Runebinder (The Runebinder Chronicles #1)(71)

“I thought you said you grew up with a fashion designer?”

She gave him a small smile.

“I did cosplay growing up, and Genevieve loved her clothes and the ones I designed for her. The rest...it’s an easier story to tell than the truth.”

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

“Genevieve taught us everything she knew about the world and the nature of magic. She even attuned us to our first Spheres. When the Howls appeared, she kept us safe, taught us never to turn to violence. We stayed with her clan until...until we couldn’t.”

“What happened?”

She bit her lip. In that one, small action, she looked terribly young and impossibly vulnerable. “We killed them,” she whispered.

“What?” Had he misheard? “You mean the Howls?”

“No. The clan. We killed them. All of them. That is how we repaid their kindness.”

Tenn’s stomach knotted.

“I don’t understand...” he began. She held out her hand, and he fell into silence.

“It is better to show you,” she whispered.

“I—”

“Open to Water,” she said. “Open to Water and see.”

He looked at her hand, at her delicate fingers. He had no clue what she was going on about, and a part of him didn’t want to find out.

“Please,” she said.

He nodded, took her hand and opened to Water.

Her memories flooded through him in a downpour...

“What’s that?” she asks.

Devon sits bolt upright beside her, his shirt unbuttoned and his legs crossed before him, sweat dripping down his forehead and stubbled cheeks. The moon is full above them, the hum of cicadas around them almost deafening. She hadn’t thought the insects lived this far up the mountain. Beyond the hum, the air is still and humid, with the bellow of thunder in the valley below.

“I don’t know,” he says, his words trailing like a question. They lock eyes.

We aren’t supposed to use magic, she feels him say.

I don’t care, she replies.

Trees rise up on all sides of them, blocking their view of everything for miles around. She stands and walks to the edge of the small stone circle they’d created—their sanctuary and sign to the gods that they were there to feel their voice, there to be granted a vision. She had locked away the hunger of the fast days ago, until it was nothing but a quiet murmur in the back of her mind. No food, no shelter, no magic—the ritual demanded such. Just water and meditation. Just waiting and praying and begging for a sign from the gods. The rumble comes again, and she closes her eyes. Something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong.

She breaks her vows.

She opens to Air, the first Sphere she’d ever been attuned to.

The power sends her flying, her senses soaring down the mountain like an eagle. Every leaf and blade of grass, every movement of every creature, all of it stands out like shadows in the light. She can see the outline of it all, can hear the rustle and staccato of breath. She pushes her magic farther, down into the valley where the rest of the clan camps, waiting for them and holding a vigil for their eventual return.

Smoke and fire fill the air, the scent of brimstone scoring the screams of men and women and children as flesh chars and snaps. But there is another taste that makes her skin crawl—the taint of twisted magic. She can feel energy sizzling as Witches try to fight back, feel shapes moving through the surrounding woods as kravens burst forth, searching for flesh. She senses necromancers using their evil magic to turn her friends and family into Howls.

As she stands there, everyone she knows is being slaughtered. Or worse.

She snaps back the power and opens her eyes. There’s no need to tell Devon what she saw. Through their connection, he’s seen it, too. He stands facing the direction of the clan. His fists clench, knuckles white. Sparks dance around him like fireflies while Fire burns in his chest, casting strange lights on the trees around them. It was the first Sphere he had attuned to, and that meant its hold on him was the greatest.

“Kill them,” he says. “We have to.”

“No,” she gasps. The very thought makes her stomach churn. Her mind swims from using Air, the aftereffect making her slow, her thoughts confused. She must have heard him wrong.

He looks at her, his eyes burning with hatred. It doesn’t matter how many times she’s seen Fire take him over—it still terrifies her. When the Sphere takes hold, he is no longer her brother. Not fully. He’s something infinitely angrier, and infinitely more powerful.

“It’s the only way,” he says. “If we don’t kill them, they’ll come for us.”

Then the Fire in him mellows, just for a moment.

“They would have wanted this, Dreya. They would rather die at our hands than be turned.”

She bites back the tears that try to form in her eyes. Now isn’t the time for emotion. Now is the time for clear thought, for action. Air screams in her throat like a gale, pushing away all weakness. She closes her eyes and feels the power surge between them.

“Night has fallen,” she whispers, Air carrying her words, the funereal chant echoing down the cliff, piercing through the chaos below. “The Ancestors come to take us away, for we are but ghosts and form, ash and breath. We call to you, gods of water, earth, air and flame, protect us, shield us and carry us home again.”