“This was the first seat of our Order,” Keiran continued. “According to our records, they were the ones who built Aldryn College, selecting this precise location for its closeness to Dovermere. They say the Fountain of Fate flows with water from the heart of Dovermere, which the first Selenics believed was the very birthplace of the Tides themselves.”
He ran a hand through the glowing pool. “It’s with this water that they made the first synthetic magic, the diluted kind you saw earlier tonight. And it’s with this water that we were able to experiment with something stronger. Our way of accessing other magics no matter our tidal alignment or the moon phase ruling the sky.”
Emory looked at the pool, at the thrones and the Selenics sitting upon them like kings and queens. “Why not hold the soiree here instead of the lighthouse?”
“The Treasury always belongs to the current cohort,” Virgil drawled from his seat. “Those old bags had their time in the limelight when they were at Aldryn. Now it’s ours.”
This earned smiles from Louis and Javier.
“The Tidal Council watches over the Order at large, but here at Aldryn, we’re the ones steering the ship,” Keiran added. “The introduction soiree only serves to present candidates to the Order’s alumni, and we take care of the rest. We make the initiates swear their inaugural oaths, give them their preliminary trials, prepare them for the Dovermere initiation, and finally induct those who survive it into the Order.”
He moved to stand in front of her. The subtle smell of his cologne was intoxicating, his eyes more teal than hazel in the glowing pool’s ethereal reflection. “And tonight, we welcome the first Eclipse-born into our ranks. Our very own Tidecaller.”
A sneer from Lizaveta. “Call her by her proper title, Keiran. She’s a Tidethief.” Her contempt was icier than the cavern’s damp seeping into Emory’s bones. “That’s what it is, isn’t it? You leech magic off those around you, magic that doesn’t belong to you. Just like the Shadow stole the Tides’ magic from them.”
Virgil snickered at that, and Lizaveta snapped, “Something funny, Virgil?”
He waved his hand toward Emory in a nonchalant manner. “How is her magic any different from what we’ve been doing with the synths? We took Nisha’s blood to borrow her Sower magic.” He craned his neck to look at Nisha. “I don’t see her complaining about how we leeched off her.”
Nisha threw Lizaveta an apologetic look. “I feel fine, honestly. It’s like Louis said when we tried it with his Healer magic during the new moon. It doesn’t feel at all like bloodletting outside of my lunar phase; my magic doesn’t feel depleted in the slightest.” She peered at Emory with open curiosity. “Maybe it’s the same thing when she uses her Tidecaller magic. She’s calling on other magics without depleting their bearers’ reservoir.”
Lizaveta crossed her arms. “Whatever. It doesn’t change the fact that she’s Eclipse-born.” She gave Keiran an accusing look. “I can’t believe you of all people are okay with this. After what happened to your parents? To my dad?” A quiver broke through her voice, but Lizaveta quickly gathered herself. “Artem was right. We should have let him take her to the Institute before she inevitably Collapses and kills someone.”
Horror dawned on Emory. Was that what had happened to Keiran’s parents, to Lizaveta and Artem’s father?
“No one’s bringing her to the Institute,” Keiran commanded, and Emory had to wonder again why he was so intent on helping her join the Order, especially if he had suffered such a loss at the hands of Eclipse magic.
His eyes found hers, glowing with something more than just the pool’s reflection. “She’s going to help us call the Tides back to our shores, and once they return, we’ll ask them to bless us with the former glory of their magic.”
A laugh nearly escaped Emory’s mouth, but the solemnity in his voice, on his face, was not feigned; he truly believed the Tides were more than myth, that they could somehow be brought back to life. The others looked just as serious.
“What are you saying?” Emory asked.
Keiran took a step closer. “This is what our cohort has been trying to achieve. The rest of the Selenics… They’ve forgotten the original purpose of our Order, content with these small magics they’ve fabricated over the years, but never pushing for more.” He motioned to the others sitting on their thrones. “We have sought to make the synths stronger, hoping to use that magic to bring back the Tides.”
“And how do you suppose you’ll bring them back?”
“I’m not sure yet. But you’re a Tidecaller. If the power of all four Tides runs in your veins… you might very well be the key to waking them.”
Your magic is the very answer I’ve been seeking.
This was the reason he’d fought for her back at the lighthouse. Why he’d been so willing to risk his position within the Order. He needed her. Her power. And if they succeeded in waking the Tides, returning magic to what it once was… then her own Tidecaller magic might not be viewed as such an aberration. She might even be praised for her role in bringing back the Tides—if such a thing was even possible, and that felt like a stretch.
Keiran seemed to read her hesitation. He drew closer again, making her heart race. “If we’re the ones to wake them, to bring them back to these shores they once ruled over, think of what they could do for us, the favor they might grant. They hold the power to everything. Life, death. Rebirth.” His eyes danced with a fervor that both scared and enthralled her. “They could bring back Romie. Farran. All those we’ve lost.”
The words were slow to settle in her mind, like feet sinking in wet sand.
Emory had only wanted answers about her friend’s death, but this was better than anything she had dared let herself hope for. If there was even the slightest chance this was doable, if she might be able to see Romie again…
“We’re Selenics.” Keiran turned to the others. “Our Order has pushed the boundaries of magic for centuries, and we owe it to ourselves now to try this one great feat.” He looked at her again. “But only if our Tidecaller is willing.”
A charged silence filled the cave. Only Lizaveta still looked at Emory with that icy guardedness, but the rest of them seemed genuinely curious—and most of all, hopeful. There was no trace of fear in them, only sheer wonder at what she might accomplish. They looked at her, she realized, the way everyone had always looked at Romie. It made her feel valued—wanted—like she’d never been before.
Purpose thrummed at her fingertips, as if the strings of an old instrument had finally been tuned somewhere deep in her soul, and the melody it produced rang clear and true.
She’d always felt lacking significance. A mediocre Healer, not better or worse than any other, but middling. Unimportant. Now her power promised greatness. Made her into someone noteworthy—someone who might hold the key to everything: waking the Tides, throwing the floodgates of magic open wide for all, and bringing Romie and the others who’d drowned back from the dead.
She lifted her chin, her blood singing.
“Where do we start?”
* * *
It started with an oath.
Keiran handed her a small silver flake like the one she’d seen Virgil imbibing earlier. An Unraveler synth, he explained. It’ll force you to tell the truth when swearing your oath.
A distant, drowned-out part of her had a terrible sinking feeling as Keiran led her to the large pool. They waded through the shallows until they stood waist-deep in the center of the basin, just out of the cascade’s reach. The rest of the Selenics gathered around her, forming a tight circle in the order of the moon’s phases. All Emory could think of was how surreal they must look to the outside eye, dressed in their sopping wet suits and gowns, their faces cast in dancing turquoise light.
“Here before us you must share three truths,” Keiran intoned. “A painful memory that haunts you, a dream that calls to you, and a secret that burdens you. Let these truths serve as a reminder of the Order’s secrets you carry, and those of yours we now hold.”