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  He put his knife down on the table before he looked at Nora. “Maybe you should consider whether feeling in command of your own fate is more important than being able to use magic. Don’t confuse the two.” He swept his wood shavings from the table into one calloused palm and threw them into the fire.

  “You’re feeling better, aren’t you?” I asked the room at large, but I meant the Faerene. I could see them relaxing despite the impact of Digger’s challenge.

  Instead of being braced to endure, Rory now lounged in his chair with something approaching his normal slouch.

  I wasn’t using magic at all and I didn’t try to sense for it. Nonetheless, the strengthening rightness of my actions rang through me. Connecting the orb and spindle was exactly what I should be doing.

  “The magic flows are disappearing,” Istvan said. As we all jerked into horrified alertness, he added hastily, “Not in a bad way. As the magic flows spin into yarn, that yarn disappears into nothingness.”

  Rory blinked at Istvan, shook his head, and glanced at Nora. “Vanishes into nothingness? Doesn’t that alarm you?”

  “On the contrary.” A griffin’s beak made smiling impossible, but the tilt of her head and faint ruffling of her wings spoke of satisfaction verging on smugness. “It is as Yngvar predicted. The spindle neutralizes the oppugnant possibilities from the magic flows, thereby reducing the catalysts for conflict and stabilizing the magic.” She clacked her beak. “Stabilizing in the sense of reducing unexpected outcomes from the use of magic. The true stabilization of Earth’s magic flows requires us to exploit this period of calm to restore the ancient mages’ latticework.”

  Jarod coughed. “But, um, that failed, didn’t it?”

  Quossa stamped a foot and Nora agreed with her boss. “No, it did not. When Amy activated the orb, she broke the stable pattern of millennia. We will replace the quintessences and wind the magic flows through the latticework, and Earth will be stable.”

  “Amy did what she did at the Fae Council’s command because you failed to detect both the unnatural stability of Earth’s magic pattern and the existence of the bathumas.” Rory’s voice was a dangerous growl. “You failed.”

  “I wasn’t blaming Amy,” Nora began.

  Thane coughed. “The scientists exiled from the bunker are keen for news, especially if they are permitted to return to the bunker and their toys.”

  Nora’s tail lashed. “We have expensive, sensitive instruments—”

  “That cannot be reactivated until the magic flows in and around the bunker are stable,” Thane interrupted. He wasn’t angry like Rory who glared across me at Nora, but Thane bit off every word with a curt impatience that contrasted with the casual manner in which he’d listened to Jarod’s story of our adventure. “Yngvar briefed Daud and I on the procedure for lifting the moratorium early. Bunker first, then assessment of global magic flows, then contact with Yngvar and Harold on Civitas.”

  Quossa whinnied, and when that sound got our attention—and a unicorn stallion’s neigh was loud—he nodded his head emphatically at Nora.

  “Then you must watch the magic flows here,” she answered him ungraciously.

  I glanced at Istvan who was already monitoring them.

  He hadn’t intervened in the flare up of tension between the golden griffin and Rory. “I believe Chad would be interested in hearing of results here and Vila eager to return to her responsibilities at the bunker. I would like to know if they are feeling the magic sickness ease as we have noticed here.”

  Nora’s ruffled feathers smoothed. “I will consult with Chad. If the bunker is deemed useable, I will send him with a message to you, and he can stay to monitor Amy.”

  I wasn’t sure if that challenge was for Rory or not because the person Nora glared at was Thane.

  The orc nodded. “Daud will let your messenger through.”

  “Chad is a scientist!”

  Istvan addressed Quossa. “If you’re monitoring the magic flows, I might step out for a moment?”

  Quossa nodded.

  “Shall we?” Istvan escorted Nora out of the cookhouse.

  Nils watched through a window, while the rest of us—minus Quossa who concentrated on the spindle, having taken Istvan’s place beside me—relaxed. When he judged that Istvan and Nora were out of hearing range, Nils had a brief comment. “The responsibility is too much for her.”

