Page 46 of Blood Currents
“I’m going with you,” I said, standing to meet his gaze head-on.
His eyes narrowed, fire flickering just beneath his control.“Keane—”
“My magic is stable,” I interrupted, opening a portal to the auditorium with barely a thought.The silver-edged window held perfectly steady as I added another to the library and then a third to the outer gates.All of them hummed with clean energy, no trace of corruption.“Stable enough to get us out of whatever trap we might be walking into.”
Aurora let out a low whistle of appreciation.“He’s right.That’s better control than I’ve seen from most trained portal mages.”
“Three simultaneous stable portals,” Elio observed, his mask slipping enough to show genuine respect.“Without strain.Impressive.”
Cyrus looked between the stable portals, clearly fighting his protective instincts.“If you’re recognized—”
“Then I portal us away before anyone can react,” I said, closing the gateways with gentle precision.“My power makes this mission safer, not more dangerous.You know that.”
“He’s right,” Elio added, his illusions steadying slightly as he focused on tactical considerations.“Keane gives us the fastest, cleanest exit strategy possible.”
Marigold moved to stand beside me, her support solid and unwavering.“If something goes wrong, Keane is our best chance of getting out alive.”
The weight of their trust settled around me like armor.For weeks, I’d been the broken one, the liability they had to protect and heal.Now I could be the one who kept them safe.
The silence stretched as Cyrus weighed options, his fire magic casting shifting shadows on the sanctuary walls.Finally, he exhaled, the fight leaving his shoulders.“Fine.But we plan this properly—contingencies for every possible outcome, exit strategies, communication protocols.”
“Agreed,” I said.
Aurora’s smile was small but genuine.“Then I’ll be your alibi here.Study sessions, training workshops, whatever story needs telling.If anyone asks where you are, you were never gone.”
As they began discussing routes and backup plans, I felt Marigold’s hand slip into mine.She didn’t look at me, her attention focused on the tactical conversation, but the touch was grounding—reassurance, trust, quiet connection that needed no words.
Cyrus caught the motion, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly before he forced his attention back to the maps Elio was conjuring.The air between them thrummed with unspoken tension, charged with possibility and restraint in equal measure.
I watched them all—the girl who’d saved me from my uncle’s corruption, the boy learning to be more than his family’s perfect weapon, and the man who burned with barely controlled fire and wanted her with an intensity that was impossible to miss.We stood in the same space, bound by shared purpose and tangled emotions, everything between us more complicated than any of us had planned.
But as sunlight streamed through the enchanted glass above us, warming the ancient stone, I felt something I hadn’t experienced in years settling in my chest.
Hope.
Not the desperate, grasping kind that had sustained me through the worst of the corruption.This was steadier, built on the foundation of people who’d chosen to fight for each other despite impossible odds.
“Ready to save the world?”Marigold murmured, her thumb brushing across my knuckles.
“Ready to try,” I said, meaning it completely.
22
Elio
The Lightford estate looked exactlythe same as when I’d left for the academy—pristine hedges, gleaming windows, every detail arranged to project wealth and power.Nothing had changed, except me.
I stood in the circular drive, my travel bag at my feet, watching the familiar performance begin.Mother emerged from the front entrance with her perfect smile, Father close behind with his calculated warmth.Even the servants had been positioned just so, creating a tableau of familial welcome that would have fooled anyone watching.
But now I could see it for what it was—theater.And I was still playing my assigned role, even knowing the script was written in blood.
“Darling,” Mother said, pulling me into an embrace that felt like being hugged by marble.“You look wonderful.Academy life clearly agrees with you.”
“It does,” I said, slipping into the role as easily as putting on a well-tailored coat.The words came automatically, perfectly modulated.Even knowing what she was, I couldn’t help but seek her approval.Eighteen years of conditioning didn’t break overnight.
Echo shifted uneasily on my shoulder, her scales flickering between silver and dull gray.She’d been agitated since we’d left Wickem, sensing the emotional minefield I was walking back into.
We settled into the blue parlor, and I took my usual place in the performance.The dutiful son, home for the holidays, eager to share his academic progress.The role fit like a second skin, even as it choked me.
