The College of Winterhold could charitably be described as one of the least inviting and most barren, inhospitable structures in Tamriel. It was basically just a pile of ugly grey rocks suspended a few hundred feet above the ocean by little more than spit, magic and a healthy dose of luck; even in the tourist brochures Myfanwy and Brelyna had browsed in Solitude the authors hadn't been able to come up with anything better than phrases like see the remnants of history and a stirring reminder of the past and other such hopeful pleas. Words like 'commanding' and 'striking' had featured a lot. (Not to mention, 'dress warmly'.)

But to Myfanwy the College wasn't some dead monument to the glorious times of yesteryear. Run down it may be, yes; a shell of its former self, certainly. But it was still alive. Outside blizzards howled and snow fell the year round; within its walls the air was comfortably warm, and if Myfanwy laid her hand against the stone walls they were warm, too, like the flanks of an enormous beast with skin of stone.

Myfanwy knew the College, intimately, and after what she'd done for it back in Midyear she felt like the College knew her too. It was hers and she was its. They'd claimed each other in a way she couldn't quite explain even to herself. She still spent hours every week walking through miles of labyrinthine hallways purely to show the College that its disused wings weren't forgotten, as well as for the pleasure of watching the dimmed, slumbering magelights that lit the least-visited corridors brighten in welcome at her approach.

And if the College was a living being—its flesh made of stone, its veins running with brilliant magicka—then its beating heart, the centre of its self, was the Arcanaeum.

Myfanwy had loved the Arcanaeum even when she'd hated the rest of the College. It was one of the great libraries of the world, perhaps the greatest, though surprisingly little-known, and nowhere near as famous as far lesser collections (including, to Myfanwy's smug pleasure, the Mystic Archives at Arcane University itself). This was by design, not chance. Compared to the temperament of Master gro-Shub, who was rumoured to have been the College's Master Librarian since before the turning of the Era, Master Ancano was as incautious as a dragon in a firework factory. To take the dragon analogy further, Master gro-Shub loved books and knowledge much as a dragon loved its hoard; another rumour had it that a few decades ago he'd tried to prevent anyone under the age of fifty-seven and the rank of Master being allowed access to the Arcanaeum at all, and it had been the temper tantrum following this decision being overruled that turned Master Neloren's hair white.

Master gro-Shub would dearly have loved to bar Myfanwy from his library for good, she was certain. She'd been on his bad side for various greater and lesser indiscretions ever since she'd first set foot in the Arcanaeum a year before. Her crimes ranged from bringing tea (and once food, though that had been Onmund's fault) near his precious books to having the audacity to actually want to read them—the Master Librarian preferred students like J'zargo, who were happy to make a lot of noise and mess a very long way away from him and his charges both. She'd capped it all off by having Master Ancano use his one sliver of authority over Master gro-Shub to force him to release a book in his private collection to Myfanwy entitled Night of Tears, which had then set off the chain of events leading to the College's own, thankfully far less disastrous, Night of Tears. So it wasn't much of a stretch to say that Myfanwy was hardly his favourite student.

Nevertheless, the prize of the Arcanaeum was worth putting up with Master gro-Shub's narrowed eyes and slightly terrifying tusked Orsimer frown. The library occupied five full floors of the College's enormous central tower, and every corner was stuffed floor to ceiling with as many books on as many topics as even the most well-read scholar could imagine, then tens of thousands more. Despite having spent at least as much time in the Arcanaeum as the entire rest of the university combined, Myfanwy felt she only knew it a fraction as well—even after hundreds of hours among the towering oak shelves there were always new secrets hidden away in places you'd swear you'd already looked a dozen times. And that was before you'd opened a single book.

Libraries had always been special to Myfanwy. She loved books, and learning new things, and submerging her own self in the words and thoughts of the millions of people who'd lived and thought and experienced in different ways from her. She'd spent a large part of her childhood in the University of Wayrest's library, reading happily while her historian parents worked nearby, then when she was old enough in the civic library, where she felt tremendously grown up and responsible checking out books by herself. After all that, how could she not fall in love with the College of Winterhold's Arcanaeum, with its hundreds of thousands of books old and new, mundane and magical, where surely the world's every secret could be found if only you were prepared to search for long enough?

