Aria's POV
I killed them.
That's all I can think about as I sit alone in Kassian's chambers, watching the sunrise through the broken windows. I killed those creatures with my magic. I burned them to ash with green fire that poured from my hands like water.
And I don't even know how I did it.
After the battle ended after Kassian and Theron fought off the last of the blood magic creatures they brought me here. Different rooms, since ours were destroyed. Guards stand outside the door. They say it's for my protection, but I know what it really is.
I'm a prisoner.
I haven't slept. Can't sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I see those red glowing eyes. I hear Duke Malachai's voice: Bring me the Old One's heir.
What does that mean? Old One's heir?
My hands won't stop shaking. That warmth in my chest the one that started during the wedding ceremony is still there, pulsing stronger than ever. And I can feel something else now too: Kassian's heartbeat, matching mine, even though he's somewhere else in the palace.
The marriage bond. It's real. We're connected.
The door opens.
I jump up, my hands already glowing green before I can stop them. Magic, ready to defend myself.
But it's just Kassian. He stops when he sees my glowing hands, his ice-blue eyes widening slightly.
It's me, he says calmly. You're safe.
The green light fades. Sorry. I can't control it. The magic just... happens now.
We're going to help with that. Kassian steps aside, and two people enter behind him.
Commander Theron, looking tired but unharmed. And a woman I've never seen before tall and old, with silver hair braided down her back and sharp gray eyes that seem to see right through me. She wears simple traveling clothes and carries a wooden staff.
This is Elder Mira, Kassian says. She's a Northern magic scholar. She traveled through the night to get here after I sent word about... about what happened.
The old woman studies me like I'm a puzzle to solve. So you're the one who created pure life magic strong enough to destroy blood constructs. Remarkable.
I don't know what that means, I admit.
Sit, Kassian says, pointing to a chair. We need to talk.
Elder Mira sits across from me. Theron leans against the wall. Kassian stays standing, his arms crossed, watching me with an expression I can't read.
First question, Kassian says. Where did you learn magic?
I didn't learn it. It's just always been there.
Always? Elder Mira leans forward. Since when?
Since I was little. Maybe five or six years old? I can't remember exactly when it started. I twist my hands in my lap. I could make small flowers grow. Heal little cuts. Feel when plants needed water. Nothing big. Nothing like... like last night.
And your parents? Kassian asks. Did they teach you?
My chest tightens. I don't remember my parents. The servants who raised me said they died in the Great Purge. That's when King Aldric ordered all magic users killed, twenty-three years ago. I was just a baby.
Elder Mira and Kassian exchange meaningful looks.
What? I ask nervously. What does that mean?
Show me your magic, Elder Mira says instead of answering. Something small and controlled. I need to see it.
My heart races. What if I lose control again? What if I hurt someone?
You won't, the old woman says firmly. I've been studying magic for fifty years, child. I'll stop you if necessary. Now show me.
I take a deep breath and hold out my hand, palm up. I think about growing things, like I used to do in secret. About life and green things and sunshine.
A tiny flower sprouts from my palm. It grows slowly, stem reaching up, leaves unfurling, a bud forming. The bud opens into a perfect pink blossom.
It's beautiful. Gentle. Nothing like the violent magic from last night.
Elder Mira gasps. Actually gasps, pressing her hand to her mouth.
What? I ask, scared by her reaction. What's wrong with it?
Nothing's wrong, she breathes. Child, that's Old magic. Pure, untainted Old magic. I've only read about it in ancient texts. I never thought I'd see it in my lifetime.
Old magic? I repeat, confused.
Theron straightens up from the wall. You're saying she's one of the Old Ones? I thought they were all dead. Legends.
They were real, Elder Mira says, still staring at the flower in my hand. And apparently, at least one survived.
Someone explain, I beg. What are the Old Ones? What does this mean?
Elder Mira takes a breath, organizing her thoughts. Then she begins:
Long ago, before Valdris or any of the five kingdoms existed, this land was ruled by the Old Ones. They were the first magic wielders people born with natural power connected to the earth itself, to life, to the elements. Their magic was pure. It created, it healed, it protected.
What happened to them? I ask quietly.
They were betrayed. Kassian's voice is hard. By the ancestors of the current Valdris royal line. The Old Ones were peaceful, trusting. They welcomed outsiders. Taught them their ways. But some of those outsiders wanted the power for themselves.
So they killed the Old Ones, Elder Mira continues. Slaughtered them. Stole their magical artifacts and knowledge. But the magic they stole was corrupted by the violence. It became blood magic that requires pain and death to work. The opposite of what the Old Ones created.
My stomach turns. Blood magic. Like what Duke Malachai used last night.
Exactly, Kassian says. Blood magic is a twisted version of Old magic. The current Valdris rulers have been using it in secret for generations while publicly banning all magic. They don't want anyone to know the truth that they're murderers and thieves.