  Sympathy was conspicuously absent from his judgment of Nora.

  Some people coped with crises better than others, and everyone had a breaking point. Problems occurred when authority resided in the hands (metaphorically speaking) of someone who couldn’t handle the accompanying responsibility.

  Jarod raised his hand, schoolboy fashion. “I have a question.”

  It was a good attempt at lowering the emotional temperature. Thane chuckled. Rory didn’t.

  It turned out that Jarod’s question was pertinent.

  “Who is Yngvar?”

  Rory relaxed a fraction. “Nora is bunker chief here. Yngvar is bunker chief for the bunker near Civitas in the White Mountains. During the sealing of the Rift, he was the analyst responsible for identifying magical hotspots and erasures, and advising Istvan on where to draw or release magic to manage the strain on the global system. People respect his work. He was also the foremost expert on global magic patterns on Elysium. He has studied each of the worlds Faerene have migrated to.”

  Nils tapped the hilt of a knife against the stone wall. “Yngvar put his professional reputation behind this Migration, advocating the opportunity to live within a uniquely stable magic pattern.”

  I closed my eyes, just for a second. On the one hand, it was good that we had an expert in charge of the emergency response. On the other hand, Yngvar’s judgment could become clouded by ego. The disruption of Earth’s stable magic damaged his reputation.

  “Yngvar is confident he can restore the latticework pattern,” Thane said. “Activating the orb pulled the quintessences out of the latticework, but Yngvar has recordings of their position as well as the orb’s account of how they were embedded originally. He believes it’s a simple repair job. We replace the quintessences and the magic flows return to the pattern they’ve followed for millennia. He needs the magic flows to settle, and Amy and the world spindle are providing that window of opportunity. Yngvar and his team will be ready to act.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Nils said bleakly. He tapped the knife hilt a final time, spun the blade, and replaced it in its sheath. “If we had to live with feral magic, that would change everything.”

  Chapter 9

  The magic flows were more volatile than they had been, but no more volatile than in places on Elysium. Istvan inhaled the wild smells of the forest with the chill of snow in the air. Freed of the pressure of existing amid chaos, he could allow himself a moment in which to acknowledge how bad he’d felt.

  Daud lurked close by, watching as Nora vanished into the forest. “Interesting evening. Feels better with the magic flows steadying.”

  Istvan had seen the guard dragon peering in the cookhouse windows, unabashedly surveilling the conversation and events inside. A dragon’s hearing, with or without magic, should never be underestimated.

  “Walk the circuit with me,” Daud invited.

  Aware that the dragon wouldn’t request his time and energy merely for companionship, Istvan fell into step. The cleared campground allowed them to walk side by side despite their size.

  “FMF, the scientists are calling it. Feral Magic Fever. They have some theories about it. Nora’s second-in-command is a goblin. He was so sick that they carried him out of the bunker. Vila insisted that they all vacate the bunker during the moratorium, which was smart of her. Each of them would have been tempted to use ‘just a little magic’ to protect their pet projects if they’d stayed.” Daud reared back and pinched a claw together to mock the “just a little” plea.

  He dropped back to four legs and resumed his steady pace. “Vila solved her problem, but passe
d it along to Thane and me. The scientists wanted to impose their undisciplined selves on us. If they couldn’t be trusted in the bunker, why would we trust them near the orb? That’s what I told Nora. We won’t risk the orb being in the vicinity of their curiosity.”

  “So Thane said, and I agree. But how is Chad?”

  “Oh, the goblin. Yes. He recovered far better than anticipated. He reported a sensation akin to a mild hangover, but was functioning better than his colleagues, including those who’d slept as long as him. His own hypothesis is that he’d used what magic he could extensively in the bunker and that made his FMF worse. However, as a goblin he naturally channels far less magic, so once he ceased employing magic the feral magic affected him less than higher magic affinatives—his term for people like you and me, griffins and dragons. People who naturally channel and use a lot of magic in daily life.”