So this year, like the last, as Myfanwy settled into her academic routine she settled comfortably back into the Arcanaeum. She'd staked out a favourite study nook within the first week of her first year, and after only a fortnight into her second had already spent so much time tucked away in it that Brelyna finally made good on her threats of the year before, as Myfanwy found out when returning to her seat with a new armful of books that Sundas afternoon.

She knew something was up immediately. When she'd left Onmund he'd been by himself, and on the verge of tearing his braids out over the difficult set of Alteration problems Master Tolfdir had given them to work through over the weekend. Now he was standing side by side with Brelyna, both of them wearing extremely unconvincing looks of feigned innocence.

"Hi, Brelyna," Myfanwy said as she drew near. "Are you joining us?" She leaned in for a kiss; her suspicions only grew when Onmund stayed huddled by Brelyna's side, and both of them edged around as if to conceal something behind their backs. They were standing in front of Myfanwy's usual seat, she noticed.

"Apologies, but no. I have some errands to run. I'm just stopping by to say hello—I have already disappointed Onmund by turning down his request for assistance."

"I told you to try those problems by yourself, first," Myfanwy said, with a severe look at Onmund. He at least had the grace to give her a shrug and a chagrined grimace.

Myfanwy placed her books down on the desk and folded her arms, taking in both Onmund, whose countenance was now reminiscent of the twins' spaniel Gilly whenever he'd stolen a sausage off the table, and Brelyna, whose shoulders were shaking with suppressed giggles. "Just stopping by, huh?"

Brelyna's gaze was fixed at a point about six inches up and to the right of Myfanwy's head, and her mouth was scrunched up with the effort of keeping her expression neutral. Onmund had stuffed his fist between his teeth.

"Well, if you two completely naturally acting, not at all suspicious people would move out of the way so I can sit down, then…"

Brelyna and Onmund stepped apart in unison to reveal Myfanwy's chair. There was a beat of silence. Then both Onmund and Brelyna burst into laughter, shattering the stillness of the Arcanaeum into glittering shards of unrestrained glee. An Adept Myfanwy knew only by sight stuck his head out from the next nook along and shushed them, making at least as much noise in the process, Myfanwy thought.

Once he'd withdrawn Myfanwy let out an exaggerated sigh and shook her head, though she couldn't keep the corners of her mouth from twitching. "Very funny," she said, keeping her voice low. She reached out to touch the tiny brass plaque stuck to the backrest of the chair, which read Property of Myfanwy Caldevwin, 4E198—? "I am suitably chastened. Though you'd think there'd be no need to label it, if I'm sitting in it so much. When will anyone ever see it if I never leave?" She gave the edge an experimental prise; there wasn't enough of a gap between the plaque and the chair for her fingernails to find purchase. "That sticking spell we learned last week?"

"Brel let me do it," Onmund said, beaming as he slid back into his own seat. "I've been practising. Don't worry, it'll come off before Master gro-Shub has a chance to see it."

Myfanwy shuddered. "It had better, for all our sakes. He hates me enough as it is." She turned to Brelyna, who took her cue from Myfanwy's mock-offended expression and drew her into a far deeper kiss than the last. Myfanwy broke away first, conscious of Onmund only a foot or two away. "So, are the errands made up too?"

"No," Brelyna said regretfully. "I really can't stay. But I did have another reason for coming to find you—Kena Marence has asked us both to come see her, today after dinner."

"How come? I don't take Restoration." A suspicion seized hold of her. "Is this about Midyear?"

Brelyna shook her head. "She said something about a spell she needs both of us for."

"Um. As casters, or subjects?"

"Casters, I believe."

Now Myfanwy was baffled in earnest. Even by her own standards she was terrible at Restoration. She'd crafted a tiny, single-form healing spell years ago on the off chance that even being able to heal a little might one day save her life or someone else's (and because she was tired of being scratched up by the neighbours' cat), but she'd never managed to make it work, even though her knowledge of both the underpinning theory and some basic anatomy was enough that it should have. She'd long given up on it as Just One Of Those Things.

