Radiant: Towers Trilogy Book One by Karina Sumner-Smith Page B

nowhere, as if her very heart was a spring of power, and flooded through her. Overwhelmed her.
    Magic was the energy of life, yes, but this life surged without control. It built upon itself, growing, multiplying: life without end. Mere blood and muscle and bone couldn’t contain so much power. It raged through her, poured from her, and twisted her flesh as it went, leaving brightness and ruin in its wake.
    Growth unchecked. Mutation. Cancer.
    The spells she saw were not the resurrection spells she’d feared, but attempts to heal, and even they paled in comparison to Shai’s power. There were spells to stem the growth of the tumors in her liver and her lungs, spells attacking the cancers that spread through her bones. There were more spells, spells upon spells, staunching bleeding and energizing her faltering heart, easing the pressure on failing organs, and repairing the damage that illness had wrought. But they were worn now, and failing.
    And still that magic leaked from Shai, more magic, bright magic that because of its very nature said to body and tumors alike: Live, grow . What were spells against such raw power? The newest—the brightest—workings were for one purpose only: stopping Shai’s pain.
    Xhea pulled back, staring. Shai was rich beyond words, more powerful than Xhea could even dream—and it was killing her.
    From the doorway, Shai’s father said, “I cannot save her.” Xhea glanced back, seeing again the heavy circles beneath his eyes, remembering his failing strength, his anger and exhaustion. At last she knew their cause.
    Softly, despairing, he said, “I can’t save her, and I can’t find a way to let her die. I don’t know what else to do.”
    “But why . . . ?”
    At his expression, Xhea fell silent. Unfocusing her eyes once more, Xhea forced herself to look deeper still. The spells’ fierce white was all but blinding; yet she persisted, and her vision adjusted. Still, many long moments passed before she began to see what anchored Shai’s body to life and bound her spirit to that broken flesh. When at last she understood, she could but stare.
    The spells that hid in the depths of Shai’s body were old and infinitely stronger than those that fought her illness: that much was clear despite their seeming frailty. The individual spell lines were thin as threads, woven into intricate patterns the likes of which she’d never seen. Neither did this working shine as bright magic did, but had the dull gleam of tarnished mental. A true master wove these spells, Xhea knew. Only a magical genius could have created that pattern, the intricate steel-wire lace that bound Shai, body, magic and spirit.
    A genius, but a dark one.
    Some of the spells were akin to a resurrection spell, distinguished only by the skill, delicacy—and yes, beauty—with which they’d been wrought. She watched as magic flowed through the hair-fine shape: forcing life into dying cells, breath into a collapsing chest, blood through failing vessels. More and more, tapping into Shai’s great wellspring of magical energy, pulling it from her body and taking it to places far beyond Xhea’s sight or understanding. Together they bound Shai’s spirit, forcing her to animate flesh too broken to live.
    Had she feared Shai’s resurrection? Instead someone had ensured she would never die. No matter her pain or suffering, regardless of what ravages illness inflicted, the lacework spells forced her to live.
    “Who did this?” Xhea whispered.
    Shai’s ragged breathing was the only reply.
    Xhea knew now what Shai’s father had hoped to achieve by separating Shai’s ghost from her body—not knowing of the tether that bound her; not seeing, as Xhea did, how deeply the spell was imbedded in her spirit. Xhea had begun to wonder if she might free Shai by simply cutting the second tether—and perhaps that would help enable her body to die. But something of Shai’s spirit would die too, bound in that wirework lace, leaving her no more