Page 98 of Poison Sun

“I am but its guardian, tasked with protecting it until the rightful heir was ready to claim it,” she continues. “So, I’ve kept it safe, waiting for the day it would be reclaimed. For this moment, right here, right now.”

“Thank you,” he says, looking more serious than ever.

Langwerda gives him a long, hard look.

I prepare myself for her to reach over the table and snatch the quill from Blaze’s hand.

Instead, she stands, moving to a shelf to retrieve a small inkwell filled with a shimmering liquid. “This is a binding oil, infused with herbs and magic from this realm,” she explains, bringing it back to us. “Dip the tip of the quill in the oil and write the Latin word for ‘bind’ on your skin. Religo. The quill will recognize you as its master, tethering its power to you for as long as you live.”

For as long as you live.

It’s a big responsibility. If he does this, there’s no turning back.

He’ll do it. My magic doesn’t always work perfectly, but it brought us here for a reason.

And so, I hold my breath, waiting.

Blaze hesitates, not reaching for the quill. Instead, his eyes meet mine, and the entire world stills around us. He’s looking at me like he did last night and just now in the rose garden—like he’s opening his soul to me.

Maybe all between us isn’t lost.

But my relationship with him isn’t the prime concern right now. Because I care about him, and this is a pivotal moment in his life.

“This is your decision,” I tell him, meaning it. “I support you, no matter what you choose to do.”

Langwerda sits back, seemingly supporting my mentality.

Then, with a nod that feels like a silent pact between us, Blaze reaches for the vial. His fingers are steady as he uncaps it, betraying none of the hesitation that flashed in his eyes a moment ago.

The scent that rises is both ancient and invigorating. Smokey, like a campfire that’s been burning long through the night.

Then, slowly, he rolls up his sleeve, revealing the smooth skin of his forearm.

Seeing it reminds me of the scar I have on mine, from when he saved my life.

Taking a deep breath, he dips the tip of the quill into the pot and brings it to his forearm. And then, with a steady hand, he begins to write religo.

He’s digging deeply enough that the ink merges with his blood, and while I know it hurts, he doesn’t so much as flinch.

When he finishes, the word glows red, pulses, and absorbs into his skin.

The scar left behind is the same crimson shade as the quill.

When he looks back up, his eyes are so fiery that they glow with magic. It’s so hypnotizing that it takes my breath away.

“Do you feel different?” I ask him.

He flexes his arm, studying the scar with a mixture of awe and acceptance. “Yes,” he answers. “It’s like a part of me has awakened. A part I never knew I was missing.”

“The bond is complete,” Langwerda declares. “The Crimson Quill is now an extension of your will. Its magic is yours to command. And remember—it holds the power to create, to change, and to destroy. Use it wisely.”

“I will,” he says, as serious as ever. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, young scripter,” she says. “You should also know that when I was given the quill, I was given a phrase. Extraho et infundo. Extract and infuse.”

“Extract the potion from Amber,” I realize. “Infuse it into the compass.”

“I do not know who Amber is, or what this potion and compass are that you speak of,” she says. “All I know is the phrase I was given.”

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