Page 85 of The Edge of Darkness

Niall’s second stepped up behind Maeson and instantly grew tense when he beheld Nivelle’s show of power.

I cleared my throat to get the witch’s attention. When she looked up, her power vanished, and she slid her hands behind her back as she stared at Aremis and Maeson.

The two cautiously descended the steps, and tension bracketed the space like a vice.

Nivelle held her ground where she stood beside me, but I could feel her openness retreating, as if being carried away on a swift breeze.

“Good morning,” Maeson said, trying her best to hide the uncertainty in her voice.

No one else had been introduced to the witch, since she’d refused to leave her chambers until today. All they knew of her is what we had told them from our visit to Neveshir. Which was probably why they were glancing between her and me with a look that said, Why isn’t she biting your head off?

Aremis’s hand came to rest on Maeson’s shoulder—a subtle, protective gesture. What he sensed of the witch, I didn’t know, but I could tell that witnessing her conjure both forms of their power was enough to raise his alarm.

“Nivelle, this is Maeson, and Aremis,” I said. “Maeson’s power is the fire you picked up on. And Aremis’s is something entirely of its own kind.”

Aremis noted the witch’s intensity, his eyes furiously assessing her like she was a weapon, one that he needed to understand how to operate. Nivelle glared back, scrutinizing him with an unspoken challenge just like she had done with us at her cottage.

I looked at my two friends, willing them to be nice through my stare. “Nivelle is an emulator, so she can mimic your gifts as if they are her own.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Maeson said.

Nivelle didn’t offer the same sentiment back. Instead, she said, “Fire . . . and Aether.”

Aremis froze.

When none of us said anything—too busy holding our breaths at the word she’d used to name Aremis’s power—she smirked. “You didn’t know?”

Silence. Not even a whisper of wind. As if the mountains themselves were stunned and waiting for the witch to reveal her knowledge.

“The fae call it ‘Cheshm Zadan,’” I said. “They do not know where the gift originates from.”

Nivelle glanced at me, no doubt confused by the odd name the fae had given those with his type of ability. Then, she shook her head slowly, still smirking. “He is Aether,” she said. “One with time and space, both of which are imperceivable to the naked eye.”

Maeson turned to Aremis, her hand instinctively finding his arm. He didn’t even seem to notice; his attention was fixed on Nivelle, astonishment etched into his handsome face.

When he finally spoke, his voice was pitched low, treading carefully. “What do you know of it?”

The witch let herself be momentarily distracted by another bird as it flew overhead, its shadow crossing her face. It let out a loud caw, and she frowned. “It is a curse.”

Maeson’s face paled, her grip tightening on Aremis’s arm. “A curse?”

“Yes.” There was no sympathy in Nivelle’s voice. “The Aether is the fabric of our existence. It is what weaves the universe together—all knowing, all seeing. Such a thing should not be contained.” She squinted as she observed Aremis, like she was trying to glean what he was made of. “Long ago, during the war between Torin and her deranged sister, a witch cast a spell using dark magic to bind the Aether to her soul in an effort to give the witches and Torin some sort of advantage. She managed to trap a sliver of Aether within her, but the Aether was unyielding. It was not meant to be confined to a single place of existence nor a physical vessel.”

“What happened to the witch who cast the spell?” I asked in Aremis’s shocked stead.

“Something terrible. There is a reason Torin forbids us from dabbling in dark magic. The spells are temperamental and always come at a cost. With the Aether’s unyielding nature, the spell twisted on itself and became a curse. It assumed control and locked away the witch’s will, leaving her trapped within a sea of endless voices and knowledge and visions—everything the Aether is privy to. The poor witch became a shell of herself.

“When our goddess fled Skotos and brought what was left of our kind to this world, the one who had bound the Aether to her soul was among them. It is said that, over time, the witch was able to regain some of herself, but the curse still plagued her. Stories of her struggle are passed down through the generations, so that no witch ever tries to bind any sort of power to themselves again. It is said that what she endured was unbearable. Like . . .” She paused, searching for the right word.

“Chaos,” Aremis finished.

In the silence that followed, I remembered what Aremis had told me about his power—what little he knew of its origins. I leaned into his line of sight, pulling his attention to me. “You told me it’s believed that your power comes from an ancient mingling between the witches and the fae.” The theory was beginning to make sense. I turned to Nivelle. “Is it even possible that the witch who had bound the Aether to herself mated with a fae while she was living amongst them?”

“Considering that the witches remained here for some time before being confined to the isles, that would be the most plausible explanation. However . . .” She looked at Aremis. “When a witch mates with any other being, and an offspring is conceived, it is always born either a witch or a Dionach, regardless of the paternal species. But you are clearly fae . . .”

“So there had to be something that changed in the process,” Aremis concluded. “Perhaps the Aether’s essence stifled the witch’s natural ability to birth a witch or a Dionach, leaving only the fae lineage. Perhaps the Aether itself changed.”

Nivelle slowly nodded. “The Aether is as unpredictable as it is unyielding. How you have managed to coexist with such a curse is beyond my comprehension.”