A Frequency of Truth, page 31
Deirdre lingered by the doorway, her usual sharp criticism notably absent. Their eyes met across the chamber, and Deirdre gave a slight nod before departing.
As the others filed out, discussing patrol schedules and protection details, Ember remained at the table. The morning light caught the crystals marking the convergence points, casting rainbow patterns across the ancient wood. She felt the weight of each decision settling into her bones—the kill order, the alliance negotiations, the growing list of missing practitioners.
Eleanor’s weathered hand touched her shoulder. “You handled that well.”
“We’ll see if it makes a difference.” Ember straightened the papers before her, avoiding Eleanor’s knowing gaze.
“It already has.” Eleanor’s rings clinked as she gathered the last of her documents. “The council hasn’t been this united since…” She paused, letting the implication hang in the air.
“It’s refreshing to be able to speak my mind.”
Eleanor smiled. “The others would agree.”
Ember felt the subtle current of magic running through Thornhallow’s walls, a reminder of centuries of witch leadership. She pushed away thoughts of titles and succession, focusing instead on the immediate challenges—strengthening wards, protecting their people, preparing for D’Arco’s inevitable return.
The council chamber emptied, leaving Ember alone with her churning thoughts. She had meant every word about unity and decisive action. Now came the harder part—turning those words into reality.
Ember slipped out of Thornhallow under the cover of night, her steps quick and silent as she navigated the shadowed streets of Nightreach. She knew the council’s rules required her to travel with another member, but distrust still gnawed at her. If the Echo truly was the ultimate goal, she couldn’t risk involving anyone who might compromise her search.
She wove through back alleys, avoiding the main thoroughfares where she might be spotted, even though she wore plain clothes and a hood. After Thornhallow had answered her call for help, she’d become quite the celebrity.
Magical lanterns cast pools of light that she darted between, their glow reflecting off windows like watching eyes. Each step took her further from the safety of Thornhallow, breaking rules she’d sworn to uphold mere hours ago.
The irony wasn’t lost on her. Here she was, a council member sneaking about like a guilty apprentice. But after Beatrice’s betrayal, after Marina’s warnings, how could she trust Vesper and the Echo to anyone? Some wounds ran too deep.
A cat darted across her path, its eyes gleaming with reflected magical light. Ember froze, heart racing, before recognising it as just another of Nightreach’s strays. She pulled her cloak tighter, fighting off a chill that had nothing to do with the night air.
The rules existed for good reason—to prevent exactly the kind of corruption that had allowed Beatrice to operate unchecked. Yet sometimes protecting the Concordat meant working outside its boundaries. Ember only hoped she’d chosen the right path.
She paused at a crossroads where three narrow lanes met, each disappearing into darkness. The compass at her hip trembled, its enchanted needle swaying between paths before settling on the leftmost alley. Ancient cobblestones, worn smooth by centuries of footsteps, lined the way.
Her fingers brushed the rough stone walls as she walked, feeling the pulse of old magic beneath. The buildings here predated the Concordat itself, their foundations steeped in centuries of accumulated power. But tonight, that power felt different. Unstable.
The compass pulled harder, its casing warm against her hip. She unhooked it, holding it before her like a torch. Its glow cast strange shadows on the weathered walls, revealing traces of old ward-marks half-hidden beneath years of grime.
“What in the world?” Ember muttered, tracing a finger over one of the marks. The magic within it sparked and fizzled, nothing like the steady burn it should have held. These were foundation wards, part of Nightreach’s architectural stability. Their deterioration meant something was very wrong indeed.
She followed the compass deeper into the maze of streets. The air itself seemed to thicken, heavy with displaced magic that made her skin prickle. Even the ambient light from the city’s ever-present lanterns seemed dimmer here, as if something was drawing the power away.
Her fire magic stirred restlessly beneath her skin, responding to the disturbance. She’d learned long ago to trust those instincts. Whatever was causing this, it was more than just another failing ward or magical anomaly.
