Page 95 of A Sin So Pure

“I’ll be right back.”

It’s not long before we’re both hunched over stacks of ancient tomes. The downside to Silas having cut off formal contact with the Seelie means that everything in the library is out of date.

A few hours pass with our heads tucked between yellowed pages.

Silas huffs a frustrated sigh, pushing his book away. He’s been screening books for me, passing on the ones that may be relevant and tossing the others aside.

“Is any of this making sense to you?” he asks.

“Huh?” I ask, only half paying attention.

I finish the sentence I’m reading and put my pointer finger on the period, marking my place. It’s a transcript of an ancient healer’s medical journal. Most of the entries are tonic recipes, lists of herbs and solvents, but every couple of pages, there are notes scrawled in the margins.

Don’t force it.This one needs time for the magic to settle with the herbs. Make sure they’re fresh. Magic connects with the spark of life.

Our magic isn’t finite. Don’t be afraid to part with a piece of it.

Some make more sense than others, but they all read like a teacher advising their student. They’re personal, and I wonder who this journal belonged to before it ended up here.

The entries on infusing tonics don’t relay the knowledge I had hoped for. But at the end of the journal, where my finger presses into the page, I find what I’m searching for. It’s an entry on tethering—a technique for healing long-term ailments, where the healer establishes a lasting connection between them and their patient. The cursive instructions have my lips tilting upwards.

We’re dealing with the bodies, not souls. Hearts, not minds. Remember that your magic can only do so much to bring someone back from the edge. But if you tend to it like a garden, with intention and persistence, their resolve will grow—and with it, your connection.

It will be strange at first, the tether. Unlike tonics, you’re not truly parting with a piece of your magic. It’s not a gift, but an active lifeline between you, your magic, and your patient. It is a constant draw on your power to keep the connection flowing. Over time, it will settle in the background, but don’t lose sight of it for too long. If you do, it’ll fade away.

Emotion is the root of our magic. The urge to heal, to save, is tied to that. Therefore, fluctuations will test the strength of your connection.

Tethers are fragile things.

My hand cuts off the rest.

My gaze flicks up and Silas gestures to the open book in front of him.

“This isn’t how magic feels. When I use my shadows, it’s not a separate entity to carve away at—it’s an extension of myself. A fifth limb.”

“Maybe it’s just not what magic feels like foryou.”

He tilts his head at me. “And it does for you?”

“My magic…” I search for the right words. I hadn’t realized it before now, but the way I was taught to use my magic is different from the way it flows through my body. “Think of it as a second soul that I can manipulate. It’s part of me, but it also isn’t.”

“How strange,” Silas murmurs. He fiddles with the small silver earring dangling from his lobe. “I wonder why yours is so similar to theirs.”

I drop my gaze back to the journal. “Death and life are two sides of the same coin, are they not?”

Silas’s lips part, but he’s cut off by Wrath’s voice calling through the stacks of books.

“Ah, good. You’re both here.”

Wrath appears seconds later. I sigh, giving up on keeping my place and shutting the book. I want to reread the whole section over anyway.

“He has emerged from his cave!” Silas says, giving Wrath a cheeky side-eye. “Nice of you to finally pay us a visit.”

Wrath’s expression is less than amused. “I have a prototype ready.”

He drops a bundle of fabric on the table, sheer and black, right over the book in front of me.

“What’s this?” I ask.

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