“He says—he says that’s not possible. There was an oral account, passed down. His forefathers passed down the tale of our last king, crawling on his knees to his own front gates, begging an audience. A monster greeted him at the door—so terrifying, so cruel, and he was sent away.”
A horrible, sinking sensation curled in my stomach, even as I desperately turned to Ronan. His face was pinched, but still composed.
“This...monster. Did your legends describe him?”
Georg passed along the message and then listened closely, his skin paling dramatically. I buried my head in my hands.
“The monster was massive, with fangs and dark claws. His wings and body were covered in blood, his voice magicks formidable. Nothing else would have persuaded our people to give up our homes.”
“The SCALE COLORGeorg!” Ronan demanded, even as I shook my head back and forth frantically, as if I could stave off the inevitable. Deep down, I already knew the answer before Georg responded.
“Amaranthine, fading into pitch blackness.”
The word was unfamiliar, and I had hope for a split second. Then I saw Ronan’s crestfallen face.
“Amaranthine, like the ones your people mined from the ground. The richest shade of violet seen in Dorea.”
I shook my head—refusing to believe it. Benedict wouldn’t be so cruel. I knew he wasn’t that cruel.
“What if it was D’Arcy?” I said desperately, clinging to whatever false hope I could.
Ronan whirled on me. “He would have said so, Wren. Purple and BLACK! Only one draken alive has that coloring!”
I backed up at his vehemence. Georg was looking between us and his Supa, horror written in his eyes. He talked rapidly as Supa listened, an ugly look on his face. Georg ran a hand through his dark hair and looked at me.
“I told him you aren’t allies of the Overlord; I was involved in your battles! I think...I think I need to return with him and sort this out. I don’t want my people thinking you’re the enemy because you’re not. I don’t believe Benedict would turn his back on my people like this. He wouldn’t have saved me otherwise!”
Georg’s brown eyes flashed with determination.
“Drakens saved me; twice. I want to return the favor.”
I reached a hand towards him, but he shook it away.
“I’m not stupid, you know. The king and the others left because you’re looking for allies for war. If I can help my people, and your cause, perhaps we can take our fortress back one day.”
My chest tightened.
“And if...and if these tales are true, then helping us get our fortress back will be a good start.” Georg whispered.
He wasn’t wrong. Georg and his Supa retired from the crowd, Georg whispering something in the older man’s ears. Ronan put a hand on my arm, his golden eyes worried.
“I’ve consulted with the air witches; they don’t think you should have any trouble shifting out of Lyoness; it’s getting back that may be difficult. Will you stay at least another night?”
It was probably for the best. If I left now, I’d probably tear Benedict to shreds with my bare hands.
“Fine.”
Ronan sighed, and I thought of a perfect distraction from the raging maelstrom of my own mind.
“You’re teaching me some blood magic before I leave, and I’d like another bowl of fruit.”
He laughed.
“Blood magick can be white or black. Benedict already explained the difference?” Ronan took me to a small clearing on the edge of the island, still untouched by the earth witches. He carried a piece of chalk in one hand, and began making several markings on the hardened, black magma.
“Yes. That’s all he would explain.”
Ronan chuckled.
“Blood magick is addictive; it is constantly calling on us to share it, to give more to it. The fact that he is keeping you from it speaks to his high regard for you.”
My stomach twisted uncomfortably.
“What should I make of you being so eager to teach me, then?”
He held up his hands in surrender.
“You asked, did you not?”
He went back to drawing his strange, swirling symbols.
“White magick can be used offensively, but has limits based on who is your victim, the level of unwillingness, the amount of pain and terror they feel, well...you understand.” He trailed off at the sickly look on my face.
“Black magick relies on your pain. It is limited only by how much the individual can withstand, and to that end, is unlimited. Once a ritual is complete, the abilities are there forever to be easily summoned or used.”
He finished drawing the last swirl with a flourish, then stood up to survey his work.
“What will you teach me today?”
Ronan wiped the sweat off his face.
“I have two choices for you. The first is a simple vision ritual, meant to improve your night-vision. It has a total of six steps, and once you complete them all you will be able to see at night quite easily. Most draken children complete it by their first decade.”
He paused before continuing. “The second ritual is more...complex, but I thought it fitting considering your situation. Benedict mentioned you have a fear of water. This is a three-step ritual that will allow you to breathe easily underwater, but takes more discipline, and more pain. I wanted to offer it regardless.”
I wasn’t sure what I thought of Benedict casually chatting to Kieran and Ronan about my darkest fears, but it was touching that Ronan thought of me.
“Thank you, but easier is probably safer, right?”
Ronan’s shoulders sagged in relief.
“You have your daggers?” I lifted them in response.
“For basic rituals it is best to use the daggers you use most—the ones that are attached to you. As you progress to more complex rituals, you may need daggers made of certain materials, or a certain place or time of the month. Today, you will not need them.”
I frowned and put them away as Ronan pointed to the first symbol he drew, a large swirl with three large, interlocking circles around it.
“This is the basic sigil. You must stand in the middle and be able