"But…"

"I'm sure she'll explain properly herself this evening. Will you come?"

"Yes, of course, but—"

"Then I will see you at dinner," Brelyna said. She ran the tips of her fingers along the outside of Myfanwy's ear, making her shiver, then pressed another quick kiss against her lips. "Goodbye, Onmund. Don't give up on those equations." She gave them a little wave and paced sedately away past the rows of books, her long, dark hair swaying behind her as she walked.

"You're so cute together," Onmund said. Myfanwy started. She hadn't realised she was still staring at the spot where Brelyna had disappeared around a corner. Muttering under her breath, she dropped into her chair, a secret glow warming her heart when the glint of magelight reflected in brass caught her eye.

"Sorry, Myf, didn't quite catch that," Onmund said cheerfully.

"I said, shut up or I'll set fire to your robes."

Onmund grinned. "Nice try. I know you'd rather set yourself on fire than risk harming a book." He winced. "Sorry. I didn't mean—"

"It's fine." She set back down the book she'd just picked up and reached across the desk to unlace his fingers, which he'd tightly locked. "I'm not made of glass. Or broken altogether, like Wizard Caprenia seems to think."

"Yeah. I know. You're a lot tougher than you look. I told Master Caprenia—"

"Wizard Caprenia."

Onmund frowned. "He might not have his Master's, Myf, but he's still our Master. Won't you cut him some slack? He's a really good teacher, and he cares a lot, even if he shows it in different ways. Did I tell you he's been doing extra sessions with me and J'zargo together so we can practise sparring, on top of our regular lessons? And why do you think he's spending all that extra time with you, too?"

"Because a Breton slighted him once and he's never gotten over it?" Myfanwy said, before something Onmund had said suddenly struck home. "Wait—you talked to him about me?"

"Of course I did. I told him all about what happened last year, and about how much you've always helped all of us. About how good you are at magic, even if your spells, you know, aren't the strongest. And how strong you are. Like how even after everything that happened with the Eye and Master Faralda—and Elinor, though I didn't tell him that bit, of course—and all that, how you're still doing your best, for everyone else as much as yourself, all the time. Even when your nightmares are really bad, though I didn't mention that either." He grimaced ruefully. "Sorry, Myf, the walls are a lot thinner than you'd expect for foot-thick stone."

Myfanwy just stared, flabbergasted. Onmund smiled and grasped her limp hands lying on the desk.

"I…"

"You're my best friend, Myf. Of course I'm going to stand up for you."

There's standing up for me, then there's…whatever that was, Myfanwy thought. By the Eight, Onmund was making her out to be some sort of Divine incarnate. If only he knew…

An enormous wave of guilt and shame washed over her. She wasn't half the person Onmund thought she was.

"Anyway," he said, as if that settled it, "you should give Master Caprenia a chance. He's a bit doom and gloom, yeah, but he's seen a lot more of the world than the rest of us, and I think we can all learn a lot from him. Especially you, I reckon."

"Why especially me?" Myfanwy asked.

"Isn't it obvious? You're already really good at all the academic stuff—I mean, how long did it take you to do these problems I've been bashing my head against all weekend? Ten minutes?" He chuckled. "But he's all about real world, practical stuff. No offence, Myf, but I'm guessing you've got a lot less knowledge and experience there, even aside from actual spellcasting."

Myfanwy made a face at her book, Dragon Breaks: An Historical Study of Entanglements in the Continuum of Time. She hated that he had a point.

They sat in silence for a long while, Myfanwy turning her quill slowly over in her fingers. By the time she'd gathered enough courage to speak, Onmund had returned to his Alteration equations, his brow furrowed and his mouth moving silently as he puzzled through the calculations.

"Onmund—"

Onmund flinched so hard he sent his inkwell flying. Luckily he hadn't unstoppered it, but the loud string of expletives he uttered as he scrabbled to catch it caused the grouchy Adept to hush them even more angrily than before.