Ember halted at the edge of a wide courtyard, her breath catching at the sight of Saint Aldwin’s Cathedral—a place of power she knew held a nexus of multiple ley lines. Its broken towers clawed at the night sky and deep cracks ran through its walls, but the destruction looked far too fresh for a building this old.
Magic hummed in her bones as she crossed the threshold. The residual energy here felt wrong. Her own magic coiled tight within her chest, defensive against whatever had warped the cathedral’s natural resonance.
Scorch marks scarred the stone steps, still warm beneath her palm. Not from ordinary fire—these bore the distinctive pattern of battle magic. Recent too, but how recent? Magical residue like this could hold heat for days before dissipating. The air carried traces of hot metal and shadow magic, along with something else she couldn’t quite place.
She picked her way through the debris, noting how the destruction focused around specific points rather than showing general decay. Someone had fought here, and fought hard. The compass at her hip spun wildly, its needle unable to settle in the chaos of competing magical signatures.
Ember traced a finger along a fallen column, reading the magical residue. Light magic, shadow magic, and—her hand jerked back as if burned. Resonant magic. Vesper had been here.
She knelt, brushing her fingers over a patch of ash that glowed faintly with lingering energy. Her mind sharpened as she examined the site, piecing together what happened. The residual magic told a story her trained senses could read like a book.
Three distinct magical signatures radiated from the altar stone. Light magic—pure and focused, likely Vesper’s Resonant power. Shadow magic, twisted and corrupt, bearing the unmistakable taint of the mage who’d attacked the third trial—Cassandra. And something else, a desperate clash of energies that had torn at the very fabric of reality.
The ash beneath her fingers still held warmth, but it wasn’t from ordinary fire. This was the remnant of a ritual, one that had drawn deeply from the ley lines below. She probed the traces, conjuring flashes of the power that had surged through this space.
“Bloody hell,” she muttered, noting how the stone itself had partially melted in places. The amount of raw energy required to do that would have been astronomical. Even more concerning were the shadow-marks scored into the altar’s surface—signs of ritual items that were incredibly powerful.
Scuff marks in the dust showed where multiple people had moved during the conflict. Here, boot prints circling the altar. There, signs of someone being thrown against a wall. Blood droplets, now dried to brown, spattered across fallen masonry.
Ember crouched beside an ash outline, her fingers hovering above the residue. The shadow magic lingering in these remains bore Cassandra’s signature—but something else had torn through it, something far more potent. She’d seen enough battlefield aftermath to recognise death marks, but these weren’t from ordinary combat magic.
The shapes told their own story. One figure had been caught mid-stride, another with arms raised in desperate defence. Their final moments preserved in ash and scorched stone. Five outlines in total, each bearing traces of shadow corruption that made her skin crawl.
Her throat tightened as she examined the brutal evidence before her. The power Vesper had unleashed here had burned through Cassandra’s mages like paper in a furnace. The precision of it was terrifying—these weren’t the messy results of wild, uncontrolled magic. Each outline showed careful containment, the destruction focused solely on its target.
“Sweet mercy,” she whispered, noting how the stone beneath each outline had crystallised from the heat. Even Marina’s most powerful fire spells couldn’t achieve that level of transformation. This was Resonant magic in its purest form, channelled through the ley lines themselves.
The ash crumbled at her touch, still warm despite the hours that must have passed. No wonder the council had felt tremors—this much raw power would have sent shockwaves through every ward in Nightreach. She’d known Vesper was powerful, but this…? This was beyond anything they’d predicted.
A metallic taste filled her mouth as she moved between the remains. The air still crackled with residual energy, making her own magic spark and flutter beneath her skin. These mages hadn’t stood a chance. Even with Cassandra’s power flowing through them, they’d been overwhelmed in seconds.
Rising to her feet, Ember surveyed the cathedral’s ruins, her gaze sweeping across the shattered stonework and fallen columns. Moonlight filtered through the broken roof, casting strange shadows across the destruction. She traced the path of the battle, noting scuff marks and scattered debris that suggested a hasty retreat.
