Chapter 26 #2
He chuckled. “Snappy today.”
Magic flooded her body, no longer a small trickle that he controlled in order to allow her to acclimate. He simply opened the lid, and the force careened across the cord that bound them. This morning, she didn’t hesitate. It didn’t pain her, and her breath stayed steady.
Vaasa immediately shot the magic out of her hands, not bothering to wait for it to transition from smoke to wolf. The creature lifted its head and sniffed the air, then lowered its nose to the gravel. It stalked forward, and this time, Ozik took a careful step back.
“Why can Veragi magic be fueled by others when corporeal magic can’t?” Vaasa demanded.
Ozik kept his eyes on the wolf. Their link didn’t sear the way it used to, though it tugged, and she knew her magic was being capitalized on. Perhaps he was using less power, or he didn’t want it to hurt, or she had just gained enough control to block out his side of the bond.
This time, when the Miro’dag took shape, Vaasa didn’t twitch.
He rolled his shoulders and said, “Corporeal magic has limitations that sentimental magic does not, while sentimental magic has consequences that corporeal magic does not. Take the Imros coven, for instance, who can manipulate metal. They are not haunted by their magic, nor does it threaten to kill them the way Veragi magic once threatened you. But an Imros witch cannot use their power without metal. They must be in the presence of the physical thing that fuels them.”
Vaasa summoned more magic, relief in her bones at the ability to use it.
She hated that one of the few times of day she genuinely looked forward to in this fortress had to be spent with Ozik.
When she let it run free, the magic sharpened on the wolf, and it grew larger.
When she focused, she felt it shift within her.
Those glowing white eyes and sharp teeth, just beneath the surface of her skin, their beings seemingly one.
“And Zetyr magic is limitless? Anything you will it to do, it will do?” she asked.
“Only with a clever bargain,” Ozik confirmed.
“But death is a part of your deity’s description. Why?”
“Because prey is far easier to catch when it asks you for a favor.”
He only ever spoke in maddening riddles. Vaasa stared at Ozik, her mind absorbing his words with the same diligence she had once listened to him lecture. All those pretty gems of information were worth nothing if one wasn’t willing to mine them. “You never say your deity’s name. Why?”
Ozik pursed his lips, and she wondered for a moment if she’d caught him off guard. “Remember what I told you: The deities are monsters, and the more people who believe in them, the more power they have.”
It reminded her of her earlier conversation with Amalie—the hope that rose in them at the thought of Veragi. Was that misguided? “So what? You don’t believe in your own deity?”
Ozik shrugged, leaning back against the olive tree. The Miro’dag swayed back and forth. “All questions have answers, but not all of those answers are known.”
“Or perhaps not shared, even if they’re known.”
He smirked at her implication that he was hiding something from her. “Do you feel more powerful now? More in control?”
She gritted her teeth and stared at one of the black stone statues, the morning light catching on the golden threads of granite within it.
The answer to this question felt traitorous to herself.
Yes. Instead of responding honestly, she said, “How would I know? I can never hold on to it for an extended period of time.”
“Hmm,” Ozik muttered. “Keep it, then.”
Vaasa’s brows slammed together. “What?”
He lifted from the tree, cleaning his coat of any dirt with the palms of his hands. “I will be gone for a few days, so you needn’t come here until I return. If you succeed in keeping our little secret, we can discuss you having broader access to your power.”
Hope rose in her, but fear followed. “Gone?” she sputtered. “Where could you possibly be going?”
“Mind your business,” Ozik said, echoing her words from earlier. He walked past her, making for the door. Across their bond, the Miro’dag diminished, and she felt the leeching of power as it dimmed.
“So that’s it for today?” she asked.
He looked over his shoulder and grinned. “No, Vaasalisa. Your work has just started. Let’s see if you can keep this little game with Karev going without revealing the truth: Two witches rule Asterya.”
Vaasa gawked at him.
“Don’t be out too late,” Ozik warned.
And then he crossed into the other room of the greenhouse, leaving her standing there in shock. She swore it was a silent blessing, almost like Ozik knew precisely what she intended to do.
But that couldn’t be right. He wouldn’t allow her to visit Amalie in the prison.
Would he?
By the early afternoon, Roman resumed his post. Vaasa had not spoken at length with him—no more than the necessary interactions to arrange their visit that evening.
Ozik’s warning rang in her mind, as if he was clearing her way to the island, aware she intended to go.
