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“The Race is engineered to let those with a penchant for Winter magic rise to the top.”
“So, my parents?”
I nod. “They had potential, yes.”
With another pull from my mug, I continue sharing the most shameful parts of me. “It was Stone’s idea, the Race. He’s significantly older than you’d think - several centuries now if I remember correctly.”
Her eyes widen in shock. “And you…?”
My laugh is low and in my throat. “A baby in fae years. Only seventy or so.”
She nearly chokes on her mead.
“As I was saying, Stone was one of the original designers of the Race. It was designed to seek Winter magic, as Winter has always been our least abundant Seasonale.”
She nods, remembering the conversation we shared the last time we were on this couch. “And the magic needed to be condensed for a vessel to emerge.”
I smile weakly. “Correct, Viola. So, the Race was engineered to sort out those with latent Winter magic to further the search for the vessel.” I can see the gears turning in her mind, the excitement that she may share this magic with her parents.
“We need the Gods back, you understand. The finding of a vessel has always been of utmost importance to us. When the Gods were banished, magic blanketed the land and created the fae, but it also created magical monsters.”
She hisses. “The Wendigo. The seps…”
“And those are just some of them. The monsters of our land are dangerous, vicious beings. They do not discriminate, human or fae, what they consume. As they continue to encroach upon Krillium, our magic grows weaker. It gets diluted the further we get from the original power of the Gods, and they are no longer here to replenish the ambient magic in the land. When they were first banished, so many were just like you. Raw, untapped potential. As we bred and our magic spread, it diluted to a fraction of what it once was. Now it is running out.”
I thought of my father and his decay magic, how he could level forests if he wished. And myself, having to decay a tree at a time.
“So you see then, it has always been paramount that we return the Gods. They can help restore magical balance to the land, banish the monsters that threaten all who live here, and elevate the humans into a more comfortable way of life.”
I can see her tentative agreement in my assessment reflecting in her eyes. She wants to believe what I say.
“Unfortunately,” I sigh, “for a vessel to rise, no Winter magic could live within others. If it did, Himureal would be unable to draw enough of the magic into himself and return.”
That comfortable agreement I thought I spotted vanished.
“What are you saying, Mace?”
I attempt to brace myself against the words but come up empty. “Please don’t make me say it, Viola.”
She’s on her feet faster than I can blink, snarling in my face. That shadow she keeps wrapped around her arm like a pet undulates, rearing up to strike.
“We had to eliminate all the Winter magic from the land in order to get you, Viola.”
She is pure fury, an inferno of rage that will never be extinguished. “Fucking say it, Mace. Tell me to my face.”
“We killed the winners. All of them.”
Chapter 42
Viola
Thefrostformsseeminglyfrom thin air, growing up a gnarled tree on the outskirts of the city of Ytopie. My shadow-snake squeezes my arm in approval as we watch the tree become engulfed in jagged shards of ice that mirror my own heart.
I’ve been out here for hours. I watched the sunrise with only the company of the shadow that I have imagined to life.
I have tried to focus my mind on honing my magic. It has come to me with surprising ease since I learned to set my intentions and clearly visualize my goal. I always believed that magic required tremendous effort to utilize, but it appears that is not the case.
At least, not for me.
