Every rain drop pelting the windows resounded like a gong in his skull. Dodging mountains of tomes and scrolls stacked on the floor, the sitting room spun as Jassyn stumbled to a water pitcher perched on an end table. Wispy memories of Vesryn shoving Fynlas’ research through a gateway faster than a squirrel stashing a horde of nuts floated through his mind.
But there was more than books and scattered parchments. The prince had stolen nearly everything that had been in Fynlas’ study. The easels with human family trees tracing the shaman lines, every single paper, inkpot, and quill—Vesryn had pilfered it all. They’d even filched a chair. But it was a nice chair. White oak, intricately carved, with a lovely cushion as soft as a downy pillow. Maybe I grabbed the chair, I don’t remember. Stars, my scorching head.
Jassyn swayed as he poured them both glasses of water. Somehow still holding Essence, Vesryn crawled up the couch, struggling more than someone pulling themselves over a ledge. Jassyn collapsed on the sofa next to his cousin, offering a cup.
The prince waved him off. “Don’t worry, I threw up…” Vesryn frowned at the portal by his feet before releasing his magic. He drew a hand over his face. “I actually have no idea where I opened that.” Bracing his elbows on his knees, the prince groaned, gripping fistfuls of hair. “Can you”—he tapped his head, wincing as his throat bobbed—“use your healies?”
Jassyn swallowed hard before attempting to grapple with his power. He blinked against a streak of lightning flashing through the windows, eyes throbbing in protest at the cruel slash of light. By the time Essence swirled around him, darting in and out of his control, Jassyn was panting.
Vesryn chuckled and then cringed. “Stars, you’re still drunk.”
“We are never doing that again,” Jassyn gritted out. Threads of mending light unraveled, slipping through his fingers. “And you’re healing me after I’m finished with you.”
Vesryn clutched his middle with a groan. “You’re suddenly very trusting of my healing.”
“The way I see it,” Jassyn said as he regathered Essence slowly, like clouds rolling in ahead of a storm. He shrouded Vesryn with a curtain of power, easing his stomach and dispelling the inflammation in his skull. “You can’t do any more damage to me than you’ve already done.”
“You have me there,” Vesryn said, sagging in relief.
After the prince returned the favor of setting his body back to working order, Jassyn frowned at the books scattered across his sitting room floor. “Did we really…”
“Yup,” Vesryn said, eyes now bright and alert. He plucked a tattered tome from the top of a pile on the floor. “We raided the Vallende estate.”
Jassyn snatched the volume, swatting away his cousin’s wandering fingers. The prince grinned, reaching over to ruffle his curls. When Vesryn leaned down to rifle through a stack of family trees, Jassyn gave up on trying to defend the fragile research.
“What can we do for those with shaman blood?” Jassyn asked, leafing through a text so ancient that he feared the pages would disintegrate.
Vesryn gnawed on a thumbnail, frowning as he studied the parchment in his hands. “It’s likely the king has plans to compel those like you.”
Jassyn’s thoughts darkened, twisting like the clouds outside. “To what end?” He scowled when the prince flicked his severed nail to the floor. “To somehow use us as a conduit to control the elements?”
Vesryn shrugged. “It’s obvious now that coercion does more than restrict speech. If that compelled guard we ambushed at the Vallende estate was any sign, that magic can dictate someone’s actions.”
Jassyn blinked. “What guar—” His eyes widened as the isolated memory rematerialized. Stomach rolling over, bile crept back up his throat. “You had me untangle coercion. While drunk.”
Jassyn tugged at the surrounding air, corralling the smallest breeze. Directing the delicate zephyr, he gathered the disgusting growing pile of Vesryn’s shed nails and hurtled them into a wastebasket. “Stars, that was a senseless thing to do. I could have destroyed his mind!”
“But you didn’t,” Vesryn argued. “I knew you were capable if you had a little encouragement.” The prince jabbed him in the arm. “And thanks to the information from our new friend, we now know that Elashor has the skill to compel—at least to some degree. So it’s not just my sire like we previously thought.”
“Which is alarming.” Jassyn set the tome aside. “That coercion wasn’t as extensive as the magic on Thalaesyn or the wraith we’ve worked on.” Or that mysterious elven wraith I saved. “But it’s an understatement to say it’s disturbing that we’re seeing magic govern actions now.” After Jassyn had restored that guard’s faculties, the prince had portaled the warrior to the safety of the Ranger Station.
Ignoring his apprehension, Vesryn traced the names on the family tree. His mouth worked silently before he glanced at Jassyn and then back to the parchment. And then back at Jassyn.
“What?” Jassyn finally asked.
“Are these…” Vesryn trailed off, rapidly blinking before scrutinizing the paper again. “All of these are your offspring?”
If he was still drunk, Jassyn immediately sobered up from the verbal punch. He began tumbling. Falling. No, drowning. Suddenly there wasn’t any air. He couldn’t think, couldn’t remember how to breathe as a weight like an anvil settled on his chest.
Sound swam away while memories came flooding in, throwing Jassyn back in time. The sleepless nights. The way his skin had crawled, feeling the weight of someone else’s body on his. Head spinning, spots flecked across his vision. Everything was going dark. No, it was too bright. The only thing he saw was the parchment in Vesryn’s hand.
Jassyn lunged for it, tearing it into pieces. If he could destroy it, erase the evidence, he could—
He couldn’t move. Panting, Jassyn struggled against the shadows that had shackled him. Vesryn was in his face, gripping his shoulders, wrestling him back into the couch. The prince’s mouth was moving, but Jassyn heard nothing beyond the ringing in his ears.
Breathe. Vesryn shoved the command into his mind. Breathe. You’re safe. Just. Breathe.
Jassyn latched onto the phrase as an anchor, using it as a mantra as he hauled in gasping breaths. Breathing in through his nose and releasing the air out of his mouth.
Breathe.
Minutes slipped by, the splashing of rain against the windows filling the silence between Jassyn’s struggle for air. Another ragged inhale. Another unsteady exhale.
Assembling the remnants of his broken composure, Jassyn began reconstructing himself. It felt more like he was fumbling, scraping, shoving the shattered fragments back at all the wrong angles, lacking enough pieces to make himself whole. I’ll never get over this.
Vesryn stood at his side, keeping a silent vigil. Fingers twitching, he reached out more than once only to retreat before finally touching Jassyn’s shoulder.
“What can I do?” the prince asked, voice soft with concern. He released his hold on Jassyn, letting the shadows dissipate.
Jassyn’s focus slid to his family tree, torn on the floor. “Get rid of it. I don’t want to know.”
Vesryn gathered the shredded paper. He folded the scraps, tucking them into his leathers before hesitantly meeting Jassyn’s eyes with something that looked like pity.
“We need to know who they are,” the prince said quietly. He glanced at the other scattered parchments detailing the lines with shaman ancestry before touching his tunic. “I’ll keep this one safe. They’re my kin too.”
Jassyn buried his face in his hands, craving Stardust. He longed to take enough to forget everything—to forget how he’d been forced to play his part like a puppet on a string.
“The capital likely has copies of these lists,” Vesryn said. The section of couch next to Jassyn dipped and he felt the prince scoot closer. “We’ll start keeping track of those identified on these trees. That’s all we can do for now. They’ll need our help someday.”
