Page 67 of Torn Ivy
I nod grimly, clutching the ancient tome. “I understand. Thank you for this.”
Mum steps forward, placing a hand on my cheek. For a moment, her regal facade cracks, showing the concern beneath. “Be careful, my son.”
“I will.”
Dad nods approvingly. “You’ve chosen well, Bram. She’s a worthy mate for a prince of the Dark Fae.”
I start to protest that it’s not just about me, that Tate and Torin are equally important to Ivy. But I realise now isn’t the time for that conversation. Instead, I simply nod.
“I need to go,” I say. “We don’t have much time.”
Mum waves her hand, and I feel reality shift around me. “We’ll send you back to the moment we pulled you from.” But then she leans to whisper in my ear. “Good luck, Bram. Tap into the Ancient Fae running through your veins. It is the only way.”
The throne room dissolves, and I find myself back in Cathy’s living room, the ancient book wriggling in my grip. Tate and Cathy are still arguing, frozen in the exact positions they were in when I was pulled away. Torin remains by the window, his back to the room.
“Enough,” I growl, my voice cutting through their bickering. “I know how to save Ivy.”
They all turn to stare at me, expressions ranging from hope to suspicion.
“How?” Tate demands, his eyes fixed on the writhing book in my grasp. “Where did you get that?”
I take a deep breath, steeling myself for their reactions. “I’ve been back home. Long story short, there’s a ritual. Ancient Fae magick. It can pull Ivy’s scattered essence back together, but...” I hesitate, knowing how they’ll react to the cost.
“But what?” Torin asks, moving away from the window.
“It requires sacrifice,” I say grimly. “Three sacrifices, to be precise. Blood, power, and spirit.”
The room falls silent as they process my words.
“What kind of sacrifices are we talking about?” Cathy asks, her eyes narrowed.
I explain quickly, watching their faces as understanding dawns. The blood sacrifice, a willing offering of life force. The power sacrifice, burning out a significant portion of one’s magickal essence, and the spirit sacrifice, giving up a fundamental aspect of self.
“I’ll do it,” Tate says immediately, his jaw set with determination. “Whatever it takes.”
“We all will,” Torin adds, moving closer. His eyes flick to Ivy’s still form on the couch. “She’d do the same for any of us.”
I nod, feeling a sense of dread that I’ve never experienced before. “It won’t be easy. The ritual will leave scars, both on us and on Ivy. She might not be the same after.”
“Better scarred than scattered,” Torin says grimly, echoing my earlier thoughts.
“We need to move fast,” I say. “My parents warned that the longer Ivy remains fragmented, the harder it will be to bring her back. We need to do this before…”
“Before what?” Tate demands.
I take a deep breath. “Before there’s not enough left of her original self to reconstitute.”
A heavy silence falls over the room.
“Where do we perform this ritual?” Cathy asks, all business despite the gravity of the situation.
“Right here in the garden,” I reply, shoving all personal emotions aside and adopting a more businesslike attitude. It is the only thing that will get me through this. “It’s a nexus point between realms, anyway, especially after Ivy tore it apart earlier. The veils are thin here.”
Tate nods. “We’ll need to move her carefully. In this state, who knows what dimensional shifts could do to her.”
Torin takes a step closer to her.
“No,” Tate says. “I will carry her.”
