I trust you.

Astrid's smirk sucked between her teeth, and she choked on it. Sebastian's fingers moved again, scraping into her leg. Her flesh was afire, burning in regret and terror. The knife twisted against his throat.

I trust you.

With the tip of her short blade, she scratched out, Stop.

Matthias watched the exchange, brown eyes unblinking, as still as the trunk of the world's strongest oak tree. Of course, Astrid realized. Dammit. Because of course Matthias had understood their nonverbal words; after all, hadn't he, too, communicated with Serah and Zev in the same manner? Not to mention her captain was as annoyingly observant as an Eyelesene Spirit.

It had always been hard to tell what he thought.

But when their gazes met across the room, Matthias nodded.

"Tell her, Hollace." He used that unrelenting voice of his; the one that often made Astrid want to throttle him. "She deserves to know as much as the boy."

Lambert's eyes flickered from Sebastian to scowl at his captor with unveiled threat. "You have broken our oath, Sparrow. Remember that when judgment comes for you."

Matthias's sword held true. "You broke it first—" He kicked the Monverta across the desk and into Lambert's lap—"and I am not afraid."

Regardless, there was a dark promise in the Master's pursed expression that caused a stirring of fear in Astrid.

Matthias nudged the tip of his sword into Lambert's chest. "Tell them of the blood magic."

"Blood magic?" Abel clipped in her annoyingly perfect pitch. She had somehow needled herself closer to Astrid and Sebastian. The malachite stone gleamed between the gaps of her fist. "Blood magic is a curse. Bash, don't. Imogene always warned it was a rare and deadly type of elemental magic. It requires a bit of your soul!"

Again, Sebastian's fingers scrawled. Voixili?

Astrid shivered.

Lambert held up an overly confident finger. "That is not, technically, true," he said. "Such a soul transfer is rare."

Sebastian cleared his throat; the sound vibrated along the handle of Astrid's blade. "Care to elaborate, sir?"

It sounded far more polite than Astrid believed the situation warranted.

"Blood magic is not rare," Lambert corrected, "All Authors of the past have used it."

"Scholars," Astrid scoffed, "always willing to talk if it means correcting another's lack of knowledge."

But even Sebastian ignored her. His fingers fell away; it left her feeling oddly cold, but somehow still too warm—disappointed, yet strangely relieved.

Her brain was exhausted.

"What do you mean by that?" he asked.

Lambert pushed his silver spectacles further up his nose. "The Fables of Monverta belonged to an Author; however, it was the Author's Scribe who documented within it. The Author simply decided what to bring to life from its pages, and to do that, the Author had to use his blood and a thread of his own Spirit."

"Or her," Astrid interjected, but it had not been only her voice on those words.

She sought out Abel, who shrugged her dainty shoulders before saying, "So, it is true, then, that blood magic requires parts of an Author's soul."

"Yes," Lambert said, "and no. Let us pretend there was an Author who traveled to the realm of Demue to study the element of fire and how the native dragon maidens manipulated Fire's threads. His—or her—" he shot a pointed look Abel and Astrid's way—"Scribe would detail what the Author learned. Now, let's say that Author wishes to return to Rainier and desires to share the knowledge with his human kin who are untouched by the elements. He can use his own Spirit's thread to bring forth that Fire's thread from Demue, imbue it into his Monverta with his blood, and release it to another. Thus, one untouched by the element could manipulate that thread for a short while. It was what kept humans appeased for a time."

"I still fail to understand your claim," Astrid pointed out. "How does that dispel Sebastian's mother's idea that an Author's soul was forfeit by the use of blood magic?

Lambert sighed. "An Author's soul was never truly at risk, you see? It was protected and held by the gift of voixili, stored in the Author's Monverta as more of a collateral. A collateral to be used by the Eyelesene Spirits. Should the person who received a thread by an Author abuse it, then Gaia would take back what had been ransomed: that bit of the Author's soul."

"Even so," Sebastian said, "according to your theory, each time an Author brought forth a collected thread from their Monverta, a piece of their soul took its place."

"Technically, yes," Lambert continued. "It was not always meant to be so, however. That is what has made the allure of Lady Guinevere's Black Quill so appealing throughout history." He paused, and Astrid swore it was only for dramatic effect. "The Black Quill does not require a soul transfer."

And there it was. Astrid's heart beat so wildly against her chest she was sure Sebastian could feel it through his spine. "Where is this quill?"

