Chapter Thirty

O rion sat in the quiet of his luxurious room and stared at the flames in the hearth. These were more orange than the scarlet flames Evienne wielded. He preferred hers—more lovely and more deadly, just like her.

The searing pain in his shoulder and neck was starting to subside thanks to his magic; fast healing was one of the strongest gifts of the Tuanadair. He felt very grateful for it now.

The past weeks had been a whirlwind of discoveries and emotions, and Orion was glad to have a moment to himself to reflect on all that had happened. Their conversation with Cecelia in the library a few days ago weighed heavily on his mind now that there was no noise to distract him.

He had known the consorts had something to do with the magic disappearing, but it had just been conjecture. Without more information, it could be dismissed as a coincidence. Lining up the timeline of Ichorna’s technological progression with the depletion of Beitar’s magic was helpful in understanding the two to be connected, but it still wasn’t proof.

They needed to know why the two timelines seemed connected. He assumed Ichorna was robbing Beitar of its magic to power its elaborate Rail system, but how could such a thing be possible?

To accomplish such a thing, Ichorna would have had to create some method of siphoning magic from others—he had never read of such a thing—and apply it on a massive scale. They would also have had to keep such a scandal secret for nearly two centuries.

Orion shifted in his seat and felt the stiffness of his muscles. Orion thought about going across the hall to check on Solon, but he was likely with the other dignitaries still. They had been summoned to a meeting to discuss the attack. Moments like this made Orion glad he was no politician—books and lectures would suffice for him.

An image drifted into Orion’s mind of the Gevaud that had attacked him that morning—and what Evienne had done to it. He had never seen anything like it. The creature had dried up and fallen to dust before him. It had been incredibly disturbing, and he doubted the image would ever truly leave his mind. To have such power was almost unthinkable.

The fire began to die down and Orion leaned his head back against his chair and closed his eyes. He was so tired and so worried about what the future might hold. He wanted to remain optimistic, but he was afraid. Afraid of what they might discover about Ichorna’s intentions, of what the consequences would be if their meddling was found out. He was most afraid of what would happen if they failed; things were not going well in Beitar.

The spirits of the Tuanadair were darkening the longer they were detached from their connection to Domhan na Rùin’s magic. He was afraid of watching their health fail, their hearts break. Something told him they were running out of time.