Scarlet longed for the days to flow off her, like heavy rain running down a pane of glass. If she could only stand still, and let time wash away her pain—

But no. Time moved on at a crawl, and so did she; slogging through each second of it.

Her body still ached from her days in the prison cell. It had been a week since her release, though it seemed longer ago. Even so, her memories of the experience were still fresh. And then, of course, there was her burn from her backfire, and her shoulder wound from Death’s energy bolt.

Training had slowed since Dante had joined her lessons. They had, indeed, started from the beginning. Dante fumbled through forming bolts of energy, spot-shields, and meditations for the purpose of focusing or detecting energy.

It might have been a relief if it wasn’t so frustrating. Death’s expectations of her were minimal compared to before. It let her rest while she was still recovering. Somehow, Scarlet found that rest was the opposite of what she wanted.

After coming face-to-face with Calder, her focus had clarified. Her gut feeling was right: something had happened to her mother, and that something was Riordan. If the situation was as dire for Death as Calder had made it out to be, Scarlet wasn’t willing to wait for someone else to go to her mother’s rescue. She needed every ounce of strength and knowledge she could get, and that meant training. Real training, not going through the motions of the basics.

Plus, she was stronger now. Though her body hurt, her magic was more powerful than ever. The oath binding had been holding her back. But now that she was truly resolved to destroying Death’s castle, it empowered her. Each day, her resentments of being trapped here practicing the basics grew.

Scarlet had a new habit of sneaking out of her room before Dante emerged from his, and making her way to training alone. It was impossible to relax with him around, especially when it was just the two of them. When he directed his unending stream of questions at her, she found herself either freezing or snapping at him. Neither felt great. However, Dante appeared determined to befriend her regardless.

But like she had told him, she couldn’t lose focus. His presence both slowed her training and distracted her from it, and it was difficult not to resent him for it.

This morning, the ground seemed particularly dry as Scarlet made her way, alone, from the castle out to the training space. She saw Death as she approached.

“No Dante today,” Death told her. “He’s starting his training with Bronwen this morning.”

Scarlet nodded. Maybe I’ll actually learn something today.

“I have a…” Death started, then trailed off.

A gauntlet?

“An… experiment,” she finished.

Scarlet wasn’t sure what to make of that.

Death got her to sit cross legged in the middle of their training grounds and told her to close her eyes. Is this going to be another meditation exercise? Scarlet was already disappointed.

“Summon a flame,” Death said. “A small one.”

Scarlet did so.

“Now release it. Let it drift around you. But don’t let it go out.”

With a flick of her fingers, Scarlet released the flame from the protection of her hand. Usually this was something that happened with more force, as she flung fireballs at targets. This time was more gentle. It was strange to concentrate on feeding energy to a flame for a sustained period of time after she had released it from her grasp.

“Good,” Death said. “Now create another. And release. Keep both of them afloat.”

The next one was slightly more complex, as she split her focus between the two flames she had summoned. It took some effort now to keep them both fed with enough energy, and to prod them to stay afloat around her.

“Now keep going. Summon as many as you can.”

Another control exercise then, perhaps? Boring, but still less mind numbing than her previous days.

“Take a breath, Scarlet. Have patience for once. I’ll tell you the point of all this after.”

Death’s words came out kinder than usual. This change was enough to pique Scarlet’s curiosity. She did as the god suggested and took a breath to steady herself.

Each new flame she added to the ones encircling her was exponentially more difficult. At five, she realized she needed to keep them much smaller for this to be sustainable. After eight, she lost count. Her brain had to focus solely on the fire. Scarlet became lost in herself and her magic, summoning new flames until she was stretched too thin. At capacity, she took a shuddering breath. Her hold was slipping.

Suddenly, she felt Death open the emissary bond between them to offer up her power to Scarlet. There was only the slightest moment of trepidation before Scarlet soaked up the god’s energy. She was drained and refilling her empty well was too enticing to pass up.