"Whoops. Sorry, Myf," Onmund said with a sheepish grin, once the inkwell was safely back on the desk. "What's up?"

"Oh, um." She was already beginning to regret this. "So…Say you've got to make a choice. A really difficult one, where you don't know the right answer, and people could get hurt if you choose wrong. How do you decide?"

"That's easy," Onmund said. Myfanwy blinked.

"Easy?"

"Yeah. You go with your conscience. Then even if things go wrong, you still know you've acted right."

"But—if you gather more information, learn more about the problem—or if you can find a way to know for sure which is the better choice—"

"Nah," Onmund said. "You can still pick wrong, no matter how much you know, right? And I know that the more that I know, the more confusing it just makes choosing. Go with your conscience. Make the choice that lets you sleep at night, my Da always says." He smiled at her. "I don't know why you're even asking me, though. You've always been much braver than me."

"What's bravery got to do with anything?"

Now it was Onmund's turn to stare. He cocked his head, frowning. "Isn't it obvious?" he said.

It was far too obvious. And so Myfanwy made a noncommittal noise and turned back to her reading—but for the rest of the afternoon, though she worked through all of Dragon Breaks and even made a start on Telling the Future for the Feeble-Minded Fool, there were only five words which kept marching round and round her head, driving out all others.

Borvir. Rundi. Ilas-Tei. Yisra.

Onmund.

Onmund.

Onmund.

Colette Marence was a small, wiry old mage who was so painfully Breton that more than once Myfanwy had caught herself unfairly annoyed with the woman for perpetuating widely-held stereotypes. The child of one of High Rock's thousand and one smaller noble houses, she'd managed to avoid the typical Breton high society squabbling over such incredibly important matters as who got the most ridiculous titles appended to their unnecessarily long names by being born fourth, informing her parents she had no intention of marrying anyone, and instead enrolling at the Julianos School of Magic in Wayrest. Her name, pointed Direnni ears and voracious ambition and talent had propelled her through her Apprentice, Adept and Master's studies alike, and she'd graduated as one of the university's most decorated Masters of Restoration in decades. The only question had been whether her career would be stellar or meteoric.

…And then her oldest brother had made a disastrously wrong move in the Great Game, her family had fallen into scandal, and Arcane University's youngest ever Restoration Master had been unceremoniously punted up to the frozen North, where she'd been ever since.

Brelyna had told Myfanwy the story over a bottle of wine in Solitude one night, and Myfanwy had to confess it did a lot to explain the Restoration Master's prickly disposition. Myfanwy rather liked her regardless—it was hard not to warm to someone who'd nursed you back from the brink of death twice. She thought Master Marence might not mind her either, though of course Brelyna was her protegee and the apple of her keen brown eye. Ever since her Apprentice had finally let her hair down, magically speaking, Master Marence had been strutting around the College like a particularly scrawny pig who'd just won the Greased Hog Tournament. Myfanwy doubted she'd ever let the other Masters forget that the most talented student the College had seen in living memory had chosen Restoration as her specialty.

Indeed, she greeted Brelyna less as a favoured student and more like a beloved niece at the entrance to her office. Myfanwy felt a small pang of envy and regret before shaking it away. Master Faralda hadn't really cared about her. And from what Myfanwy had heard of Brelyna's real family, she could use all the found family she could get.

"And Myfanwy Caldevwin," Master Marence said, after she'd released Brelyna from the embrace. "Good to see you." To Myfanwy's utter shock, she pulled her forwards too and bumped her bony jaw against Myfanwy's cheeks, one after the other. Myfanwy had to physically restrain herself from saying 'Hello, Auntie Mado' in response.

"Um. Hi, Master Marence."

"Come in, come in. Don't dally, we've got a lot of work to do." She stood aside from the doorway.