And I'm... I can barely say it. I'm one of the Old Ones?
The last one, I think, Elder Mira says gently. Your parents must have hidden you during the Great Purge. Disguised you as a servant child so no one would know what you were. They saved your life by making you invisible.
Tears fill my eyes. My parents. I've always wondered about them. Now I know they died protecting me. Hiding me. Giving up everything so I could survive.
But I'm nobody, I whisper. Just a servant. How can I be the last of some ancient magical people?
You were hidden as a servant, Kassian says, crouching down so we're eye level. That doesn't make you nobody, Aria. It makes you a survivor.
Theron grins suddenly. So our Warlord accidentally married the most powerful sorceress in the five kingdoms. The last heir to the Old Ones. This is amazing.
But his smile fades quickly. It also makes her the biggest target in the realm. If Duke Malachai knows what she is and I think he does he'll do anything to capture her and use her power.
Why would he want me? I ask. What could he do with my magic?
Elder Mira's face goes grim. Blood magic rituals require three things: pain, death, and pure magic to corrupt. You, child, are the purest source of magic left in this world. If the Duke performs the right ritual with your power as the source...
He could become immortal, Kassian finishes. Unkillable. With magical abilities that would make him more powerful than any king or warlord in history.
The room goes silent.
I think about the Duke's cold smile. About how he watched me. About his voice during the attack: Bring me the Old One's heir.
He's known about me all along, I say quietly. That's why he gave me to you. He needed me married to awaken my magic. The Northern marriage bond it activated something in me, didn't it?
Kassian nods slowly. Probably. Northern ceremonies channel real magic. If you had dormant Old magic, the bond would have woken it up.
So the Duke planned everything. My voice shakes with anger and fear. The marriage. The assassination attempt to make me use my powers. All of it was to awaken my magic so he could what? Steal it? Use it?
Harvest it, Elder Mira says bluntly. Through a blood ritual that would almost certainly kill you in the process.
I stand up so fast the chair falls over. I have to leave. Run. If I'm not here, he can't
If you run, he'll hunt you, Kassian says. And you don't know how to control your power yet. You'd be defenseless.
So what do I do? I nearly shout. Just wait for him to capture me?
No, Kassian says firmly. You learn to fight. To control your magic. To become strong enough that when the Duke comes for you and he will come you can destroy him.
Elder Mira nods. I can teach you. Train you. Help you understand what you are.
How long will that take? I ask desperately.
Weeks. Maybe months.
I don't have months! He tried to take me last night. He'll try again!
The door bursts open.
A guard stumbles in, bleeding from a cut on his forehead. My lord! The Dukehe's gone. Fled the palace during the night with at least twenty men. And he took The guard's face goes pale. He took magical artifacts from the vault. Including the Soul Chains.
Elder Mira goes white. No. Oh no.
What are Soul Chains? I ask, but I already know the answer will be bad.
Ancient Old One artifacts, Mira says, her voice shaking. They were designed to bind and transfer magical power from one person to another. If the Duke has them...
He can force Aria to give him her magic, Kassian finishes. Even if she fights. Even if she's strong.
My legs feel weak. I sink back into the chair.
How long do we have? Theron asks quietly.
The ritual requires specific conditions, Elder Mira says. Precise timing, rare components, the right location. He'll need time to prepare. Maybe a week. Maybe two if we're lucky.
Then we have two weeks to make Aria strong enough to fight him, Kassian says. He looks at me, his ice-blue eyes intense. Can you do it? Can you train that hard?
I think about my parents, dead to protect me. About spending twenty-three years hiding, afraid, beaten down.
I think about the Duke's cold smile and his plans to use me like a tool.
And I think about the magic inside me ancient, powerful, pure. Magic that belongs to me, not to him.
Yes, I say, and I'm surprised by how strong my voice sounds. Teach me everything.
Elder Mira nods approvingly. We start immediately.
But as everyone starts planning, preparing, a servant rushes in with a sealed letter.
This was left at the main gate, my lord, she says breathlessly. Addressed to Lady Aria.
Kassian takes it, his face darkening. He breaks the seal and reads, then hands it to me silently.
The note is short, written in elegant handwriting:
*Dear Aria, By now you know what you are. What you could become. I've spent twenty-three years keeping you alive, waiting for this moment. The wedding was always the plan I just didn't expect the Northern barbarian to complicate things by actually protecting you.
No matter. I have what I need. In two weeks, at the blood moon, you'll come to me willingly. Or I'll start killing one servant per hour until you do. Starting with your friend Lyra.
You can run. You can train. You can even fight. But in the end, you'll give me exactly what I want: your power, your magic, your life.
Because that's what servants do, isn't it? They serve.
See you soon, little flower. M*
The letter drops from my shaking hands.
Lyra. He has Lyra.
And in two weeks, at the blood moon, everything ends.