that Var had been willing to experiment with him.
They’d practiced for years, but Tor couldn’t tell you the last time he’d done it until now, and he suspected the same was true of Var.
In fact, it was probably worse, because there were those years when Varex had first taken the throne when Tor had been rebuffed in every attempt to stage mock fights.
Tor had still trained with his troop sometimes, but Varex had thrown himself into ruling—which was incredibly important, of course, only it meant that Tor had no idea how well he could hold up to any of this.
They’d rarely had anyone truly trying to harm them, but it wasn’t like Tor had ever had a landslide fall on him before, either. He and his magic had adapted and risen to the challenge, and he was sure Var would do the same. He had to.
Goddess, please keep everyone I love safe.
It felt like an eternity, but it couldn’t have been longer than the half hour Beluna had asked for when Pel and Beluna returned unharmed, because Rin had promised to tell him the instant Tor was allowed to go rushing off to their rescue.
The wave of relief that passed through Tor was so powerful that it nearly took him off his feet, and he couldn’t prevent himself from pulling Pel into his arms, something in him relaxing only once he felt the other man’s body against his, strong and whole and unharmed.
Pel clung to him just as tightly for a long moment.