Her power restabilized, Scarlet continued to summon new flames, until it was too much to hold onto anymore. Her connection to each of the tiny fires snapped and the warmth they had emitted around her ceased. The cold of the air bit at her, but she found she was grateful for it. Sweat dripped down from her face. Was that from the heat of the flames, or from the effort of holding them in existence? She found herself panting for breath, and decided it was mostly the latter.

Death stared at her, red lipped pressed together tightly.

“What?” Scarlet asked. “Did I pass your test, or whatever this was?”

“It wasn’t a test,” said Death. “But it was as I suspected.”

“What does that mean?”

“This kind of exercise,” Death started, “it’s one that I have seen many people attempt. It is often used to test the capacity of a mage, of how many times they are able to split their concentration. It takes a lot to focus on and regulate multiple streams of magic, as I’m sure you noticed just now.”

“Did I do well?” Scarlet asked. With how often Death berated her for a lack of focus and control, she braced herself for the worst.

“You have been training here alone, until very recently, and have had little exposure to other mages in general. So let me first give you a baseline of what I’ve seen others do.

“In general, mages who have been training about as long as you, I would be impressed if they could split concentration into about five streams of magic. Ten wouldn’t be out of the question, if they were particularly skilled. Fully trained mages, well, there is a range, but I would say most would max out at around twenty.”

Scarlet had lost track of her count and the time, though she was confident she had summoned more than ten flames. “How many did I do?”

“You split your concentration into twenty-eight flames. You used my help for the last five. But that aid was in energy only. The focus was all yours.”

Scarlet sat stunned for a moment. “So… what… what does that mean, exactly? You always tell me I have no focus—”

“Oh. You are not a perfect mage by any means. But these are the things you can accomplish when you hold yourself steady. You have an innate gift, raw as it may be now. It is part of the reason I chide you like I do. The more power you wield, the more volatile it is. It could very well be your downfall. Magic is energy, and energy is life. Overspending it, well, it would end poorly for you. Losing control of it… you’ve done that already, many times, in smaller ways. But that could be catastrophic if it happens at the wrong moment.”

Scarlet soaked in these words. In her time training, she had felt powerful, but only in the sense that she was finally able to put her magic to use in a real way. In the grand scheme of things, her power seemed so insignificant compared to Death. Maybe it was a poor comparison, Death was a god after all, but then again, a god was also who she may be up against.

“I wanted you to know this,” Death said, “because I see the ambition in your eyes. How much you want. And how little you think you have.”

Scarlet’s anger flared. “So what,” she bit, “you think you understand me?”

Death took a beat before responding. “I know what it’s like to feel powerless. That’s all.”

“Because of Riordan?”

“No. I mean, yes, but before that too. As Eva, before I joined together with Death, I had no magic. I felt inadequate, surrounded by mages. They wielded something I could only dream of.”

“I thought the human halves of incarnates had to be mages.”

“I don’t know if any of the other gods have ever joined with someone who was not a mage. But it isn’t a requirement. Mages tend to fit what they seek. Someone who already knows how to wield power, who can help them create influence. But that wasn’t what I was seeking in my formation of an incarnate.”

“What were you seeking then?”

Death was silent for what seemed like a very long time. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” She cleared her throat. “Besides, that’s off-topic. I just wanted you to know what you have.”

“If I really do have power, then let me go to the World.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not? Wasn’t this whole thing about teaching me I have power? What does any of it mean if I still can’t use it?”

“Anything that can be done for Kiera, I am doing. But if I cannot find her through the bond we are attached with, there is little else to do—except to keep fighting Riordan, and hope that his defeat brings her back to us.”

“So when are we fighting him?”

“When we’re ready.”

“You might not be ready, but I am. Let me do something. Calder mentioned the Ravens, and a rebellion. I can help them.”

“Scarlet. Take a moment to think.” A scowl was plastered on Death’s mouth. “What happens if we kill Riordan?”

