Page 86 of Three Scorched Kingdoms

Wrapping my hands around the magic, I imagine the Athenaeum as it was—the rows and rows of books, the tall, towering shelves, the quiet hum of ancient knowledge that filled the air.

I take a deep breath, and as I exhale, I let the magic flow out of me. It starts as a gentle pulse, but I push harder, feeling the energy surge through me, gathering in my fingertips. My eyes open as the air around me begins to shimmer, the ground beneath my feet vibrating with the power I’m channeling.

It’s not enough yet.

“Come on,” I whisper, focusing on the image in my mind. “Come on, work.”

The ashes on the ground stir, lifting into the air in swirling tendrils of dust. The debris shifts, drawn together as the magic takes hold, the ruins around me beginning to reform. I can feel the strain, the effort it takes to hold the image steady in my mind, to keep the magic flowing without faltering.

I hear a gasp behind me, but I don’t turn. Not yet. The magic is building, the pressure inside me mounting as I pour everything I have into this one act of creation.

This is so much more than anything I’ve done before.

I draw on a deeper well—of magic and memory and emotion. I draw on everything I am. Every experience this place ever gave me.

Late-night patrols and early morning cataloging. Reshelving with Hoc. Laughing with Blossom. Flirting with Mag. Chasing the gnomes and bribing them with candy. Bingo’s unfaltering loyalty. Kitty’s mischievous purr.

I don’t just think about restoring the static, lifeless items this time. I remember the essence that made this place what it was. What it could be again. Besides, nothing here was ever static. Even the books had heartbeats.

I concentrate on the way they pulsed. The way they breathed.

Energy cannot be destroyed, only remade. Transmuted.

Unlike the times before this, today I don’t try to recreate a dead thing. I transmute what’s still here. What’s always been here.

Pulsing. Beating. Breathing.

I open my eyes and see the dust and ash swirl faster, coalescing into solid forms—shelves, walls, stacks of books. I can feel the library taking shape around me, piece by piece, but it’s like holding a delicate thread that could snap at any moment.

“Paige…” Aries’s voice is tight, filled with worry.

“Not yet,” I murmur, my voice trembling with the effort. “Almost there…”

Sweat coats my brow, but I don’t stop.

The shelves rise, row upon row, just as I remember them. The Sea Creatures section to the left with the tall, glass-fronted cases. The Winged Creatures section to the right, the shelves filled with volumes on dragons, gryphons, and other creatures of the sky.

The central staircase begins to form, spiraling upward to the upper levels where the restricted section lies. Behind me, I picture Hoc’s office, the cluttered desk, the shelves overflowing with scrolls and ancient manuscripts. Grief pangs inside me, and I pour it—along with my love for him—into the stream of creation.

I can feel my strength waning, the magic starting to slip through my grasp.

“Almost there,” I whisper, gritting my teeth as I push harder, forcing the last remnants of my magic into the spell.

The elevator appears, and as it slides into place, I feel the library solidify around me, the magic settling, the tension in the air dissipating.

Exhaustion slams into me, and my eyes slide shut as my knees give out.

Aries catches me before I can hit the floor.

“Whoa, easy,” he says against my ear.

“Is she okay?” Blossom asks.

I suck in a deep, steadying breath. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

“Paige, look,” Ned exclaims.

Slowly, I open my eyes, and what I see takes my breath away. The Athenaeum stands before me, just as it was, every detail perfect, down to the soft glow of the magical lamps that light the space.

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