Page 68 of The Edge of Darkness

“What do you sacrifice?” I asked warily, expecting her to say “humans” with no inkling of remorse.

She let a faint grin creep across her lips, like she had half the thought to say just that. “There were plenty of goats inhabiting the isles before we took up residence. Though animal blood is considered less than any other being’s, it does the job well enough.”

Goats. Splendid.

I didn’t let myself dwell on the “any other being’s” part of her answer.

“Back in your cottage, you spoke of Niall’s lineage like you recognized something in him. Torin did the same. Is there something we don’t know?”

Nivelle raised a perfectly arched brow. “You tell me.”

“As far as he knows, no one other than his ancestor has ever possessed his power. There’s no record of it before that.”

“You know this for certain?”

“Well, no. Niall has searched for answers but . . .” My voice trailed off as a thought penetrated my mind.

Had Niall really searched?

He knew about Evander’s journal, but hadn’t ever asked to read it. He knew Amarna had some insight, but as far as she let on, he’d never pried for information.

Was he afraid of what he might discover?

Nivelle placed both her hands on the railing, one atop the other. “I only know what I can feel. And if Torin recognized it, if it bothered her that much, then I’m fairly certain your mate’s power hails from the world we came from. A witch can sense these things, just like we can sense enchantments and compulsions and are immune to their effects. Our heightened senses give us the ability to discern lineage, power, even the essence of one’s magic.”

I stared out at the waves, thinking of what this might mean for Niall.

I still had so many questions.

It would make sense that Niall’s power, and Evander’s before him, could have originated from another world. But how had it ended up in their bloodline to begin with?

I glanced at Nivelle’s hands. Her skin was so smooth under the moonlight. Ageless. The way the flowers had withered under her touch earlier was in complete defiance to what she appeared capable of doing. Those delicate hands looked like they might wield life, or things of a more pleasant nature.

Not death.

“Your power . . . what is it, exactly?” I asked.

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and I could see her walls going back up. “I think I’ve had enough conversation for one day.” With that, she strode off to the other corner of the deck and claimed her solitude once more.

It had been a week since we brought Nivelle back with us to Calledan. She had been given her own personal chambers in the guest wing of The Keep, alongside Silas, but despite her proximity, we hadn’t had a single conversation since the boat ride. It was impossible to have any conversation with her when she refused to leave her chambers.

Silas relayed our missives to her, and her replies were usually snipped, leaving no room for further conversation. Not only that, but Silas was the only one she would see. She had yet to even meet the rest of the Trium, or Maeson, or Morah—though the thought of her personality and Morah’s in the same room sent my teeth on edge.

Niall and I spent time training by day, and reading Evander’s journal by night. Last night, we’d come across an entry that was particularly bothersome.

Evander had woken from his sleep when he thought he’d heard a voice. He wrote of how his head had throbbed so violently afterward that Verdi had to sedate him.

Niall didn’t know what to make of this, and neither did I.

Today, I found myself curled up in the same chair in the main area of The Keep, face-deep in Evander’s journal once again.

Niall was busy tending to his courtly duties, while Roirdan and Remic had ventured deeper into the mountains to Calledan’s army camps. And with Maeson helping Morah with Fallon, and Nivelle refusing to leave her chambers again this morning, that left Silas and Aremis with me.

Aremis had gladly joined me, eager to help solve the riddle of the dream connection, the black clawed hands, the ink, all of it. Silas was being what Aremis called a “typical Dionach,” wanting to be in close proximity to me at all times. He sat in a chair near the window, staring off toward the mountains, giving Niall’s second-in-command and I our space, without being too far away.

I flipped a page and shook my head. “The next few entries all talk about Evander’s lack of appetite and continuous headaches. Apparently, the remedy that Verdi made to help with the pain only worked to a certain extent. It sounds like his body became immune to it, or found ways to work around it.”

Aremis’s brows furrowed as he considered what that meant. “That would mean his body was getting stronger, not weaker with age.”