Chapter 20
CHAPTER
Sabine
Lady Delarine completed another flowing sequence of movements in the center of the salon. Morning light caught the silk of the Duchess’s sleeves when her arms swept through the air.
“You try now, dear.”
Sabine pressed her palms against her skirts, silk soothing against her suddenly clammy skin. “Your Grace, I appreciate that your intentions are good. But learning to weave is the least of my worries, right now.”
Especially with a potential killer of marked couples on the loose—even if they did use a pillow as a murder weapon, a fact she could still not wrap her mind around.
Lady Delarine’s laugh was soft and bitter. “My child, I know exactly how, at your age, every small thing may seem like the end of the world itself. But I say this from the richness of my many, many cycles: whatever ails you shall pass.”
Except Sabine was marked for death. It wasn’t exactly something that passed with age.
Her throat tightened. “I don’t think you understand…”
“Oh, please, child.” Lady Delarine’s tone sharpened. “I understand plenty. And I will not let you wallow in your own self-pity. Especially when you have a truly auspicious match with Lord Vaelros to look forward to.”
The words settled between them like spilled ink. “And what makes our bond truly auspicious , your Grace? Not only is Lord Vaelros an odious man, but whether you believe it or not, these marks don’t exactly spell our good fortunes.”
Lady Delarine’s expression remained perfectly composed, every line of her face arranged with mathematical precision, yet her eyes flickered briefly before returning to their unreadable depths. “Then you are not watching closely enough.”
A part of Sabine wished to press it. But then again, did it really matter?
The Duchess didn’t remember the Bennetts’ marks, and she was on the Emperor’s Royal Circle of advisors.
Of course, she would never speak ill of the Registry’s innovative marks.
And regardless, Sabine and Lord Vaelros would not bond.
That much hadn’t changed, even less so when they knew murderers were targeting marked pairs.
So she simply said, “Whatever you say, Your Grace.”
“Splendid. Now, my weaving exercise.”
Sabine remained rooted beside the desk. She’d never been to finishing school herself, of course, but Sabine had studied the required readings on weaving theory as part of her governess curriculum.
She knew, at least in theory, how the Registry instructors taught control above all else as the only acceptable way to weave one’s magic. “That is not how the books teach it—”
“The books teach what the Registry demands, which is limitation.” Lady Delarine’s lips curled in a subtle frown. “They prefer their weavers predictable. Controllable. They teach you how to build chains for your magic, and I am teaching you how to break them.”
With that, she began weaving again. Each time Sabine witnessed it, the contrast struck her anew.
Her technique defied every lesson Sabine had absorbed from watching the Gilt’s careful gestures.
Instead, her movements flowed like water finding its natural course.
Silver threads materialized around her fingertips, not the pale imitation of candlelight she’d seen from other Light weavers but something brighter, crystalline strands that caught the morning sun and threw it back transformed.
The Duchess shaped them into spiraling patterns that revealed hidden details in the room’s shadows, exposing dust that shouldn’t be visible, illuminating the grain of the wood floor.
Sabine had to admit, of all people, she didn’t expect the Duchess of Braythar to weave more like a Gloamreach practitioner than a Registry official. Though maybe this was how they taught it in Keshira, too.
“The measured movements the Registry teaches are tethers, not amplifiers.” Lady Delarine did not break her rhythm, her voice somehow carrying clearly even though she should have been breathless from the exertion.
“There is far more power in letting one’s magic flow freely, in allowing it to occupy whatever space it demands.
We exert ourselves beyond the necessary, attempting to control the magic so tightly, which in turn means we cannot utilize the full extent of our power. ”
Sabine found herself stepping forward without conscious thought, drawn by something she couldn’t name. The movements looked wild and uncontrolled, yet there was an underlying structure to them, a rightness that resonated in her bones.
Lady Delarine came to a graceful stop. “Your turn now.”
“I cannot actually weave—”
“You need not weave to learn the movements. Your body must know what to do when the time comes.”
Sabine lifted her hands hesitantly, attempting to replicate the Duchess’s sweeping gestures, but her movements felt clumsy and disconnected, like trying to dance to music only half remembered.
“Broader.” Lady Delarine moved to stand behind her. “Do not constrain the motion. Let your arms follow their natural path.”
Sabine tried again, allowing her arms to sweep wider. Something tingled along her skin: not magic, obviously, but the echo of where it might flow if she could weave it. The sensation was intoxicating.
“How is this possible?” The words tumbled from her lips unbidden.
“Sometimes, survival requires tools the Empire would rather keep buried, my dear.” Lady Delarine guided her arms into the proper position. “Arch your back slightly—yes, like that. Magic rises from the core, not the fingertips.”
“Your Grace, I don’t…”
“You don’t need to understand it, child. You merely need to feel it. I promise my teachings will serve you well when the time is right, but until then, trust I am looking out for your best interest.”
