Page 38 of Trials of Dusk and Dreams
“Knowledge is power,” Geraldine declares, waggling her finger in my face as I stoke the fire. “And your Radiants have a wealth of it tucked away here.”
An hour into our study session, exhaustion takes its toll. Peggy slumps over a reading table, lost to sleep. My muscles scream, a testament to our grueling day. I stand by the crackling fireplace, careful not to set my dress alight before I arrive at Burn After Reading later. Max yawns from his spot on the floor, book drooping in his hands. I shift a teetering log away from his direction with the poker. An ember could fly out at any moment.
Bodin’s earlier attack on Max still haunts me. Though healed, the inner scars linger—mostly mine. Max brushed off my apology. He defended Bodin and scolded me for pulling punches. “The Terrors won’t,” he’d said, determined to survive these trials with me.
That truth in my kind friend’s eyes stung. It’s one thing to take a punch; it’s another to witness me coldly gut an innocentperson. I might have to if other exhibitors attack us. Max is right. Bodin is right.
“You should rest,” I tell Geraldine as she disappears behind a bookcase. “We’re at the Nexus tomorrow. I have to go to B.A.R. tonight, but I can survive on little sleep. Take advantage of the extra hours.”
Her black, curly head pokes out. “We’ll go to bed when you leave. I need to feel . . . useful.”
“I understand that.” I set the poker aside, my mind wandering to the peculiarities of metal in Avorlorna.
As Geraldine returns, she finds me lost in thought. I seize the moment to check in.
“Hey, are you all okay after today’s training?” I ask softly.
Geraldine’s shoulders slump. “Mostly. But Peggy . . . she’s struggling. She’s been talking about her daughter more, wondering if she’s alive somewhere in Avorlorna or Nocturna. Her head’s not in the right place, and she’s worried she’ll distract you. Or get herself killed.”
My chest tightens. “Bodin is pushing too hard, scaring you all.”
“The trials will be terrifying,” Geraldine admits. “Maybe preparing us now is for the best. We could use this time to study the Nightmare Codex and learn what monsters we’re up against.”
“The Codex at the Nexus isn’t accurate,” I remind her. “It had false information about the Sluagh.”
Geraldine’s eyes spark with determination. “Then we’ll find a better source. There must be something in here to read. Max and I can do our own research.”
Pride swells in my chest. “That’s brilliant. Your due diligence could save our lives.”
She beams at the praise, and I feel a flicker of hope. Maybe we can face this together after all. My gaze returns to the metal poker, and I remember how Bodin gave us steel weapons.
“Magic in Elphyne flows purely for every fae,” I explain, voicing my earlier musings. “We’ve even had a human born without access to the Well who was then blessed. I asked Bodin a few days ago why the Folk can use metal and still cast magic. He said ancient faeries are only allergic to pure iron. Industrialization changed the rules and the Folk were slumbering during that time. When I woke Titania and the rest, they missed those changes. They don’t know the rules have shifted.”
“The Chaser chains . . . they’re metal, right?”
“Yeah.” I scratch my chin, brow furrowed. “The charms are like mana stones back home. Once magic is infused, it can exist isolated from the Well—or the Cauldron’s Wellspring, whatever we call it here.”
“Wait.” Geraldine’s eyes widen. “You said a human was gifted with this magic in Elphyne. Do you think we”—she swallows—“could receive the same gift if we start following these rules?”
My heart cracks. Sid’s gift came at a terrible price—the Guardian initiation ritual, a living nightmare. Eighty percent of initiates die. The Six have the blessing but are pawns in a divine game. I’ve never heard of any other humans born in this time suddenly receiving it. Like my mother, most humans woke up with magic. Some never realized they had it when they lived on desecrated soil, like in Crystal City, because their access was blocked.
Nero habitually stole manabeeze—wisps—directly from living bodies. Geraldine’s eyes are still hopeful as she waits for my answer. What if she had magic, but now she doesn’t? It could explain all the jars of wisps inside Titania’s temple.
I wince, a chill seeping into my bones. “What if you’ve already been given access to the Well?”
“What do you mean?”
Shit. The deeper my friends are embroiled, the greater the danger. If my suspicions are confirmed and Titania discovers it, Geraldine is dead. It’s bad enough I’m keeping secrets about my past. She’d never forgive me for hiding this. I’d want to know if it were me.
Taking a steadying breath, I dive in. “When we met, you told me about the Nevers, Nothings, and Chasers. The Nothings were easy to explain—imperfect, disabled, old, scarred.” I gesture at my face. “They didn’t fit Titania’s vision of a dream faerie society. Chasers, too—they’re mortals or lesser faerie chasing Radiant power. But you weren’t sure about Nevers. What if they’re called that because Titania stole their magic, like she did with me?”
Geraldine hugs herself, staring into the flames. “We’d remember having our magic stolen, wouldn’t we?”
“Not if she didn’t want you to. She’s a master at altering reality.” A full-body shiver rattles my spine when another thought occurs to me. “Did I ever tell you about the man who kidnapped me?”
She stills. “No. I mean, we all guessed something horrible happened to you but didn’t want to pry.”
I nod, eyes unfocused with oncoming memories. “He was”—the man who destroyed your world—“an evil human. He stole his daughter’s wisps during ‘treatments.’ Rory woke from your time with mana, powerful and ageless like the Folk. After treatments, she’d return cloudy-minded and forgetful. More aged while he looked younger . . . but remained mortal.”
