Because if you could bring a king back from madness, you could bring your cornerstone, your brother, back from the dark.
Containment.
Compression.
Like it was in Mama’s office. With Feng.
Only this time the fire didn’t go out.
It grew until it raged.
And that’s what Myrin wanted.
He was waiting—
—FOR ME in the labs. I hadn’t spoken to him in four days, not after the whole Ryan mirage incident. I had been so pissed at him for tricking me that I’d stormed off, staying in my room, only coming out late at night when the castle was dark and silent to scrounge for food in the kitchen. The third day, I thought I h
eard Randall standing outside my door, but no knock ever came, and I told myself I was hearing things. I’d been standing shirtless in front of a full-length mirror next to an ancient wardrobe, tracing the scars across my chest, trying to find a pattern that would make sense. I wondered if Myrin had the same marks upon him now. I thought it was possible.
But on the fourth day, I was done. With all of this.
So I found myself in the labs, clutching my Grimoire to my chest, wondering if I was doing the right thing. I told myself I was, but I couldn’t be sure. I had so many questions. I was conflicted. My heart hurt for Morgan. For Randall. For myself, for being put into this position.
Randall sat in front of the fire, hands in his lap, a vacant look on his face. He looked smaller than I’d ever seen him. More frail. His skin was pale, his face heavily lined and wrinkled.
I coughed.
He looked up, startled.
“Hi,” I said quietly.
“Sam. I see you’re out and about.”
“Astute observation, as always.” I cringed internally at the unintentional snark.
He smiled. It was faint, but it was there. “Something you know very little about, I’m sure.”
I breathed a small sigh of relief, my shoulders losing their tension. There was something normal about the way Randall and I sniped at each other. It put me more at ease.
I took another step toward him, trying to find the right words to say… what, exactly? I wasn’t quite sure, but I knew I needed to say something. After everything I’d learned, after what I’d figured out about Randall and Morgan and Myrin, something needed to be said.
But maybe I’d already said enough. Or rather, everything I needed to say. Because a wizard’s Grimoire was their legacy, a wizard’s Grimoire was their journal, but it was also a way for them to work out problems until there was a solution, to give voice to thoughts that couldn’t necessarily be said aloud. Morgan had taught me that.
So when I said, “I’m ready,” I meant it.
The fire snapped and crackled as he stared at me for the longest time. I tried not to squirm as I held his gaze. Finally he said, “Are you?”
I nodded.
“Why?”
“Because I have to be,” I said honestly. “It’s the only way that I stand a chance—that we stand a chance. You and Morgan have told me that a wizard is supposed to have his secrets. But I don’t know if I can do that anymore. They’re heavy, Randall. The weight of them. And I’m tired of carrying them on my own. Aren’t you?”
He smiled sadly at me. “More than you could possibly know.”
I nodded as I moved forward. I didn’t stop until he was within arm’s reach. I could feel the heat of the fire. I hesitated, but it was only for a moment.
Then I held out my Grimoire.