“He—” Scarlet stopped. Then she swore. How had she not thought of this before? “He takes Calder as his next incarnate.”

“And it all starts over again.”

“So wait, what about you? If he kills you, then you can just come back too.”

“Killing me isn’t on his to-do list.”

“So then what? What does he want?”

“It doesn’t matter. What matters is that we find a way to end him, permanently. That’s the only way this conflict will be put to rest.”

Scarlet pondered. “That’s what my mother was looking for, isn’t it?”

“Yes. And I’m trying to pick up where she left off. The Ravens and the rebellion are doing what they can. But until then, we can’t fight—only survive.”

“But we can’t wait to save my mother. Riordan could kill her at any moment.” Scarlet stared down Death, searching her god’s face for any sign of affirmation. There was none. “If I’m as strong as you say I am, let me go find her.”

“I can’t let you go. That’s final.”

“Why?” Scarlet bit back tears. She wasn’t about to let the god see her weakness.

“I’m sorry,” Death said. “Training is done for today.”

An apology was unexpected—this whole session had been. Death walked away, further into the swamp. Scarlet turned back to the castle, too restless to sit and be still.

Alone now, she could feel the pressure in her chest rise until tears started to form. She pushed them down. Crying was useless, as was the anger forged deeply in her heart. Her emotions were getting the better of her. She knew that her wild feelings made it harder to control her magic.

Her innate gift and her training—it wasn’t enough. If Death had wanted to prove to Scarlet that she had power, she had failed. All Scarlet had learned was that she had to try harder. It was the only way to get her mother back before time ran out.

#

Time writhed onwards. Though its movement remained slow, Scarlet began to lose track of it. Had it been a fortnight since Dante had arrived, or more like a month? Perhaps even longer than that had the days slipped by.

There was only training and the spaces in between; the minutes to kill before she was recovered enough to tackle her true purpose again. Food was blander than before, she forced herself to eat only so she would have energy to pour into her magic once more.

Dante, now that he had started lessons with Bronwen, was only with her and Death roughly half of the time. His progress was slow. Scarlet renewed her focus, drilling the basics with little complaint. She’d perfect her techniques and give Death nothing to scold her about.

Her free time was split between training on her own out in the swamp, and studying in the library when she was too tired for magic. The solo practice kept her sane amid the slower days with Dante. Scarlet could drill as hard as she wanted to, and get more creative with her techniques. No interferences, no interruptions.

The library was less a place of solace than it used to be. As soon as Dante discovered she spent time there, she ran into him regularly. In some cases, she resorted to taking books back to her room to read, but that left her feeling cooped up. So often, still, she found herself with an uninvited companion; though to his credit, Dante did mostly leave her be in the library, seeming to understand the sacred silence that books required.

He would walk the stacks quietly as Scarlet read, or picked a book and read it a respectable distance away from her. Sometimes she caught him eyeing her up, as if she was a wild animal he was considering how to approach. Once, as she flamescribed a note, he snuck up on her to watch. When she startled, he scampered off, not to be seen again that day.

She was surprised at first to find that Dante could read, though she supposed it made sense if he had been an herbalist’s apprentice. Scarlet could see a decent amount of reading and writing being useful in that sort of profession.

She was surprised yet again when Dante approached her in the library one day. Scarlet looked up from her book, her heart racing as she waited for him to speak.

“What were you doing the other day?” Dante asked. “With your fire, and the paper…”

“Flamescribing.”

“You were writing?”

“Yeah.”

“But, with flame?” Dante tilted his head. “Doesn’t the whole page just catch fire?”

“Not if I’m careful.”

“Is it easier?” he asked. “Than pen and ink?”

Scarlet couldn’t remember the last time she’d picked up a quill. It seemed like an unwieldy thing to do now, to have a device in her hand, that she had to dip into ink constantly, and try not to get blots. “It is for me.”

Dante nodded. “Can I see something you’ve written like that?”

