Cassian spun, drove his blade into its chest—but it didn’thavea chest. It bent backward, maw yawning, clawed hands tearing into the earth around them.
“Seraphine—!”
She hurled her glaive in a wide arc, whitefire lashing the beast’s legs. It staggered. Screamed again. The magic in the circle flared to life, pulsing like a second heart.
“It has to be bound in the blood!” she shouted. “Cut your palm!”
Cassian didn’t question.
He sliced into his hand, grabbed hers.They slammed their palms into the center symbol. Light exploded.
The Eidolich writhed, shrieked, tried toescape.But the circleheld.And when it collapsed into a pool of rotting magic and memory— a shard of bloodstone remained.
Beating.
Alive.
Seraphine knelt and picked it up, breath ragged.
“The blood key,” she said.
Cassian sank to the ground beside her, every muscle trembling.
He didn’t speak.
Neither did she.
They’d survived.
THIRTEEN
SERAPHINE
Seraphine’s bones felt hollow.
Like something ancient and sharp had been carved from her ribs and carried off into the swamp.
The blood key throbbed faintly in the pouch strapped to her belt, a pulsing warmth that didn’t comfort—itwarned.It was alive, in the way a dying fire was still dangerous. The color had shifted since she picked it up. No longer just dark red, but veined through with pearlescent threads of white and violet.
Magic. Memory. Pain.
She staggered slightly over a moss-covered root and cursed under her breath. The world tilted just a little. Her legs didn’t feel like her own.
Cassian noticed.
“You’re wobbling,” he said, not bothering to look at her as he walked ahead through the narrowing path.
“I’m walking,” she shot back, voice tight.
“On half a soul.”
Seraphine rolled her eyes. “Don’t be dramatic.”
Cassian slowed anyway. Let her catch up without saying so. His steps were easy, steady, like the ritual hadn’t taken something from him, too.
Maybe it hadn’t.
Maybe it was ignorance. Or maybe gods help her. It was just that he was made of sturdier stuff.
