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Lightning struck the water, illuminating the jagged rocks surrounding the island. Waves crashed and clawed at the cliffs, spraying a fine mist up like angry spirits clutching at the air. Amana sighed and rested her hand on the cool glass of the window. Thunder cracked around her, echoing off the castle walls.  She knew the storm was part of the spell Priya was casting. She began fortifying the island’s defenses before dawn, infusing the fog’s potency with a time loop and drawing it further along the rugged cliffs to the northern harbor. It would seem Amana was once again within a confinement spell, except this time she wasn’t alone—this time she could escape.

Amana turned from the window, her eyes wandering over the bright flower mosaic above Iris’s bed to the small writing desk adjacent. She knew she shouldn’t look through her daughter’s things, but she couldn’t help herself. She needed to know who Iris had become. What kind of woman had Soren and Zia raised? She could imagine Dagmar’s feisty nature, but Iris was more of an enigma to her—she looked like Greer, that much Amana saw for herself in the Scrying bowl. Iris had her father’s sandy blonde locks and porcelain complexion. Did she inherit his brashness as Dagmar did? Or was she the temperate version of her sister?

The writing desk was cluttered with notebooks, and thick leather-bound volumes. Priya had taught Iris everything she knew in her brief time here. Amana sat on the wicker chair and touched the dense parchment scattered over the desk’s surface. Her fingers outlined the rounded, childish script pressed into each page. How could her daughter have become a Jadu? Amana knew very little of the tribe that once occupied Evirdahl.

Her father, Edvar, once told her of the native tribes that roamed the lush earth before the Break, but that’s all she thought they were—stories. According to legend, the Jadu were descendants of both Disir and Alfr. Time didn’t exist for them, nor did the restraints of the human world. They were of nature and could command the elements with the same force as the Grand Mams that created the world. The Jadu were great seers, able to manipulate destiny, but forbidden to do so. That was their downfall, wasn’t it? Amana struggled to remember—a Jadu– Orla attempted to alter fate by reading a stolen spell. Yes, she remembered now; she was thrown into the cosmos as stardust, cursed to exist in the farthest realm or an eternity. Why she wanted to change fate, Amana couldn’t remember, but her actions caused Hamza’s magic to enhance her ancestors, the Fraomatr, and created the Seven Families that once ruled Evirdahl.

Amana closed her eyes and let the stillness incantation wash over her. She needed peace; she needed time to absorb everything she knew. How was such a connection from her family to the Ancients even possible? They should look for the Ancient scrolls, not a way to hunt the Grima. If they could help Iris understand what she was, perhaps she could put an end to the shadow creatures. Amana shook her head. No, what was light without shadow? She hated to admit the evil was necessary, but perhaps they could control it?

“There you are.”

Amana didn’t turn. She could picture Greer standing in the doorway, silhouetted by the hall light. She didn’t want him to move. She wanted to live in the moment of accord for a little longer.

He shifted soundlessly, but for the rustle of his boots on the wool carpets. Amana didn’t know what more she could say to him, he wouldn’t forgive her. He had made that clear multiple times, despite the comfort he offered. They were two halves of a partnership destroyed centuries ago. They didn’t fit together anymore.

Amana sighed and turned to him as he sat on the edge of the bed. “Were you looking for me?”

Greer shrugged. “Not really.”

Freya smiled thinly. Of course he wasn’t. He’s been too busy strategizing an attack on the Stronghold with Duncan, Priya and Clyde. Since learning that Ralik was behind the Grima attack, there was little time to waste. Amana let them plan. She and Astrid continued to search the library for anything they could use against the Grima or Ragnar.

“What are you doing in here?” Greer asked quietly, his eyes taking in the details of their daughter’s bedroom.

“I just needed some quiet.”

“Isn’t your chamber quiet?”

Amana didn’t know how to tell him how much she hated the emptiness of her chamber, not when she knew he was sleeping just down the hall. Her heart clenched. Separate sleeping quarters had been his request, not hers. She did her best to ignore the surprised looks and awkward coughs from everyone when Greer asked for his own room. She didn’t want anyone’s pity. Amana looked to Greer. His eyes were downcast as he bent over, resting his forearms on his thighs. He looked wary.

“My chamber is fine.” She turned back to the desk. Her fingers continued to trace the indentions of Iris’s handwriting on the paper.  “I wanted to see her room.”

“She wasn’t a prisoner here.”

“No.” Amana smiled, picking up one of the notebook pages, “She was Priya’s apprentice.”

Greer smiled, surprising Amana, and took the page from her, “Her writing looks like yours.”

“What was she like?” Amana couldn’t help but ask.

“I wish I knew, Amana.” His voice caught, and he cleared his throat. “I never expected this.” He looked up at her, his hazel eyes dewy with remorse.

“No one could.”

Greer was quiet as he set the page back on the desk, his fingers fidgeting with the ballpoint pen before moving back to his position on the edge of the bed. “Why didn’t you contact me?” he asked quietly.

“I told you. I couldn’t.”

“You’re a powerful scryer, you could have found a way.”

Amana looked away from him and folded her hands together on the desk. “I couldn’t, I was too weak, it took a century for me to regain my power, and then…” She glanced to him, watching him with hooded eyes, “I was afraid too much time had passed. At first, I was furious with you for abandoning me, that faded into loneliness, but still I couldn’t make myself summon the window.” She swallowed down the thickness in her throat, “I-I couldn’t watch you and our daughters surviving without me.”

Greer bent his head, “Things could have been different if I had known,” he muttered, raising his hand as if to touch her face before letting it drop, his eyes hardening once more.

Amana pushed the chair back and stood, looking down at him. “I guess we’ll never know. We’re not the same people we once were, ” she shrugged and turned towards the door.

“We sail for Midvale at dusk.” Whatever tender moment hung between them dissipated with his words. “We go by night, we should reach the Stronghold before dusk if we can secure horses.”

Amana nodded and slipped out of the room.