Chapter Eleven | Edain

I didn’t give a flying fuck about the looks Caspar was shooting my way for being carried in by my uncle. Sure, he probably thought I’d been irresponsible and pushed myself too far, and though I’d worked hard, magic was like a muscle. You built it up and gained more tolerance, or some other metaphor. I was tired, okay? The stones for the corners were fully charged. They’d accepted my magic so readily, as if they were thirsty and I was providing water in a drought. They would hold steady for a couple of days while I had some time…