On Foucault's reading, Baudelaire's modernity is an attitude that finds something eternally valuable in the present moment, while at the same time striving to transform it not by destroying it, but by grasping it in what it is.
He knows Things
I turn to look at the darkening sky outside, and another bolt of lightning
spears the clouds.
Hugging myself, I remember what Darius said all those months ago. I’d
suspected it for a while, and I’d seen it when we’d fought the basilisk.
There are rumors that Talan can not only control dreams, but the weather.
I cock my head. “Tell me, Talan. Why would anyone keep a primal
power a secret? Everyone thinks they’re gone from the world, but you
control the weather, don’t you?”
A flicker of surprise crosses his features. “The weather responds to my
magic. I wouldn’t say I have much control, and if I did, I would most
certainly keep it a secret, just like you tried to hide yours from me.”
“Right, because we both know what happened when you discovered
mine. Now, I’m your plaything.”
His eyes glitter like dark jewels, and his gaze sweeps down my body,
then up again. The dark, velvety feel of his magic wraps around me, making
my pulse race. “Not nearly as much as I’d like you to be.”
I stare up at him. “You and I don’t exactly go together.”
“And yet here we are, the only two people in the world with primal
powers. And I think you like me more than you let on. Even if you know
I’m evil down to my bones, some part of you wants a taste of my poison.
Underneath your pretty little uptight farm girl exterior, you hunger for
chaos. You crave adventure. You want the freedom to make bad decisions.”
His voice drops low, and a dangerous edge slides through his words. “And
what’s a worse decision than me?”
I swallow hard, trying to ignore the resonance of his words. After years
of trying to balance my mom’s bank account and make enough rent money
for both of us, sometimes I wanted to break everything. Burn it all down.
“And what led you to that conclusion?”
“You always had to be the
Reklam
BUSTED
With Nivene’s arm looped through mine, we walk into the snowy forest.
I’m wearing a cloak over my shoulders, and the sun has started to break
through the winter clouds. Still, the cold bites my skin.
Griflet stands by an oak tree and waves to us as we approach. We reach
him, and he leads us beneath a canopy of gnarled branches. Sunlight pierces
the twisted boughs, and icicles hang from the hawthorn trees like jewels.
As I walk, the ferns curling from the snow brush against my gown.
Talan stands by a wooden altar carved from an enormous oak trunk with
intricate swirls and twisting vines. It must have been here for ages because
it is clearly worn by time.
He looks perfect, as always. He’s wearing a perfectly fitted black suit
and a silver collar of order draped over his broad chest. In the center of the
collar is his ouroboros sigil. The midnight blue fabric of his garments looks
soft and seems to absorb the light.
His dark eyes find mine, and as they do, the air feels warmer, heavier.
Sometimes, when I look at him, it’s hard to remember that I’ve seen him
slit a man’s throat during dinner.
Branches arch overhead, forming a living cathedral that shielded the
ground from the snowfall. A carpet of moss leads to the altar. Glowing blue
butterflies perch on the boughs around us, and crimson berries dapple the
grove, vivid against the snowy branches.
As I step closer to Talan, he reaches for my hands. I slide mine into his.
I can’t quite read the expression in his eyes beneath those dark
eyelashes, just the faintest curve of his lips. Almost playful. I wonder how
much of this is simple rebellion, marrying a penniless peasant to piss off the
father he hates.
Griflet stands before the altar with a large book in his hands. He flips
through it, clearing his throat. “We are
If someone hasn’t been reading for a while, should they start with a bestseller? Is it OK to put down a book midway if I’m struggling? Does reading give me answers to my worries or a boost of motivation on bad days? If I’m too busy to read, will setting a timer help me focus?
The Truth Comes Out
My pulse is racing, electrified. I can’t keep this information to myself
forever. Even if I wanted to, Tana will piece it together, one reading at a
time.
Slowly, I say, “I know who he is.”
They turn to stare at me.
Sweat chills my skin. “When you gave me the reading, you told me he
represents one of my parents.”
Tana’s eyes widen. “Oh, right. Your father, I thought. Do you know who
he is?”
My blood roars, and I try to keep my tone light. “It turns out my father
lives on the lost island of Avalon.”
“Hang on, your what lives on the lost what of the what?” Darius stares
at me.
“That island sank,” says Serana. “Like Shalott. The war between Merlin
and Mordred drowned all the islands in the lake.”
My fingers dig into my palms. “No, Avalon is still there. I found it two
months ago. After Raphael was captured, I felt something calling to me
from the mist. I thought it was a Lady of the Lake thing. I ended up in a
boat, sailing through the fog. It was hidden by a veil, but I could get
through that with my Sentinel powers, and I found the lost island of Avalon.
It didn’t sink. It’s just hidden by a veil. And my father lives there. He’s been
there for fifteen hundred years.” My throat goes dry. “He said he could help
me save Raphael.”
They stare at me, mouths agape.
“You never said anything,” Serana said. “Why did you never—”
“It’s Mordred,” I blurt.
Serana’s jaw drops. “Mordred. As in…Mordred Kingslayer? The man
who slaughtered hundreds of people in this very tower?”
My stomach twists. “That’s the one.”
“That’s impossible,” Darius says.
He Faked being mad to help her
“Getting to know you, I learned we don’t all use magic the same way. You
channel the creative force through your emotions, not by blocking them. I
remembered reading something Merlin had written about magic, and it
didn’t make sense to me. Merlin said he used his emotions, his heartbreak
and love and anger, and that made his magic stronger. On our first mission,
I saw you disable the entire veil, fueling your power with fear. And your
anger at me gave you that explosive magic we saw on your final trial. It’s
what let you access a primal power for the first time in over a thousand
years, Nia. You’re like the grapes at Douloureuse Garde.”
“I’m like the grapes?”
The corner of his lips curl. “Remember? The vintners would stress them
to make them grow. They’d starve them of nutrients or water, and the
grapes would grow stronger and enhance the flavor. For you, stress can
make your magic thrive.”
I shoot him a sly look. “So, the fact that I thought you were an asshole
—that’s what turned me into the next Merlin?”
A wry smile. “I didn’t say ‘next Merlin.’”
“Have I mentioned the Avalon Steel, though?”
“I wonder if Nimuë trapped Merlin in the oak because he wouldn’t stop
banging on about his Avalon Steel,” he muses. “But yes. The fact you
thought I was, as you say, an asshole, helped you pass the Sentinel test. I
must admit, I didn’t anticipate just how angry it would make you.”
“You were very convincing.”
Across the street, the lights flick off in Caradoc’s library.
In the dark, all I can see is the glow of Raphael’s silver eyes.
“Might as well get some sleep while he does,” he says. “You take the
bed.”
Reklam
Reklam