But unless Roman had told Ozik, she didn’t see how.
Unless he had some way of accessing her mind across their bond, a thought that made her shudder.
When someone knocked on her door, she assumed it was Roman with further questions. Yet when she opened the door, she came face to face with… Sachia.
And Melisina.
Vaasa laid eyes on the high witch of Veragi and thought her entire body would sink to the floor.
It took every crumb of willpower she had to keep her face neutral.
Still, she scanned Melisina’s silvery-blond hair, her stunning green eyes, the laugh lines around her eyes and chin. Melisina. She was here.
Sachia held a stack of multicolored fabrics over one arm and a seamstress’s satchel in the other. Behind her, a guard carried a spool of purple fabric. They were flanked by multiple guards, Vaasa realized, who all seemed to be looking at Roman for permission.
“Heiress,” the pirate said, sketching a bow.
“I thought you were coming to the shop this morning. I came to see if you were sick.” Sachia illustrated her facade perfectly in a utilitarian dress with an iron-and-leather belt.
Expensive, still looking the part of a merchant’s daughter, yet not just for fashion.
Her red hair was plaited over one shoulder, and her mossy eyes danced with mischief.
Clever witch.
Vaasa smiled wide, gaze floating to Roman, who watched their interaction closely. “No, I’m not sick. I just overslept, I’m sorry.”
“I wasn’t aware you had summoned an outside seamstress,” Roman said. “Do you not prefer the fortress attendants?”
Sachia glowered at him so brilliantly that Vaasa had to hold back a laugh. “Perhaps if they were as talented as my family, this line of discussion would be worthwhile.”
Roman crinkled his brow. “Who is your father?”
Sachia put her hand on her hip. “Havel Jaro?. Who is your father?”
Roman flicked his gaze to Vaasa, perhaps looking for a way out of the conversation he had gotten himself into.
Vaasa pretended to stifle a laugh, then let that small chuckle out, trying to seem like she and Sachia were more familiar than they were.
That this entire arrangement was harmless.
“I met Sachia the other evening and fell in love with her family’s work.
We made these plans days ago, but it must have slipped my mind. Forgive me?”
Roman ran his tongue over his front teeth, but at her amicable words, he conceded a respectful dip of his head. “Heiress.” He turned to dismiss the group of guards waiting behind Sachia.
Vaasa ushered Sachia and Melisina into the entertaining room, and Sachia gazed around, wide-eyed. When Vaasa shut the door, she let out a small breath.
Melisina opened her arms, and Vaasa threw herself into them.
“My girl,” Melisina whispered in Icrurian, her voice wrapping around Vaasa and squeezing as tightly as her arms.
Something in Vaasa gaped open, a wound that this place delivered over and over and over.
Melisina was here, in the same place Vaasa’s mother had died, showing her more affection than any member of Vaasa’s family ever had.
Tears welled in Vaasa’s eyes, and she fought the urge to sob.
“This is dangerous,” she whispered back, the use of Icrurian a stark relief in her day.
“What’s a little danger in the grand scheme of things?”
Vaasa pulled back and stared at Reid’s mother. “I cannot tell you how happy I am to see you.”
Melisina placed her hands on Vaasa’s cheeks. The cool touch of Veragi magic brushed Vaasa’s skin. “We are going to bring you home. To bring you both home.”
Home. The word settled in Vaasa’s chest, her heart a map, a pin splitting through parchment right where Mireh was. Marking it forever with a title that the very ground she now stood on had never earned. Home: A place. A feeling. A people.
“I’m going to see her tonight,” Vaasa said. “I have a way into the prison. She’s cared for and uninjured, at least. That much I know.”
“You must be careful. Things don’t feel the same. Something is brewing,” Melisina said.
Vaasa didn’t know how Melisina could sense something like that, but if she had learned anything during her time in Icruria, it was to trust the instinct of her high witch.
“What’s down here?” Sachia asked, meandering toward Vaasa’s mother’s hallway, and Vaasa’s heart rate spiked.
She stepped forward. “Don’t.”
Sachia raised an eyebrow.
Melisina placed a hand on Vaasa’s shoulder, and Vaasa looked over at her. The high witch’s eyes dipped to Vaasa’s hands, and she gasped. “You have your magic?”
Vaasa looked down and cursed, immediately snapping the magic back within herself.
Melisina pulled back, staring at her in awe. “How have you become so adept at that?”