The translucent stone of the gate acted like a frosted lens, blurring the edges of the man standing in the Hall of Stillness. But I didn't need a clear view to recognize the predatory stillness of his silhouette or the suffocating, spiced-amber scent of his magic that began to bleed through the seal.
"Lucian," I whispered, the name tasting like ash.
My father didn't rush the gate. He stood with a terrifying, scholarly calm, his fingers tracing the gold-leafed spine of the Devage spellbook. Even through the stone, the burnished gold of his eyes seemed to pierce straight through my skull.
"You look well, Selina," his voice vibrated through the door, stripped of its mocking lilt and replaced by a cold, academic curiosity.
"The Water Trial has given you a certain... clarity. You no longer
