Page 42 of Stolen Magic

Myst’s tail flicked towards the end of the corridor. “This way. The pocket I found earlier is near the second sconce outside the armory. I couldn’t see the source, but I felt it folded in the wall—old and well-hidden, but untouched.”

With a nod I clenched my teeth and pressed forward despite the dizziness that still clung to my thoughts like mist. I needed that magic.

“I’m glad I found another source so soon,” Myst said after a beat. “You shouldn’t have used your innate power for that last spell. Without a proper source to draw from, it pulled too deep and took from you, reserves you could ill afford. If you’d spent any more…” She didn’t finish that frightening thought. She didn’t have to.

I swallowed, my throat dry. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Desperation makes us foolish.” By her disapproving tone I suspected she referred not to my use of magic, but my waltz with the prince that grew more dangerous with every step. “Until you reclaim what was stolen, that power isn’t yours to spend. Innate magic draws from your core—it’s meant to awaken slowly, through proper training…not to be burned out in a single reckless burst.”

“I had no choice,” I whispered. “He was starting to remember.”

Myst said nothing, but the weight of her silence said more than words ever could. I knew I needed to heed her warning—the pounding in my head and feverish heat beneath my skin lingered, painful reminders of the steep cost of my straying from the mission. If I pushed myself like that again without replenishing my stores, I might not be so lucky the next time.Then I would die without getting my revenge…and I would never see Callan again.

I shoved the thought away before it could take root.Focus, I ordered myself.

The corridor deepened into silence as I pressed farther, my touch tracing the edges of old mortar. Myst slinked ahead, tail high and erect, her silver eyes searching the long shadows that cloaked the secrets of the formidable palace. The air was heavier here, threaded with stillness and an ancient hum buried just below the surface that drew me, tugging at the remnants of magic in my core.

“There,” Myst murmured.

My fingers brushed the sconce she had indicated. Just beyond it, I felt a subtle, rhythmic pulse like a heartbeat behind the stone—a hidden cache of dormant magic, waiting just beyond my reach. I reached out to gather it…when suddenly a silent whisper caressed my thoughts, beckoning my gaze farther down the stone.

A draft stirred my skirts as I knelt and carefully brushed my fingers along the base of the wall until they met a faint groove carved into the stone, a seam I hadn’t noticed before. Pressing my palm flat, I felt it again: that faint rhythm, pulsing like a second heartbeat.

I picked up just enough faint traces of magic for me to whisper a spell beneath my breath. The air shimmered and the wall gave way, revealing a small recess no larger than a drawer. Dust coated the inside, a soft pillow for the shimmer of dormant magic clinging faintly to a relic within.

My heart pounded as I reached inside. My fingers curled across something delicate, carvings of a flame-lily etched in a vial that pulsed with a power almost as familiar as my own—Mother’s. My breath caught and a thousand questions swirled, but one stood above the rest:why was Mother’s magic hiddenin this section of the Eldorian palace rather than locked in the royal vault with the rest of the stolen power?

Myst’s ears suddenly twitched beside me, yanking me from my reverie. “He’s coming.”

I sensed his presence before I even turned—the subtle warmth that always accompanied his presence. The man who had been slowly blurring my resolve stood at the end of the corridor, as if thinking of him had drawn him to me…and in the worst possible moment.

My breath caught. Had he only just arrived, or had he caught me gathering magic?How long has he been watching?I silently asked my familiar.

I barely had time to conceal the flicker of power in my palm before his voice carried down the corridor. “You’re awake.”

I flinched and turned quickly, curling my fingers into the folds of my skirts to hide the remnants of shimmering magic still pulsing faintly against my skin. My heart thundered in rhythm with my guilt as he walked towards me with the familiar, steady grace that always made it difficult to breathe.

“I didn’t think you’d be up so soon,” he said, his voice careful but lined with concern. “You shouldn’t be out of bed, not so soon after you fainted.”

I offered a tight smile, hoping it masked the lingering panic beneath. “I’m feeling better,” I said, forcing my voice into something light.

Myst slinked between us like a shadow, her tail curling against my ankle.Lie better,her narrowed eyes seemed to say.

I fumblingly strung several words together in a flimsy excuse. “I’d been in bed too long and the walls were closing in. I thought a walk might clear my head.”

I stiffened as he drew nearer. It wasn’t his presence that made my pulse quicken—but the subtle hum of power clinging to him, trailing in his wake like the ghost of a spell.

Magic.

It wasn’t enough for the untrained to detect, but to someone like me whose senses had been honed by hunger and desperation, it was unmistakable. Its current pulsed faintly from the folds of his collar, the hem of his coat, as if he'd recently passed through an enchanted threshold or brushed against a sealed ward. He carried it like someone accustomed to magic, oblivious to the luxury that it was, never having experienced the desperate cravings of those who’d had their magic stripped away.

Myst stirred at my feet, her tail flicking up with sharp attention, her pink nose quivering. She gave a low chuff. “He’s been near magic.”

I didn’t respond, but my fingers twitched at my sides. Had that been what he and the king had discussed behind closed doors? To think he had such easy access to a secret reserve of power freely bestowed upon the royal line while I was left to scavenge scraps from forgotten corners and dying wards.

The magic surrounding him only confirmed what I had tried to convince myself of: as the prince to this formidable kingdom, he was more entangled in politics than any man of his character should be, and I could not afford to trust him. Yet even as this disheartening realization settled over me, a selfish part of me welcomed the excuse to get closer to him; if I couldn’t find enough magic on my own, perhaps I could take it from him.

He crossed the remaining distance, his expression strangely guarded, looking at me the way one might a porcelain doll already lined with fractures. “You’re still pale. You’re not overexerting yourself, are you?”

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