  Istvan didn’t comment. Chad’s hypothesis was a logical one. Istvan’s attention returned to consideration of Amy’s connection to the world spindle and orb.

  “The older human in your expedition raised an important issue,” Daud said to the stars.

  He recaptured Istvan’s attention, and the dragon knew it. He smirked, still looking skyward. “I would include Digger as a champion of the orb alongside Thane and me.”

  Few things startled Istvan. This did. “Really?”

  “Of course. He is a protector, like you and me. But he can’t guard the orb or spindle because he has chosen a different treasure. He guards Amy. Rory recognizes this.”

  This side topic was too intriguing for Istvan to ignore. “Digger doesn’t protect Amy alone. He protects their adopted family.” Understanding struck, and Istvan clacked his beak in self-reproach. “I am dull. When they joined Justice, Digger chose to stay as a farmer, looking after their smallholding. I didn’t see that he chose the role that would let him defend their home base. He is an ex-army sergeant. I assumed he found peace working the land.”

  Daud snorted brimstone smoke.

  Flicking his tail in shared amusement, Istvan shot him a wry look. “Even magistrates fall victim to romantic explanations, on occasion.” He meant romantic in the sense of allure, excitement and wishful thinking.

  Daud interpreted it otherwise. “Rory is one of the rare protectors who has found a mate who can accept his nature. People like us, we don’t compromise. Being ready to make the tough decisions, to take lives, including sacrificing our own, is hard for a mate to accept. Nora won’t.”

  Before Istvan could do more than freeze in shock at the sudden, sharply personal observation, Daud continued. “Digger identified the weakness that will trouble our Migration. Faerene identity is closely wrapped up in our magical ability. There are degrees of difference. As an orc, Thane prides himself on his mundane abilities, particularly his fighting prowess. He was mildly affected by FMF. Those like him who use little magic will emerge from this crisis with a different understanding of it than those whose natural abilities were curtailed, whether that was our flight ability or unicorn telepathy. Those of us who are usually the most powerful experienced what it is to not be in command of our bodies and lives. People generally respond badly to a salutary experience. No one enjoys being humbled.”

  As Istvan stopped, Daud continued his patrol, leaving the griffin with a beakful of worries, both personal and in his role as a magistrate.

  It wasn’t like Istvan to consider personal issues first, but he did this time.

  Did Nora love the idea of him, and not the reality of who he was and what his responsibilities meant?

  And since he was indulging in an introspective moment, was the pang in his chest for the loss of their potential relationship, the loss of her, or was it more general? Had her confession of being in love with him woken an envy for what Rory had found with Amy?

  There were female griffins in the Migration who shared Istvan’s warrior spirit. They wouldn’t admire it, as Nora did. They lived it. If he desired a relationship—and he wasn’t sure he did—he ought to consider what he required in a partner.

  For a start, they’d have to be able to accept his human family.

  Amy’s family and her and Rory’s pack were polite to Nora, but not welcoming. And for her part…

  Ignoring the cold, Istvan preened his wings. How wise was Daud? There were crucial matters beyond Istvan’s heart involved in the question of Nora’s integration with the people Istvan had come to value and care about.

  To what extent would Faerene scientists be willing to sacrifice humanity to stabilize the magic flows? If they restored the latticework pattern that had locked away human magic for millennia, would humans lose magic forever?

  Did the Faerene have the right to sacrifice others, unasked, for their own survival?

  “We did when we sealed the Rift,” Istvan whispered. The question cut him to the heart. He believed in justice and balance. Had the Faerene created a precedent where humans were an acceptable sacrifice to expediency?

  Chapter 10

  No one had gone to bed, although watching me simply sit there maintaining contact with the orb and spindle was hardly riveting. For those of us from Justice, our body clocks didn’t recognize this time as sleeping time despite the darkness. For Quossa and Thane, they were focused respectively on monitoring and guarding the orb and spindle.

  Although Thane’s stated duty was only to protect the orb.

  From lightly touching the spindle, my fingers curled around it.

  Quossa immediately snuffled interrogatively.