"Hold on," Sebastian interrupted. "Wait just a moment. Voixili—the histories claim it carried a consequence. How?"

Lambert peered at Sebastian over his spectacles that had, once again, slipped. It seemed almost pitying. "You ask about the death of your parents, and the near-death of your Elven friend, here."

For a short moment, Sebastian held his silence, the muscles in his arms taut and strained. Then—"How did you know I wondered about my parents' deaths?"

Lambert's bright eyes watched him in such a somber manner that Astrid tightened her hold on him.

"Your parents knew, Sebastian. They knew of you and your heritage and what it would mean for them. They knew the risks and took you in willingly despite them. They will forever be unsung saviours of the realms."

"Risks," Sebastian repeated, voice thick. "What risks?"

"The curse of voixili." Lambert held his clasped hands in his lap. "Any living soul who defied Earth's magic with spoken, spiteful words would lose a living soul in return. For what is taken from Earth must be given back."

"But—" Sebastian swallowed, bobbing Astrid's knife along on a wake of emotions."I had no Monverta. My soul could not have been held as collateral!"

The letters scrawled themselves against Sebastian's ribs almost of Astrid's fingers own accord: I'm here.

"Yours could not," Lambert agreed, "but Imogene and Amos, they offered theirs in your stead. The Spirits of the glaciers would cry out for your attention, they had been warned, and until you accepted their call..." Lambert trailed off. "Their call led you here, Sebastian. To Rainier. But it took the souls of those closest to you until you abided by their desire."

"I—no! It was my ma. Her voice brought me here. She—"

Sebastian's body trembled with a rage he could not express because it was him. He was good. Light. Astrid did not even think of preventing Abel from crossing the last distance between them and grabbing his hand in one of her own.

Voixili, Astrid thought. It made sense now, all the times she had used it and the disastrous events that had followed. Because her blood had been used in her father's Monverta for years. What remained of her tainted soul had been forfeited each time, and every time she had invoked voixili, someone close to her had nearly died. Had almost taken her place. Matthias. Sebastian.

Had Davina known? Had her mother known she was sacrificing her daughter's soul to bring back her husband?

And—Oh!

It hadn't only been her blood used in Niklaus's Monverta; Sebastian's had been given to it as well. And when he had used it during the second task, voixili had gone after her mother.

According to Lambert, it should have gone after them. But it hadn't. Which meant there was a Spirit that had tried to catch their attention.

My father? she thought. But why would he have tried to kill his own beloved wife?

Astrid pulled her knife away from Sebastian's throat, but kept her arm around his waist in order to scrawl into his hip: sorry.

She wasn't sure he had registered it.

He shook his curly head and swiped a hand against the cut she had made along his neck. It was a rather vicious motion that hardly suited him. His fingers came away smeared with his clotting blood.

"Tell me how to use my blood to get into Pavel's Monverta," he demanded.

This was a new Sebastian. A Sebastian who was grieving and hurting beyond Astrid's imagination. She sought out his Spirit's threads; they shook uncontrollably, unraveling, bits of them dropping to the floor like tears.

It was harder to use this Sebastian.

Before she could rethink her plan further, Sebastian threw out his left hand and wrenched it from Abel's grip. Astrid caught the feeblest scent of soil, Earth's thread blossoming from the parchment of Pavel's Monverta, but her cuff had barely tightened before the book flew from Lambert's desk and into Sebastian's awaiting grasp.

His face glowed with vengeance. He tore open the book and held his bloody fingers over a bare page. "Tell me what to do, or I'll burn Pavel's Monverta to ash."

Even Matthias's lips fell into a small 'oh' of surprise. Lambert stretched forwards as far as Matthias's sword would allow. "You are willing to sacrifice a part of your soul for this?"

Sebastian didn't hesitate; his cheeks flushed a dark red. "My parents were willing," he seethed, "do not withhold this choice from me. It is mine alone to make as it was theirs."

"Bash," Abel began, "you're upset. Rightfully so, but don't—"

"There's no need to fear, halfling." Lambert cut her off. "Young d'Aximos will not have to forfeit anything, for he is Pavel's kin."

Sebastian stilled as severely as Matthias would on his best days. "Kin," he repeated. "Kin, how?"