Scarlet paused. She pulled open a drawer of the desk she sat at, pulled out the map of the Crossworld she had drawn, and held it out to Dante. He took it from her carefully, and stared at it for a long time.

Scarlet fidgeted. “You can keep it.” She got up, and found her feet tracing the path out of the library. That was probably the longest conversation she’d had with Dante since the day he’d arrived. Why did she get overwhelmed at something as small as small talk? She wasn’t used to it, especially with someone actually her own age, but still.

One way or another, that was enough of that. She wandered, aimlessly. It was something that she ended up doing more and more often. Perhaps it was her own way of meditation. It was a mechanical and vaguely relaxing way to fill the time, anyway. After so long walking these halls, she always managed to find her way back to her room when she needed to, despite the convoluted layout.

She found herself passing by Bronwen’s quarters. She wondered if she’d come here subconsciously, wanting to see Bronwen. But even if he wasn’t busy, the thought of conjuring enough energy to hold another conversation made her stomach twist. She was about to turn around when she overheard voices coming from his rooms. It sounded like arguing. Curiosity prompted her to creep closer to his door, trying to make out the words.

“—can’t keep going like this.” Scarlet caught the end of Bronwen’s sentence. Footsteps punctuated his words, like he was pacing the room.

It was Death that responded. “You are being stubborn.”

“You’re the one being stubborn. You hold everyone at arm’s length. Ever since Kiera, you’re too afraid to care about anything, or anyone.”

“I have done enough caring and enough losing for this lifetime—don’t you think?”

“That doesn’t mean you can just stop.”

“That’s exactly what it means.”

“And what about Scarlet? She isn’t going to last at this rate.”

Wait—he was talking about her? Scarlet was so close now, her ear nearly touched the door.

“We found her a companion, like you wanted,” Death said. “She hasn’t taken to him. So now what, what would you have me do?”

“Let her come with us. I think she’s ready, and being more or less alone here isn’t—”

“Absolutely not.”

“Send her to the Ravens then. The Vanguard. She can learn from someone other than you, and you know they’re desperate for more mages.”

“No.”

“What’s stopping you? You really don’t think she’s prepared enough for that, at least?”

“It’s… it’s complicated.”

“You promised Kiera you’d keep her safe? Is that it? Because it isn’t much safer here, not unless these missions are successful, which she could help them be.”

It was strange to hear Bronwen argue back against Death. Scarlet had never heard him speak that way to the god before. He really was standing up for her.

“It’s complicated, Bronwen,” Death snapped at him. “The Crossworld mission is too much for her, still. Her grasp on her power is tenuous at best. And she can’t go to the World.”

“You can see her mental state deteriorating day by day, can’t you? You’ve put her through too much, and we can’t keep going on like this. You have to—”

“No, I do not have to, and honestly Bronwen I question your abilities as a healer if you can’t see why I am holding her back, and—hold on.”

Scarlet heard footsteps. It only took her a moment to realize that Death was coming out of Bronwen’s quarters. She turned and ran, skidding on the stone as she slid around the corner. Once out of eyeshot, she held very, very still, and held her breath. If Death discovered her—

“Scarlet,” said Death, rounding the corner.

Scarlet swallowed hard. She was too tired to be in trouble right now.

“You should know better than to spy on me.”

“I’m sorry. I was looking for Bronwen.” Scarlet looked at her feet, trying to be as small as possible. “I didn’t mean to listen in.”

“Do not do it again.”

“I won’t.”

Death started to walk away, and Scarlet was going to let her, and escape this whole situation without incurring more of her god’s wrath. But she had to know: “What’s wrong with me?”

Death froze in her tracks.

“What doesn’t Bronwen see? What don’t I see?”

“You are fine.” Death’s voice was tight. Scarlet knew a lie when she heard one.

“No. There’s a reason you’re keeping me here. And it isn’t that I’m not ready. At least, not completely.”

“I promised your mother that I wouldn’t… worry you with it. That I’d fix it. So let me do that.” Death continued her exit, then, and this time it was final.