  “Just an idle movement,” I said. But in truth, the spindle felt like my responsibility. Xi, the kraken, had entrusted humanity’s orb to Istvan and me, and I’d passed the responsibility for deciding whether and when to reveal it to the other Faerene solely to Istvan. If a similar question was asked of me now about the spindle, I’d choose differently.

  The spindle was mine.

  I couldn’t “see” any magic bonds between it and me, but something had grown unwatched. Maybe it was as basic as me no longer believing that the Faerene comprehended Earth’s magic better than me. However, my possessive motivation felt as if it had deeper, more positive roots. The spindle and I belonged together.

  Istvan entered, bringing with him a rush of air that set the candleflames dancing. Nils had extinguished all but one oil lamp in favor of three candles placed around the room. Istvan’s glance swept over us and returned to me.

  I smiled slightly, both to assure him that I was okay and because he seemed better. The magic sickness had revealed how vulnerable even the most powerful Faerene could be. I was glad to witness Istvan moving with his usual air of command.

  Not that he ever imposed himself, outside of his magisterial duties.

  He settled down in his former spot furthest from the stove. “Digger, mine is a personal question, but would you mind explaining why you chose to join Amy and Stella in preparing for the apocalypse?”

  Digger studied Istvan for a moment.

  Everyone did, but Thane’s gaze swept back from Istvan to Digger before focusing on me.

  And the fact that I knew where the orc’s attention rested made me aware that to some degree I considered him a threat to be watched.

  “Stella and Amy approached Mike at his garage, asking if anyone among the veterans—former soldiers—he knew would be willing to take on working and guarding Stella’s farm alongside her and Amy. Stella did the talking and I’d heard of her around town. A good woman, smart and level-headed. Her farm had the potential to be either a solid home base or a target. Amy was the unknown, but she was why I agreed.”

  “Me?”

  He gave me his slight, close-mouthed smile before glancing down at my hands as they rested on the orb and spindle. “Not for pervy reasons.”

  “Well duh.” I borrowed an old pop culture reference. Digger had never ever given that vibe. “From the beginning we agreed to be true allies. Family. I never second-guessed it. Our new family felt right even as we grew.” I smiled at Jarod.
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  He grinned back. “I’m the best brother ever. Just ask Craig.”

  Rory snorted.

  Jarod added an explanation for Quossa and Thane. “Craig’s my brother. We fight.” But without real animosity. Jarod stayed silent regarding his other brother, Ryan, who’d died in New York at the beginning of the apocalypse.

  “You are absolutely the best brother,” I said quietly.

  Maybe all the love I felt for him and our cobbled together family showed. At any rate, Jarod’s expression also melted. “Love you, honey.”

  “Amy’s a visionary,” Digger said to Istvan.

  I jolted. “What?”

  He nodded. “That’s why I joined you and Stella. Some of the missions I went on as a soldier…you didn’t survive by following the regs. Regulations. Back when I was a corporal, Captain Gonzales led the unit. He didn’t view the world the same as everyone else, and he got us home. That’s what I saw when you walked into Mike’s garage with Stella.”

  A spark of humor lit his eyes as he scanned our dumbfounded expressions. He stretched and rolled his shoulders. “Rich college girl. Smart. Beautiful. You could have done anything when the apocalypse was announced. A regular person would have tried to return somewhere familiar. Failing that, they’d have sought out familiar people.” He smiled at me. “I love Stella, but she’s not someone you’d have ever met.”

  Stella was a country woman, a farmer’s wife, practical, land rich and cash poor. She’d received a high school education and been glad to let her formal education rest there. She was also old enough to have embraced an ornery, eccentric reputation. She did what she wanted, wore what she wanted and said what she wanted.

  “Stella’s kickass in her own way,” Jarod said.

  Digger agreed. “Not disputing that. But would someone like Amy was have run in your circle before the apocalypse?”

  Jarod opened his mouth. Closed it. Seriousness crept into his expression. “Not when she was a college girl.”