Page 10 of Storm of Shadows

I pace toward the large western-facing windows. Through them I have a clear view of Nolderan’s cliffs and the sea beyond.

For a moment, I’m transfixed by the rise and fall of the waves. All I can see in their lull is Father. Arluin breaking him and raising his corpse.

Does even a shred of Father’s soul remain within him? Is he at all aware of the fate he has succumbed to?

I pull away from the waves. I can’t keep spiraling down into these dark thoughts. If they claim me, I’ll never be able to scramble out of that bottomless pit. I must think only of my purpose and keep moving forward.

I head to the bookshelves lining the walls. They’re made from mahogany like the desk and are curved to fit the unusual shape of the room.

A variety of books are featured on Father’s shelves: biographies of famous magi like Grandmage Delmont Blackwood and Alward Ashbourne—the founder of Nolderan and an ancestor of mine who invented the spellignir’alas, respectively; crusty scrolls containing detailed maps of every street in Nolderan; journals kept by long dead Grandmagi and Archmagi; and tomes on advanced spells I’ll never master but take with me, anyway. I wave my hand over the three books I choose and murmurevanest,storing them in my internal aether. Since the books are heavy, I’m unable to carry any more. An experienced mage like Father could store ten, though. Maybe more.

Finally, after my search is starting to feel pointless and Zephyr appears to have drifted to sleep, I find the book I seek. It has a burgundy cover, and gold flourishes decorate the hardened leather. I lay it on Father’s desk and peel back the cover. Clouds of dust billow out, and I cough as I waft them away.

The Defensive Systems of Nolderanis written on the first page in blotchy ink. I scan across the pages in search of anything I can use. There are diagrams detailing how to activate the turrets lining Nolderan’s walls by the docks. They can fire beams of aether to blast enemy ships from miles away and repel naval invasions. There are also similar wards for the Upper City, designed either to secure the most important part of Nolderan if the Lower City is taken or to stop a civil war in case the non-magical population turns against us. To my knowledge, it never has, but I’ve read about a few street protests taking place centuries ago. Like most other wards and enchantments through the city, these are powered by the Aether Tower.

I also read that a thousand years ago, when the Lich Lord attacked, Nolderan was the only land his legions could not invade. This mechanism, combined with the defensive turrets lining the city’s walls, prevented the undead from reaching our shores.

If only we didn’t rely so heavily on the Aether Tower. That is the city’s sole weakness, and Arluin exploited it.

At the end of the book, I find the mechanics of the tower itself. These pages are filled with maps showing the aether network from turret to turret across the city.

My earlier guess was correct. Father’s staff is linked to the Aether Tower, and that’s why Arluin needed him to deactivate it. The spell-word required to activate it isincipiret, the opposite ofterminir, which Father used to turn it off. There’s no mention of how many magi are needed or how much magic is required. The book only talks of the tower being the Grandmage’s responsibility, but I’m not the Grandmage of Nolderan. I’m just his daughter.

Will it work? The book doesn’t explicitly state one must be the Grandmage, and there’s no one else to cast this spell. Surely the Aether Tower will recognize that?

I close the book and clutch it to my chest. Then I reach for Father’s staff and start to the door.

Zephyr opens an eye and flutters up from the desk. I scan over Father’s office one last time before shutting the crystalline doors behind us.

Each step is heavy as I march up the spiraling staircase. Dread weighs on my stomach like an anchor. What if I’m not powerful enough to cast this spell? What if I must leave Nolderan exposed to looters who will desecrate our church and our ancient library?

I reach the top and step out into the violent winds. I suck in a breath and take in the vastness of the lonely and broken and dead city. I won’t allow vultures to descend on it. I will bury it with aether. If I fail to cast this spell, I’d sooner swallow it with fire than let it be further defiled by evil.

I halt at the center, directly below where the enormous orb of aether should be humming, and set the book down at my feet.

The first step is to conjure an aether crystal to act as the orb’s core, so I raise Father’s staff and follow the book’s instructions.

“Crysanthius,” I say, pouring as much magic into the spell as I can, while leaving enough for the activation.

The resulting crystal isn’t as large as I intend, only the size of my fist, but it’ll suffice.

Ventrezis my next spell, and the conjured wind rolls forth, blowing the crystal up to the orb’s stone frame. It hovers there, suspended in mid-air. Before it can descend, I clasp Father’s staff and call out: “Incipiret.”

The crystal explodes. Magic radiates out, filling the emptiness. It takes the shape of an orb, spreading further. My heart skips a beat.

It’s working.

But before the magic reaches the stone frame, it starts to retreat. The power falters.

My heart plummets. I used so much power for this spell, and I don’t have enough left for another attempt.

I squeeze my eyes shut and draw on the dregs of my power, emptying myself bit by bit. I channel all my power into Father’s staff, and a beam of violet light transfers my magic into the orb. The energy stops retreating. But it doesn’t expand.

Just a little more . . .

I fight the tide and force it back. The orb reaches its stone frame, but by the time it fills the tower, I’ve drained myself of so much magic.

The Aether Tower’s orb roars overhead. I double over and clutch my knees, gasping for air and hardly able to believe I’ve succeeded.

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