Page 97 of Hearts Lost

No, I think. When have I ever understood the magic my sister weaves, the forces that can bar another kingdom underground or rip a portal through the barrier? But Aloserin’s fingers tighten around my hand, and I nod.

Lythienne takes a deep breath. She picks up one of the silver spheres, shudders, and then closes her eyes. The flames on the hearth flicker, the shadows in the corners swell forward, and my skin tingles with silver pinpricks of magic. Lythienne’s brow furrows in a look of intense concentration. Beside her, Orryen and Elanerill stand with their arms entwined, staring into each other’s eyes. Lady Arryn holds her hands over her chest like she’s trying to stop a wound from bleeding; tears wink in the corners of her eyes. Rowan’s enormous brother scowls behind her like some sort of fearsome, vengeful spirit as magic thickens the air in the room.

I glance up at Aloserin and find he’s looking at me. There’s a softness in his dark gaze that I would have said was impossible the first time he came through the portal, the tall, dark, and handsome man who’d been chosen to represent the Kingdom of the Fall in the hostile Worlds Above. I remember the curve of his lips, the way he seemed surprised by his own laughter. I remember waking in the void to watch him dance with his sword in the steamy heat of the morning, his muscles rippling, his breath coming in short, measured gasps.

And then I remember my first night in the Kingdom of the Fall, feeling lost and desperate and lonelier than I’d ever been, hoping against all hope that King Grathgore would honor our agreement, that I hadn’t sold my entire life for nothing. Stumbling down a dark staircase to get away from the sounds coming through the door to Orryen and Elanerill’s bed chamber, because listening to their ecstasy was only making the worst night of my life even more miserable. And then finding Aloserin.

I turn to the little silver sphere glinting in Lythienne’s hands, and I focus my thoughts. Not hatred, but love. Love for the man who’d offered me brandy-spiked black tea when I thought I’d come to the end of my life. Love for the man who’d listened to me, who’d followed my advice in the void, who’d taken a crazy plunge into a waterfall because I’d said it might work. Love for someone who trusted me. Someone who forgave me.

Tears bite at the corners of my eyes, and my chest feels hot. The air in the room is as thick as the void now, swirling with heat and magic. Memories of the void tumble over themselves in my mind, and now they’re joined by other memories, love calling to love in the tangled mess of my heart.

I think of my sister, first desperate and whispering in the palace gardens, and then as a child, so bright and beautiful and full of laughter. I remember the first time she brought me a flower, toddling on chubby little legs, one bright yellow sun-globe in her fist. I remember my father picking her up to spin her in the air, the way she’d shrieked with laughter. Dimly, as though I’m reaching out across a vast, cold abyss to touch something very far away, I remember what it was like to feel loved. To feel safe.

There’s a gasp. I open my eyes. There, shivering in the air between Lythienne and the fire, is the wavering, refracted magic of a portal.

“Phaedron,” Lythienne growls. “Go. I can’t hold it for long.”

Rowan’s brother Phaedron steps forward, with Arryn just behind him. I have just long enough to think this portal looks different somehow when he plunges into the twisted, magically-warped air.

And stops. For a moment his body is frozen in place, trapped halfway in the portal, and then he pulls back into the cabin, shaking his head.

“It’s rock,” he says. “Solid rock.”

Lythienne shakes her head distractedly. “It’s warded,” she growls through gritted teeth. “Let me try—”

Her voice fades as the surface of the portal boils and churns. Magic is so thick in the air it’s almost impossible to breathe. My head swims with heat and pulses with magic; sweat traces a line down the back of my neck.

“Now!” Lythienne barks.

The portal surges, almost as though it’s trying to push forward and fill the room, and then it settles. It looks strange now, although it takes me a moment to realize the change. It’s lighter, as though something else on the other side is shining through. Phaedron raises his left hand and, slowly, steps into the portal.

Water explodes into the room. A wall of bright, sunlit water shoves Phaedron backward and crashes over Lady Arryn. Someone screams. There’s a loud popping sound, a flash of blinding, white light, and the room fills with the scent of molten metal.

The portal is gone. The room seems much darker. Water sloshes around my feet. Lythienne shakes her fingers and hisses. Her palm is bright red. There’s no sign of the silver sphere she was holding.

“What happened?” Arryn asks.

The front of her shirt is soaking wet, and there’s a panicked, frantic edge to her voice.

“Damn wards,” Lythienne replies. “Wherever that damn dragon is keeping Rowan, it’s well guarded.”

“But we can find it,” Arryn replies. “I can feel him. I know we can find him!”

Lythienne shakes her head at the mess of water swirling around her boots. “I’m sorry,” she says.

Arryn’s face folds in on itself. She drops her head to her hands.

“I need another magician,” Lythienne continues, speaking slowly and softly, almost like she’s trying to comfort a wounded animal. “With the way Rensivar has his wards, I— I can’t do this alone.”

“Who can we trust?” Orryen asks.

Lythienne shakes her head. She looks like she’s about to cry; I feel cold despite the sweltering heat of magic that’s pressing against the walls of the little cabin.

“I would have said Nyana,” Lythienne answers. “I’ve worked with her the longest. But if she’s partnered with Rensivar, then I have no idea who I can trust.”

Her voice fades. She shivers, then seems to pull herself back together to give Lady Arryn a smile so forced it hurts to watch.

“I need time,” Lythienne says. “We need to find out who can be trusted. We need—”