Page 94 of Bound to the Shadow Queen
Draven cleared his throat, the sound sharp as a blade being drawn. “You implied you had knowledge about her mana?”
“As it happens, I’ve spent the better part of the past few months searching for a very peculiar set of caves that housed the source of the original crystal, until I decided that perhaps myefforts would be better spent on the Unseelie themselves,” Isren replied, adjusting his robes with infuriating calm.
“You knew I was Unseelie?” I asked, my voice tight.
“No, indeed I managed to miss that entirely, or I likely would have begun my search there.” His mouth curved faintly, as though amused by his own oversight rather than irritated at wasted months.
I braced for Draven’s reaction, but other than a short spike of frustration, his mana remained steady, his face carved from frost.
“But I did put it together once I found the source of the crystal,” Isren continued.
“Which was…?” I asked.
He stopped, his gaze sliding toward me.
“I am curious if you can tell me.” The way he said it wasn’t doubtful—it was testing. As if he wanted to see if I could sense it.
“All right.” I swallowed, forcing calm, remembering too well what touching those crystals had unearthed before. Memories I’d buried deep for good reason.
He drew out two crystals, both reminiscent of the one I had broken when my bound mana snapped through me. My hand hovered, then brushed the first. A vast, chaotic energy surged up my arm, seductive and dangerous, like it recognized me.
Like my mother’s amulet.
My eyes shot to the archmage. “Where did you find it?”
“I found it in the caves of the last dragon in Aerivelle.”
“You know where the Dragon is?” I asked, pulse tripping.
He snorted softly. “No. You do not find a dragon unless it wants to be found. It took me months just to find a cave he had graced with his presence, which was probably fortunate for me, given their propensity for, well, setting their unexpected visitors on fire.”
“You speak as if you know them,” I said, narrowing my eyes.
His gaze glowed faintly with amusement, but he didn’t elaborate.
“What does this mean for her mana?” Draven asked, his voice low, controlled.
Something hollow flared from him, echoing the conversation we’d had the night before. The question wasn’t just about my mana—it was about us. About the clock ticking down on whatever fragile, infuriating thing we had been.
I wondered if he felt the same tenuous feeling, like we were suspended in the air above a chasm, waiting for the bottom to drop out from beneath us.
Isren’s features sobered. “The Unseelie get their power from the earth, from the Shard Mother. But the dragons enhance the power directly through their line.”
I furrowed my brow. “The Thanes?”
He nodded like a teacher, pleased his dullest student had finally kept up.
“So all of the Thanes have powers from the dragons?” Draven pressed, a frown tugging his mouth.
I shared his confusion. My uncle was powerful, my mother too—but most of the Thanes were just…average.
“No. Most of the old lines have died out…whether the power faded because the dragons left or the dragons left because the lines died out is unclear. But regardless, only one remains.”
His eyes pinned me, waiting for me to catch up.
The mana passed directly through blood. My uncle and my mother—twins. Both direct heirs. One dragon. One line. A crystal that called to me the same way her necklace always had.
“I’m the heir to the last remaining dragon?” My voice cracked on the words.
