Page 53 of The Breaker of Stars

“Acceptance is a good place to start.” Absently, he smoothed his fingers up my spine. “What do you want to do now?”

“What do you mean?” I cocked my head.

Something softened behind his eyes. Not pity, but unease. “We can leave, Vale.”

“We can’t?—”

He pushed himself upright, leaning against the headboard. “If it’s too hard or too risky for you to be here, we can leave. Go back to Ophelia and everyone and figure out some other way to restore your readings and get the answers we need.”

“I won’t be selfish or afraid of my magic,” I said, sitting up and crossing my legs. “I want to help Ophelia find these emblems if I can, and I want to get answers about my own power.”

I was tired of being in the dark.

A small smile quirked on Cypherion’s lips at my determination. “Then we’ll get them. How, though? Last night…”

I shook my head, at a loss for an explanation. I hadn’t just frozen when I saw Titus’s office—I’d shattered. There was some sort of pull from me to be there. To see him.

“I don’t know what that was, but we’ll avoid the sixth level when we return. I know it’s there now. I can prepare myself mentally, and…”

“And?” he asked when I paused.

I blew out a breath, but wings of anticipation fluttered in my chest. “And I think I’ll need to read. Or at least attempt it.” Cypherion opened his mouth to argue, eyes growing defensive, but I continued, “I’ve been avoiding it for too long.”

“Remember what happened in the Labyrinth and Seawatcher Territory when you conducted sessions.” A hint of desperation pierced his voice, those memories flashing between both of us. “Or at the fighting ring when you weren’t even trying to read.”

“Maybe I need to stop suppressing it,” I suggested, leaning forward and taking his hand. “My magic has been more insistent since we’ve been in Valyn. It’s been calling to me, begging me to use it, and if I don’t let it out soon, I fear I’ll lose that battle.”

And it was the use of that word that broke through to him. Fear. Because Cypherion lived to protect those he cared about.

“You didn’t mention,” he said, concern weighing his gaze as it dragged across my body again, like he could target that power and rescue me from any pain it may cause.

“I was trying to avoid it.” I shrugged. Goosebumps peppered my skin at the Fate ties stirring within me, voices attempting to call me. I shoved them down to finish explaining, my voice soft. “I’ve always embraced my magic before, never stifled it. I thought I could ignore it this time, but last night proves I can’t run from everything.”

Cypherion’s hand tightened around mine. “And you think a session will fix something?”

I nodded. “Reading has always been the answer for me. When I need guidance, I turn to the Fates.”

“Okay,” he conceded, mind ticking away as he meticulously crawled through our options. “But let’s go to the archives first and get to the ninth level, then conduct the reading when we return here. We can gather whatever supplies you need today. If we save it for tonight, and the worst does happen, at least we’ll be able to hide out here until you’ve recovered.”

“That’s a perfect plan,” I agreed, but as we rose and prepared for the day, there was an edge to every one of his movements. His muscles tense, on the verge of that protective instinct; one I worried would only end up hurting him in the end.

Because Fates were unpredictable, and I was at their mercy for the rest of my long warrior life. And Cypherion was willing to position himself between me and the celestial beings if need be.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Cypherion

The temple breathed an eerie stillness against my skin. A handful of searchers knelt in the main room, curtains drawn across nearly all alcoves. The usual pairs of guards drifted lazily down the aisles, mystlight flickering against gray stone where it stretched up, cradling a mosaic across the ceiling.

Everything was in order. I should have been grateful for that.

But instead, unease ticked away at my mind. Mentally, I took stock of my weapons, remembering where each knife was sheathed. The ones against my ribs would be the most discreet and quickest to pull.

The stained-glass windows cast pools of rippling blue light across the floor as I followed Vale toward the archives. Without a word, she slipped away to distract the guard again—a different one tonight, thank the Angels—and with the aid of two thin knives, I had the lock open within seconds.

Could this defense be any more pathetic? Why weren’t these locked magically if they were truly to be kept secret?

Then again, numerous acolytes were allowed in here. Why have a lock at all if so many keys were given out?

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