The next morning Dorian stood in the doorway, staring out at the empty, crumbling houses. Several times during the night he had gone in to check on Leonie, spending long hours sitting beside her bed, just watching her. His worry for her had only grown.
In those quiet hours he'd agonized over the right decision. Should he send two of his friends home to his father with the news of the failed meeting? Or should he turn this ruined village into a temporary base until Leonie recovered? His sense of duty raged deep inside, but in the end he chose the latter.
At dawn he had told his friends of his decision. Xavier hadn't been pleased, but the others took the rebellion surprisingly well. Dorian had sent Marcus, Xav and Nir out to scout the surrounding area for anything suspicious. With Leonie's condition as it was, he doubted they could move on anytime soon, so he had to take every precaution against being ambushed.
"So what's your theory?" he asked without turning when he heard someone approach.
Filarion appeared at his shoulder, coming from Leonie's room. He leaned against the doorframe beside Dorian, studying the landscape in thoughtful silence. After a few minutes he finally spoke.
"My theories are rather unbelievable," he said.
Dorian raised a brow and turned his head toward him.
"Let's hear them."
He already suspected what Filarion was about to say, but he needed to hear it from someone else.
"Her magic is… fluctuating. Sometimes I sense it very strongly, other times it's barely there. The headaches get worse when her magic flares. There's only one explanation—the potion has been suppressing it all this time."
Dorian nodded slowly. He had come to the same conclusion during the night.
"What kind of potion do you think it is?" he asked, but Filarion shook his head.
"That I don't know. It might come from our ancient book. That would make sense. During the war, our people were weakened by the book's use—we still bear the scars of that. And here, on human soil, it's much harder for us to wield magic at all. It's possible that destructive knowledge survived among humans…"
"Or the book truly is in their possession," Dorian finished the thought they were both skirting around.
A heavy silence settled between them, broken only by Marcus's arrival.
"No one out there. Xav and Nir will stay outside until nightfall," he reported, coming to stand with them. "What's the verdict in here?"
He listened attentively as Dorian walked him through their findings and suspicions. By the time he finished, Marcus's face had grown darker and darker.
"We have to take her home. Maybe one of the elder healers will know what we're dealing with."
Dorian shook his head.
"It's too late. It's at least two weeks to our borders. I won't risk moving her like this."
"So you'd rather leave her here to die for sure?" Marcus's voice grew sharper, frustration creeping in.
"Calm yourself," Filarion interjected gently. "We don't actually know what's happening to her yet. We only have theories. Most likely her suppressed magic is trying to break free."
"Yeah? You saw what she can do now. What do you think will happen if a long-lost branch of magic—one we know almost nothing about, one that's been chained down inside her for twenty years—suddenly explodes? Because I'll tell you what I think: it will kill her. And it might take us with her."
Filarion glanced at Marcus, then at Dorian.
"That's… possible," he admitted.
They fell silent again. The weight of that truth dragged at Dorian's heart, pulling him backward through time. For a moment he was standing once more at the foot of a bed three hundred years ago, rooted to the spot in helpless horror as healers struggled to save Elora and the newborn child they'd never known. That was the day he'd sworn never again to let things slip out of his control.
Now, centuries later, it was all happening again. He cursed the moment he'd set foot on human soil.
He forced himself back to the present and rubbed his eyes.
"In that case, you two need to go back to my father," he said at last, turning to his friends. "I'll stay here with her and see it through to the end."
Filarion and Marcus exchanged a look. Understanding flickered between them, as if they were reading his thoughts.
"Forget it, my friend," Marcus snorted, and before Dorian could protest, he marched into the house and headed straight for his room to wash up.
"I don't think you're the one making this decision," Filarion added with a soft smile, resting a hand briefly on Dorian's shoulder before he too left him there and walked down the hall toward Leonie's room.