Sabine wanted to demand answers to questions she couldn’t fully form, but something in the desperate sincerity of Lady Delarine’s tone made her hesitate.
The Duchess was hiding something, that much was clear, though perhaps for once those secrets might actually serve Sabine’s survival rather than threaten it.
She continued the movements, letting her body find its rhythm.
The Duchess made subtle corrections, adjusting the angle of her wrist, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, encouraging a more fluid transition between gestures.
With each adjustment, that strange tingling sensation grew stronger, as if her body were remembering something it had never actually learned.
“That’s it.” Approval warmed Lady Delarine’s voice.
“Once your affinity is unleashed, it will feel like a riptide attempting to carry you under. Especially one as powerful as yours. Finishing schools teach you how to resist it, but there is nothing worse than fighting one’s own magic. Let it take you. Flow with it.”
The words painted a picture both terrifying and exhilarating. Sabine had spent her entire life learning to contain herself, to occupy only the space she was permitted. The idea of being carried away by something larger than herself felt like stepping off a cliff.
Lady Delarine moved to face her. “Now, when your bond is complete, you will need to weave with Lord Vaelros. Let me show you how that will work.”
The Duchess began a new pattern, silver threads spinning outward in deliberate spirals.
Sabine attempted to mirror the movement, her empty hands tracing awkward paths through the air while Lady Delarine’s magic painted luminous trails.
At first, Sabine lagged, trying to catch the right rhythm.
Then the Duchess’s threads curved toward her, leaving spaces, gaps that seemed to call for something to fill them.
Sabine’s movements finally found the counterpoint.
“Exactly. Let your hands find where my magic leaves room.”
The silver threads danced closer, and when Sabine’s fingertips brushed against them, her breath caught. Magic felt alive and warm, humming with contained starlight. The sensation traveled up her arms, reawakening that strange tingling.
If Lady Delarine’s Light affinity felt like captured moonbeams, what would Lord Vaelros’s Destruction feel like beneath her touch?
Would it burn cold as Frosttide nights, or pulse with some other terrible beauty?
No, it was a traitorous thought, one born out of pure academic curiosity. She’d never find out.
“Gilt common sense will teach that when you bond with another and weave together, you ought to remain on the periphery of each other’s magic, a whisper of a touch,” Lady Delarine explained.
“That could not be further from ideal. When your own riptide takes you, bend to its will. It shall leave spaces for your match’s magic to fit into.
Let them blend. Let them join together, like you will have been joined with your other half.
That is the only way to unleash the true power of a bond. ”
Her words echoed strangely in Sabine’s mind. Not bonding partner. Not match. Other half.
It sounded deeper than the Registry’s careful pairings, a suggestion that she and Lord Vaelros might’ve been two pieces of a puzzle always meant to fit together.
What an absolutely ridiculous notion.
“We shall keep practicing,” Lady Delarine said.
“By the time you are bonded to Lord Vaelros, I want this to feel like second nature to you. There should be no awkwardness, no second-guessing whether the movement is right or wrong. If you cannot do it from your gut, then you’re better off not studying at all.
Weaving from memory rather than from instinct is the best way to make a mess of your magic. ”
“Oh, there you are, Bine, I’ve been—” The voice shattered their practice. Liora stood frozen in the doorway, wide eyes darting between the Duchess and her sister. Sabine’s hands dropped to her sides.
“What are you doing?” Liora asked, voice pitched higher than usual.
“Her Grace is teaching me how to weave.”
“But… the movements are entirely wrong.” Liora stepped fully into the room. “If you weave like you are practicing right now, you will lose control. Each movement has to be precisely calibrated, each thread barely touched, to ensure you control the magic, and the magic does not control you.”
She demonstrated weaving technique with textbook precision. Her movements remained small, restrained, barely disturbing the air around her. After witnessing Lady Delarine’s flowing style, Liora’s technique seemed like a music-box figurine performing mechanical steps.
Lady Delarine’s smile was gracious but sharp. “You have an excellent memory for your finishing school lessons, Miss Liora. Though I find that different schools of thought often approach the same principles from varying perspectives.”
“Except they are not schools of thought—there is a right way, and one right way only.” Liora’s spine straightened. “Everything else is simply… dangerous.”
“We shall keep that in mind,” the Duchess said smoothly. “Thank you for your help, Miss Liora. Perhaps you might like to break your fast in the garden this morning? The roses are particularly lovely, and I believe Cook mentioned fresh pastries.”
Liora hesitated, her gaze lingering on Sabine, her hands fidgeting with her skirts, and her weight shifting from foot to foot. “Of course. I shall leave you to your... studies.”
Sabine remained motionless until the sound of Liora’s footsteps faded completely.
“She is right, in a way, you know,” she finally said, turning to face Lady Delarine again. “Whatever this is that you are teaching me… it feels wild. Dangerous.”
“Perhaps it is, Miss Almarien. Though perhaps, you might also wish to ask yourself: dangerous… to whom?”