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“It could have been worse,” Ren pointed out.
“ ‘Could.’ That was your father’s least favorite word.”
Ren half laughed and half cried. She was right, of course. Roland Monroe had given many dissertations about his hatred for that word at family dinners. Thinking of him drew Ren’s eyes to the bracelet he’d once gifted her mother. She worked it down her wrist and held it out.
“Mother, I know it’s been a long time, but I want you to take this. At least while we’re in Ravinia. Magic—”
“Has no use to me now.” She gently pushed the bracelet back toward Ren. “I’ve built up a resistance to it over the years, Ren. That’s the only reason I wasn’t completely paralyzed by the first spell they hit me with. And truly, I’m not you, girl. I never was. I have no knack for quick-thinking spells. I am far better with a set of knives than I ever was with a wand. Magic wouldn’t have helped me.”
Ren scowled but knew better than to fight back on this particular subject. Her mother had given up magic when her father passed. It was a purely emotional decision. At first. Later, she found a group of dock workers who actively avoided magic too. Ren had never been able to get more than the vaguest details, but she knew the camaraderie her mother found amongst them had led to an entrenched view on the subject. She would not use magic. Better to argue with a wall than to challenge Agnes Monroe.
“Let me at least refresh your rag,” Ren offered as a compromise.
Her mother relented. Ren took the soiled cloth and her stomach turned again at the sight of that wound. It was the most gruesome thing she’d seen since… Clyde. She shoved away that thought before it could knock on the door of any more memories. She could not spare a moment more for the past right now—not when the present required her fullest attention.
She needed to tend to her mother. And then she needed to figure out what to do about Mat Tully. Not to mention her best possible approach with the Tin’Vori siblings. It was a stroke of absolute luck that she’d found a contact who actually knew them. In a city this large, it might as well be divine providence.
She was reaching for the silver handle of the bath when a draft of cold wind buffeted her. Ren stumbled back a step, shocked by the sudden cold. Her eyes snapped to the right, searching for the source of the spell. There was only the bathroom wall. Ren stared at the patterned wallpaper, waiting for some threat to step free of the shadows, when a chest-deep tug pulled her. She felt a profound and painful sense of loneliness.
Reality flickered. The bathroom dissolved. Ren instinctively reached for the wand at her hip as the temperature of the air plunged. Her lungs constricted. Everything was too tight. It was as if someone were standing on her chest, pressing down on her ribs.
A new reality presented itself.
Snow. Every outline and angle glittered with snow. Ren found that she was standing in the great shadow of a building she’d never seen before. There were two towers. Each one clung to the side of a different mountain so that, connected as they were by a bridge, the entire structure blocked all entry into the waiting pass. The crowns of certain arches had crumbled. Maybe the stones had been a rich color once—but time and wind had warped them into the putrid brown scales of a great slumbering dragon. Both towers were fronted by a gigantic soldier, spear in one hand and shield in the other. Like the rest of the building, she was certain they’d once looked intimidating and majestic. Now she could not even make out their expressions.
The snow continued to fall. It dusted everything. Ren could not help shivering as the wind howled again. It was the kind of cold that bit through cloth and skin, a bone-deep sort of chill. Ahead, she saw a single path winding to a lonely drawbridge. A lantern bobbed. There was a face, barely visible in the glow. Ren saw the person was making a line directly for her. She had no idea what was happening, could not tell if she was in danger. The figure finally drew close enough to make out. A girl, even younger than her. She was mouse thin with short hair that had been recently shaved. She had narrow eyes that narrowed further as she inspected Ren.
“Well,” she said, sounding bored. “You must be the new one.”
It took Ren a moment to notice that the girl was not looking at her. No, her gaze was fixed on a spot just to the left. Ren glanced that way and saw the reason for all this. Understanding clicked neatly into place, like a missing puzzle piece. Theo stood there in the snow. He was wrapped in thick cloaks to the point that only his eyes and hair were truly recognizable. As he took in the distant castle, Ren felt it again. A pulsing sadness. A looming sense of being alone and abandoned and lost. The strength of that emotion ran headfirst across their bond with so much force that Ren had to pull away. Their connection, which was usually a guilty pleasure, became pain.
As Ren flinched back, the snowy mountain vanished. The lonely keep disappeared. Ren found herself in the bathroom again. She was gasping for air. “He… he pulled me.…”
“Ren?” Her mother’s voice sounded on the other side of the door. “Where’s that towel? The blood is starting to drip on the carpet.…”
It took an effort to shake herself and focus on the task at hand. Her mind kept doubling back curiously. Theo had somehow used their bond to pull her to him. It was as if she’d actually been standing there in Nostra. She’d felt the cold like fingers wrapped around her neck. She’d breathed in that barren mountain air. Ren knew there were stories of unique magic between the bonded. Manifestations that were more fitting of the wilder magics that existed amongst the Tusk people. Still, she found what had just happened inexplicable. She had not actually traveled. After all, she was still here in Ravinia. But what would have happened if she had not flinched away from that feeling? What if she’d accepted Theo’s pull? It was another mystery to be solved later.
Ren returned with the warm towel.
“Thank you,” her mother said. “Are you all right?”
“I just experienced a magic that I’ve never encountered. If you hadn’t given up your own spells, I imagine we’d have a great deal to discuss.”
Her mother pressed the rag to her cheek. “I was attacked in an alleyway. Before that, I was bewitched by some kind of memory charm. We’ve taken a boat to pursue the long-lost survivors of a raid that happened nearly a decade ago and we’re hoping to find them in a city with tens of thousands of people. And you think we have nothing to talk about?”
Ren couldn’t help smirking. “Fair point. But not to worry, Mother, I already found them.”
“Really? That will save a lot of time, I suppose.”
Ren nodded, but a new realization struck her a second later. She was turning over the list her mother had just presented. All that had happened thus far. There was one thing Ren hadn’t noticed until now. Nevelyn Tin’Vori had used a spell on her mother. Magic—and it had worked quite well.
“Mother, how strong is your magical resistance?”
She saw an unexpected reaction flit across her mother’s face. A wariness. As if this were prized knowledge that she’d been keeping private for a long time. The expression vanished after a brief moment. She seemed to remember it was her daughter asking the question.
“I can resist most spells,” her mother admitted. “It depends on a number of factors.”
“Did you resist a spell when you were attacked in the alleyway?”