A ritual of this power could only mean one thing. Vesper was searching for the Echo—hopefully for all the right reasons. But where was she now?
The residual magic still hummed against her senses, but provided no clear direction. If Vesper had survived, she’d vanished into Nightreach’s maze of streets and gone into hiding. Finding her would be near impossible.
Ember stepped back, her magic brushing against the lingering energy of the battle one last time. Vesper’s magical signature felt tantalisingly close, the raw power still echoing in the stone, pure and devastating in its intensity.
There was nothing more she could learn from lingering here.
As she left the cathedral, Ember lifted her gaze to the darkened sky. Stars winked between clouds that seemed to gather and disperse with unusual speed, as if the very air above Nightreach responded to the magical disturbance below.
The council… She sighed sharply and pulled her hood up. Protocol demanded she report this immediately, but experience had taught her the value of discretion. This kind of power in the wrong hands was a recipe for disaster. But at least no one was out there trying to tear down Nightreach’s foundations. A brief blessing in a growing nightmare.
She had to get word to Vesper somehow. With Beatrice gone, the Concordat was now poised to assist, and Vesper would need all the help she could get in the coming days.
The magical residue at Saint Aldwin’s had confirmed her worst fears—Vesper wielded power beyond anything the Concordat had witnessed in centuries. Power that could either save or shatter their world.
“I hope you’re safe,” Ember whispered to the sky. “Wherever you are…”
Chapter 23
Vesper’s eyes burned as she stared at the parchment before her, the letters swimming across the page. Her hands trembled, still crackling with residual energy from the ritual. Three cups of tea sat cold and forgotten on the cramped desk, her mind focused on the scraps of paper despite her bone-deep exhaustion.
Her grimoire lay open beside it all, blank pages now writhing with new markings. Yet another mystery that needed decoding—symbols, images, words that she couldn’t understand.
The vision of the Echo haunted her. A massive standing stone, its surface carved with thousands of intricate runes that pulsed with an otherworldly light. But something was wrong—tendrils of shadow magic wrapped around it, concealing its true location from her.
She pressed her palms against her temples, trying to focus through the headache that had taken up permanent residence behind her eyes.
The sound of dripping water echoed from the sink in the kitchenette, a steady rhythm that matched the throbbing in her head. She’d killed someone. Five people, technically.
At first, she’d thought the other mages had escaped, but as she’d fled Saint Aldwin’s, she’d seen their ashes lying in perfect relief on the ground, the stone crystallised beneath them…though Cassandra’s death weighed heaviest. The shadow magic she’d wielded still lingered under her skin like static electricity, making her fingers twitch.
“You good?” Rafe asked, sitting beside her.
Vesper shrugged. “I’m just tired, I guess.” Her moonstone pendant pulsed gently against her chest, Rafe’s masking spell holding steady despite everything. But even that comforting weight couldn’t dispel the image seared into her mind—the Echo, waiting in darkness for someone to find it.
Rafe studied her for a moment. “Are these the symbols you saw in the vision of the Echo?”
“Yeah. Well, as close as I can remember.” Vesper traced her finger along a series of intricate symbols. “The Echo’s been bound with shadow magic, so I saw it, but not exactly where.”
Blair shifted a stack of weathered texts. “And you’re certain about what you saw?”
“It’s burned into my mind,” she murmured. “I close my eyes and I can still see it.” Her gaze fell on Selene’s final journal entry, the ink still fresh despite the weeks since her death. The words seemed to pulse with hidden meaning: The Echo feeds on memories, but memory alone cannot contain it.
Her fingers traced the intricate symbols she’d hastily sketched after the ritual. The parchment couldn’t capture how they’d shifted and writhed across the Echo’s surface like living things. Her hand trembled slightly as she drew another line, trying to capture the exact curve of a particularly complex rune.
“Shadow magic,” Blair went on. “Has D’Arco found it already?”
“It’s not D’Arco,” Vesper said. “The magic binding the Echo felt ancient, like it’s seeped into the very stone.”
Rafe leaned closer, his presence steady and warm. “Someone must have hidden it a long time ago.”