"It took nearly a half century until Queen Branwyn and Lady Guinevere grew to distrust each other," Lambert explained. "Queen Branwyn's realm, the Elves, began to fear the power given to Guinevere, who had been nothing more than a mere human mortal. As their children grew into their elemental threads more powerful than their Elvish counterparts, their dissent grew."

Astrid huffed. "What does this history lesson have to do with Pavel?"

Lambert frowned—at her insolence, no doubt—but it provided a pause long enough to allow Matthias to do what he did best: summarize the information into a blunt, emotionless truth.

"Their bloodlines split. Lady Guinevere ended up with a man named Pavel Kyiva, thus her descendants evolved into the Kyiva line to which Sebastian belongs."

And took the Black Quill with her, Astrid added. She must have done so; it was how Pavel Kyiva knew where it was.

"So, Pavel Kyiva is not my father," Sebastian concluded.

Lambert inclined his head. "Possibly."

Abel scoffed. "The poor man would have to have been positively ancient to be Sebastian's father, so what do you mean by possibly?"

"At least two-hundred years," Sebastian corrected.

"Yes, so, as you see, you should have said, 'impossibly,'" Abel added.

Astrid said nothing. She had seen her fair share of impossible things in her lifetime. Sebastian's heart beat rapidly, the veins in his arms pulsing wildly beneath her grip.

To his credit, Lambert simply looked along the blade of Matthias's sword as if it alone held all the answers to the seven realms. "There are rumors."

"That this Pavel Kyiva bloke somehow lived for over two centuries?" Astrid asked.

"Regardless," Lambert resigned, "it does not change the fact that the carissénas is believed to be of the Kyvia line: the quill reforged to rewrite the realms' tomb." His hard stare found Sebastian's from across the room. "The Kyiva line held a history of passing down and protecting the Black Quill."

Astrid nearly screamed aloud. Aha! There! There was the irrefutable truth Astrid and her mother had been correct in the scheming all along. They had found the rumored hidden child of the Kyiva line. The quill was closer than it had ever been before. Yet, when Astrid thought it over, her eyes narrowed. Why would Lambert tell them any of this?

"You want the quill," she deduced. "That's why you want Sebastian. You think he has access to it."

But he was wrong. Sebastian didn't have it, not yet, anyways, and Astrid could get to it first.

The faintest blush of rouge flushed underneath Lambert's whiskered cheeks. "Sebastian is of the Kyiva bloodline and should be able to retrieve the memories of Pavel's soul held within the book, whether Pavel be alive or dead. It is what you are after, is it not?"

"Yes, but why do you want it—?"

A wild gust of wind blew into the office from windows that did not exist. It pulled Lambert's papers from his desk, sending them flying around the room without abandon. One slapped against the side of Astrid's face, obscuring her vision, and Sebastian took the opportunity to jerk out of her hold.

She crumpled the offending parchment and tossed it aside, spinning on her heel—

Sebastian's fingers moved in frenzied swirls; they directed Air's threads.

His power rattled her own.

He thrust his arm back to his side, Pavel's Monverta clutched against his stomach by his opposite hand. The wind stilled, and Sebastian scowled around the room, his mess of black hair swaying in the remnants of the breeze.

"Bash! Stop. What are—?"

For the first time, Sebastian ignored Abel's cries.

When he fell to the ground, he shoved the Monverta open across his knees. "I won't be used!"

A scent of soil raised from the ground, Earth's threads rising upwards, and before Astrid could think to prevent it, the elements ripped at the metal of her blade and wrenched it from her grasp.

Sebastian caught it. "This choice is mine." He slashed Astrid's blade across his wrist. Blood welled before he threw his broken skin into the Monverta's open pages. "And mine alone."

An invisible force nearly toppled Astrid over, face first into Lambert's revoltingly soft carpet. It came from Sebastian, the pull of his Soul's thread, the feel of him so familiar that she nearly ran to him. It seemed to wrap around her throat, branding her.

Her feet stumbled a half-step closer to him. "Seabass—?"

At the sound of her voice, his neck jerked, veins protruding from his skin as his head spun to look at her. Her gasp stuck in her throat.

His eyes shone cloudy and white, pupils rolled backwards into his brain, lost in whatever memory of Pavel's he had forced himself into.

And though she desperately wanted to—whether for her own means or for his—Astrid knew she could not follow. 

- - -

Pavel's memory is coming up next! What will Sebastien learn, I wonder? I can't believe this first book is almost DONE!

Thank you so much for your support and love!