Scarlet leaned against the wall. The cool stone against her skin was the only thing keeping her from spiraling into anxiety. Somehow, she’d escaped that conversation without a punishment. Unless you counted “knowing something is wrong with you but no one will tell you” as a punishment.

“Are you alright?” Browned was peeking out from his doorway. Scarlet couldn’t find her voice to respond and instead found Bronwen taking her hand and leading her into his quarters.

It was one of her favorite places in Deianira. Normally it brought her peace to be surrounded by Bronwen’s plants and bathing in the light filtering in through the wide windows, but not today. The last time she had been here was after she had been injured in training, and those memories left her uneasy, along with her encounter with Death.

The burns from her magic backfire had since healed over, quickly and without scarring thanks to Bronwen, but the wound on her shoulder from Death’s energy bolt had turned into a black starburst, matching the one on her back. The previous blows she had taken from Death had faded away, but that strike from the spar had had more heft behind it than usual, and Scarlet doubted this one would fully disappear.

Bronwen made them a pot of herbal tea and they settled on a couch. “So, how much of that did you catch?”

“Enough.” Scarlet sipped the cup of tea he handed her. It burned her lips.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been able to do more for you.”

Scarlet nodded. “It’s good to know you’re trying.” Even if you don’t know what is apparently wrong with me either. She looked down into her cup and swirled it around, watching the flow of the remains of tea leaves that had been too small to filter out. “So what is this Crossworld mission you’re going on?”

“It’s… an attack on Calder. If we can take out Riordan’s replacement, maybe we can slow him down a bit. Then if we kill Riordan, at least he will have to find another suitable human to bond with before returning, while we figure out a more permanent solution.” Bronwen blew on his tea, the steam rising out of his cup to swirl wildly around his face.

“When?”

“We leave two weeks from now.”

“Take me with you.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Did she compel you?”

“No.”

“Then take me with you. Or teach me how to open a portal so I can go to the World.”

“Scarlet. You know I can’t do that.”

Scarlet slammed her cup on a side table. Tea splashed out wildly. Something inside her snapped. Bronwen tried to stand up for her, but he still wasn’t willing to push back against Death. “I’m tired of everyone’s excuses for leaving me behind or keeping me in the dark. If Death didn’t compel you not to, then help me.”

“I can’t. Death knows something that I do not. I have to believe that she is right in this.”

“She’s not. Whatever she thinks is wrong with me, I’ll handle it.”

“Please, trust me. I know that Death doesn’t deserve it, but trust her, too. We’re working so hard to fight Riordan, to bring your mother back—”

Scarlet got up and headed for the door. She couldn’t take this. Just when she thought Bronwen was in her corner, he proved that he wasn’t. The betrayal struck deep.

“Don’t go. Please.” Bronwen hopped up and moved to block Scarlet’s path to the exit. “I wish I could give you answers. You deserve them. I know you don’t want to be stuck here, but fate brought you to the Crossworld, and now this is the path you’re on. You can keep fighting it, or you can choose to accept it. To trust us. Make the best of it.”

“Accept that I can do nothing? Never.” Scarlet pushed past Bronwen.

Once she had stormed out, she couldn’t make herself stop, she weaved through the halls pointlessly, heart hammering. She felt a pang as she realized that Bronwen could end up like her mother. Whatever mission was coming up, it sounded both important and dangerous.

There was nothing she could do about it, not right now. She couldn’t force herself to turn around, to head back and apologize for running out. To try to trust that he was doing what he thought was best. She walked the halls for what might have been hours, until eventually, feet sore, she ended up back at the doorway to her room. Lethargic, she reached for the handle. A door behind her creaked open.

“Scarlet?”

She turned. Dante was peering out of his room.

“Are you okay?” he asked. His forehead was wrinkled, and he had circles under his eyes, even deeper than when she had first met him.

“I’m fine,” she said, opening the door, stepping into the small sanctuary of her room. “Just fine.”