“Yeah.” Vesper rubbed her tired eyes, the symbols burning behind her eyelids. “Someone went to extraordinary lengths.”
Blair crossed her arms, studying the drawings from across the desk. “Hidden from who?”
“Everyone.” Rafe spread out several pages of sketches. “It took an incredible amount of power to reveal even this amount of information about it. They used shadow magic because it endures, because it seeps into the foundations of things and takes root. The Echo hasn’t been seen in a very long time. Long enough that it’s become a myth.”
“So, the shadow magic is going to be pretty nasty,” Blair muttered. “Great.”
Vesper’s fingers brushed over a series of interlocking symbols that seemed to pulse with remembered power. The shadow magic had felt different from Cassandra’s corrupted energy—older, more purposeful. Not meant to destroy, but to protect.
The pendant at Vesper’s throat grew warm as another wave of residual magic passed through her. She caught Rafe watching her, concern etched in the tight line of his mouth.
“The shadow magic,” Blair said, “it’s probably woven into protective wards, right? Like whoever did this wanted to shield the Echo from something specific.”
Rafe’s jaw tightened. He braced both hands on the desk, shoulders tense. “The amount of power required to maintain wards that complex for that long…” He shook his head. “It’s not just about keeping people away. It’s about containing whatever the Echo can do.”
Vesper’s fingers ghosted over the sketches, remembering how the dark energy had felt against her magic—ancient and deliberate, like the steady pressure of deep water. “The Echo is made of memories. It stores them, manipulates, forms them… What if…” The thought made her stomach twist. “What if hiding it was the only way to stop it from consuming everything?”
Blair straightened, her expression grave. “That would explain the shadow magic. It doesn’t just conceal—it binds, contains.”
“Imprisons,” Rafe added quietly.
The weight of that word settled over them. Vesper felt the truth of it in her bones, in the way her Resonant magic recoiled from the very idea. The Echo wasn’t just hidden—it was caged, sealed away by people who understood exactly what it could do.
The question of why hung between them, heavy as storm clouds. Vesper stared at her drawings, at the intricate patterns that had taken such power to reveal. What could be so dangerous that someone would go to such lengths to lock it away? And what would happen if those bonds finally broke?
“Maybe we shouldn’t go looking for it,” she said, glancing at the open grimoire. “Maybe it’s better left alone.”
“In an ideal world,” Blair said.
“I don’t think D’Arco will stop,” Rafe told her. “He’s an expert in shadow magic. Right now we’re a step ahead, but if he figures it out, then he’ll unbind it.”
“For better or worse,” Vesper whispered.
“Speaking of,” Blair went on. “D’Arco will probably be enraged about losing Cassandra. That’s a little more immediate than the Echo.”
Rafe’s hand tensed on the desk. “Shadow practitioners bind themselves to their masters. When that bond breaks…” He didn’t need to finish the sentence.
“How much time do we have?” Blair asked, already moving to check the archive’s entrance wards.
“None.” Rafe ran a hand through his hair. “He won’t waste time mourning her. If anything, he’s probably finding her replacement right now.”
Vesper’s fingers traced the edge of her sketches. “We still need to find the Echo’s location before he does. He’ll come after us, regardless.”
“These symbols,” Blair gestured at the parchments spread across the desk, “they’re our only lead. But decoding them will take time we might not have.”
“Then we make time.” Rafe moved to the archive’s stone walls, pressing his palm against them. “This place has strong foundations. We can layer more wards, set magical tripwires.”
Vesper felt the weight of their situation pressing down. “Will it be enough?”
“It has to be.” Rafe’s voice carried a steel edge she rarely heard. “We’ve got what Cassandra and D’Arco didn’t—you. The ritual didn’t just show you the Echo, Vesper. It connected you to it, and the Echo gave you a message.” He picked up several bits of parchment. “The symbols on the stone… It was trying to tell you something. And we haven’t even begun looking into the new pages in your grimoire. We just need time to piece it together.” He smiled. “And I know the exact person who can help.”
