Page 61 of Fading Sun

“I didn’t do the spell on the crystals,” I remind him. “Blaze did. I can’t do magic like that.”

The Abbot’s gaze turns to Blaze. “Will you help us?” he asks.

“My magic isn’t endless,” Blaze says, not sounding moved by his plea in the slightest. “I need to save it for whatever’s lying beyond that portal.”

“But you have the power,” the Abbot insists, desperate now.

“And you had the power to give us those crystals when we asked,” he says. “You attacked us instead. That was your choice. Now, it’s time for us to leave.”

And then, without further discussion, he strides toward the portal and steps through, into whatever’s waiting for us on the other side.

“Blaze!” Morgan calls out, and in a blink, she hurries after him, her hair whipping around her face as she disappears into the swirling light.

Morgan

The portal’s light flares brighter when I run through, enveloping me in a warm embrace that feels oddly comforting, despite the dangers lurking on the other side. It’s like diving into a pool of sunlight, and I’m blinded by the brilliance as I float through.

Then, without warning, it shoots me out onto snow-covered ground that catches my fall.

As my eyes adjust, the beauty of this mystical version of the Himalayas unfolds before me. The mountains rise like ancient guardians, cloaked in a subtle, shimmering magic. The air is colder, sharper, and towering trees with silver leaves stretch toward the clear blue sky.

Blaze is up ahead, his back toward me as he throws his dagger at an old, gnarled tree. It spins through the air—a silver flash against the snowy backdrop—before striking the trunk with a loud thud.

I can’t help but admire his skill, even though it’s not fully his. It’s the dagger’s, enspelled to defeat whatever he’s fighting against.

Which, in this case, is a tree.

“Blaze,” I say his name carefully, not wanting to startle him.

He turns around slowly, his gaze meeting mine. There’s a dark, almost ravenous look in his eyes, so intense that I stay where I am instead of making my way toward him.

It’s a look I’ve seen before. The same one he’s had every time he’s held the quill after doing a spell.

The Crimson Quill is doing something to him. Changing him. And I don’t like it one bit.

“Morgan,” he says, slowly and carefully. “How was your trip?”

“I’m guessing the same as yours,” I reply. “Bright. And warm. With a pretty startling exit.”

“Sounds about right,” he says, glancing over at the portal. “I assume Amber and Damien are on their way?”

“I don’t know.” I glare at him, my fire swirling within me, fighting me as I push it down. “You ran out of there before we could discuss what to do with those monks.”

“There was nothing to discuss,” he says. “We passed their trial. It was time to go.”

“We left them injured and tied up in their monastery’s basement,” I say, even though I’m sure the portal didn’t wipe his memory of what happened back there.

Then, as he retrieves his dagger from the tree, it happens again.

It starts with a breeze. One that could be considered natural, if not for its cold breath whispering warnings that coil like smoke around my thoughts.

He’s not the same, it says. Look at him—he’s hungry for power. Langwerda warned you about this. The quill’s enchanting him, pushing him over an edge you can’t pull him back from.

I shudder and wrap my arms around myself. Not from the cold, but from the creeping dread it’s sending through my body.

“Something on your mind?” Blaze asks as he throws his dagger at the tree again in a fluid, lethal motion.

He’s too strong now, the wind continues. Too dangerous. You know what you need to do. For everyone’s safety. Before it’s too late.

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