Jae swallowed her disdain. Of course the Highest needed monuments to remember the War. The Closest remembered it with every cursed breath they took. They were the ones who’d lost and been punished, and whose ancestors had forced the Highest to impose their ruthless caste system on the world, just to control the Well’s reservoirs.

But the Well’s gifts hadn’t been meant to be restricted. The Well was meant to belong to everyone.

To everyone.

The voice echoed through her mind, a woman talking to a man, her son. Jae had seen it, but not in a dream. In some kind of vision, when she’d first unlocked magic in the fountain. The woman—Janna, Jae remembered—had crafted the fountain as part of her legacy. But her son had been sure her real legacy would be the Well, which she had needed help to create but which had been her idea. And Janna had meant for it to serve everyone.

Jae shut her eyes, trying to remember if she’d ever heard a legend of a mage named Janna. Surely the Highest would celebrate the ancestor who had brought them together to build the Well. But Jae couldn’t remember her name from any story, any legend, any history. Janna or her son—Tandan.

But Janna had also thought about Tandan’s children. Jae knew their names well enough. Lord Aredann, and his twin brother. Taesann, the great traitor.

Glowing energy pulsed around Jae when she opened her eyes. The Curse pounded in her head, but the magic was everywhere. She hadn’t called for it, wasn’t trying to do anything with it, but there it was, practically singing to her, and the fountain in the distance shone brighter and louder than anything else.

Jae could remember now, as if she were Janna and she’d built the fountain only minutes ago, but she was sure so much more had happened, and she needed to know what. If there was more magic in the fountain than just what she’d already discovered, she had to find it. It might be something that could help her save Aredann—or help her resist the Curse.

It would be a while before Jae could look at the fountain, but she could examine it from where she was sitting now, with magic. Except, as soon as she thought that, the Curse slammed into her skull, and the bursts of pain grew stronger. She wasn’t supposed to use magic without Lord Elan’s permission, even though the magic surrounded her like sunlight.

She forced herself to return to her mending, but it was a good thing none of the Avowed called on her to do anything else. She wouldn’t have heard them, with her mind already outside.

Most of the Avowed seemed happy enough with their lot when their gathering ended. Only Lady Shirrad scowled as she stalked out. Jae stayed huddled in her corner, waiting until everyone else had followed Lady Shirrad, and the room was empty. No one summoned Jae, not even Lord Elan, so as soon as they were gone, she took the chance to dart out to the courtyard.

She grabbed the fountain’s rim. She couldn’t use magic without Lord Elan there, but she wasn’t going to, not really. She was just looking.

That was all she did. She stared at the fountain, leaning over the basin, letting her eyes go wide and unfocused until they watered. Then she shut them—and then she saw it again, the radiant light she’d seen before.

She reached out with her mind and her hands, and the light consumed her. This time, she didn’t scream. She just saw.

The magic wouldn’t keep Aredann back for long. He was too powerful, now that he’d found others like him. They were so desperate, hungry for things Taesann could never give them. Could never, and would never. Grandmother Janna and all the mages of the Bloodlines had decided when they’d founded the Well that it was meant for everyone—everyone had a right to drink from its reservoirs, and the Wellspring Bloodlines would build more reservoirs wherever people needed them. But Aredann and his allies wanted to seize the Well’s power and use it to control the world, wielding access to water as a tool more deadly than any weapon. Taesann couldn’t allow that to happen.

A wave of power hit Taesann, driving him down to his knees. Whatever Aredann and the others were trying, this was it, their last attempt. There was too much power behind the blast for one mage to hold off, even one as strong as Taesann, and he couldn’t feel the rest of the Bloodlines anymore. It was as if they’d all vanished.

That was impossible. The Well drew power from the Wellspring Bloodlines, the descendants of the mages his grandmother had bound together—surely Aredann wouldn’t try to gain control by killing all of them. Even he wasn’t mad enough to do that. Aredann’s allies’ goal was to seize control of the magic that commanded the Well, not to destroy it.

Taesann dragged himself toward the fountain on his hands and knees. When he shut his eyes and looked at the world with other-vision, the fountain shone more brightly than anything else at his grandmother’s home. His father had told him she’d crafted the fountain herself, and that was obvious in other-vision. The energy inside it felt like the Well—like Grandmother.

Another wave of Aredann’s power hit Taesann, and he screamed, clutching the smooth stone. With no one else to help him, they’d break through his barriers in a few minutes, and then…

No. He wouldn’t let them have what they wanted. Grandmother had charged their father with protecting the Well and the fragile balance it brought to the world, and Taesann’s father had entrusted that to him. He was still a stronger mage than Aredann—but Aredann had allies, children and grandchildren of the mages who hadn’t joined the Bloodlines. They called themselves the Highest, and they’d lent their power to Aredann, making him stronger than he’d ever be alone. But only the Wellspring Bloodlines could command the Well. Taesann would die before he’d let the Highest and Aredann wrest that magic away.

Taesann grabbed the knife he carried with him. Blood had more energy than anything else nearby, as it bound earth and water together. The knife was small and ceremonial; it would never help him in a fight, but it wasn’t meant for that. It was for this.

Taesann slashed his arm and held it over the fountain’s basin, ignoring the blinding pain of the cut. He reached out, seizing the power floating around him, and searched—

The Bloodlines were still there, weak and distant. They were spread across other battle sites through the world, but Taesann could sense them through the binding that held them together and powered the Well. But the battles they fought were minor skirmishes and distractions—the Highest mages were concentrating most of their power on trying to overtake Taesann himself.