Myfanwy's mouth fell open. As Master Marence's office also opened into the infirmary, Myfanwy had spent all too much time in its proximity, but she'd never actually been inside before. It was like stepping into a jungle. Where Master Ancano's office was lined with books, Master Marence had gone instead for plants: pots large and small crowded on shelves and windowsills, vines and creepers hid the walls completely, and where other mages would have chosen to lay rugs on the stone floors, Master Marence had somehow planted a lush blanket of grass. Myfanwy's toes itched to throw off her boots and hose and bury themselves in the living carpet beneath her feet. She breathed deeply of the thick air, its rich heaviness filling her lungs very differently from the crisp, dry atmosphere she had grown used to, and fought the urge to squint. After the constant Winterhold monotony of grey stone, grey sky and white snow, so much green was overwhelming.

"Ah, I see Brelyna hasn't mentioned my passion for horticulture," Master Marence said. "You're from the Iliac Bay too, by that accent? I'm sure you can appreciate that after a few years up here one longs for a little more lushness than the cliff-faces can afford. And of course, the plants make for excellent practice subjects for my Apprentices. Far less distressing when something goes wrong than with mice, for instance."

"I can imagine," Myfanwy weakly replied. A smiling Brelyna took her by the hand and led her to a small desk with two chairs, next to the larger one by the dark window—the arrangement was just like hers upstairs, she noted in a daze.

Master Marence stayed standing. "Right," she said. "After finally seeing what both you girls are capable of"—Brelyna and Myfanwy traded guilty looks—"I've spent the whole summer thinking about how best we can make use of your unique talents. Don't look at me like that," she said sharply to Myfanwy. "You've got no talent for healing, I know, but the control and precision you have over your spells, especially in Illusion? Oh, yes, girl, I've been waiting for an opportunity like you for a long time. And paired with Brelyna here—why, I think we can finally attempt something I'd long given up on. Now, you know of two-person spellcasting?"

"Yes," Brelyna said, while Myfanwy nodded. "But I have never attempted it."

"Of course not. That's not something you'd usually tackle before getting your Wizard hat. But with the two of you, especially what with—well." Her smile turned sly.

"Because we are in love?" Brelyna said, making Myfanwy choke. "What? We are, are we not?"

"Yes," Myfanwy muttered, her robes suddenly too hot. She pretended she couldn't see Master Marence snickering.

"That's exactly why, yes. There are a few different ways double casting can be achieved, but the one we're going to attempt relies heavily upon trust between the two casters."

"What's the spell?" Myfanwy asked.

"It hasn't got an official name yet. That's right," she said, with an amused glance at Myfanwy, "you're not the only one with spellcrafting privileges in this College. Though of course my methods are rather more traditional." She plucked two heavily-inked sheets of paper from her desk and handed them to the girls. "This was the topic of my Master's dissertation. I have long wondered at the way other disciplines of magic might be used to aid healing, especially the Illusion school. After all, most high-level healing spells include Illusion forms woven in, and pain management spells might as well straddle the bounds of the two schools. But don't let school-purists like Drevis hear you say that." She flashed a quick smile.

"This isn't pain management, though," Myfanwy said, frowning as she studied the long string of forms in front of her.

"No. Kena Marence, what is this? I don't recognise any of these forms. None of them are those I've been learning to knit tissue or bone, and this secondary spell that weaves through the primary one…"

"It doesn't mend flesh or bone, Brelyna. It cures that organ we have always thought incurable—the mind." Myfanwy and Brelyna gasped in unison. Master Marence wore a self-satisfied smirk. "That's right, girls. I think the Mad God's touch can be cured, and I intend to use you two to prove it."

"Why us?" Myfanwy said. "Surely you could use any Illusionist, with your skills…Master Neloren…"

Master Marence shook her head. "Look at the forms, girl. Can you see Drevis pulling off the subtlety for that? Besides which, I like that old mer, but simple colleagues won't do. You'll see why shortly. Now, Myfanwy, I understand you'll need to rework the forms into something you can handle? Ancano mentioned one form is your limit, but you can pack a lot in. And what we need here is delicacy and precision, not power."

"Yes." Myfanwy was already compacting the forms in her head. They were complex; she'd need to expand into three dimensions, even if she patched the inefficiencies in Master Marence's original version, but she could do it. "I'll need maybe half an hour. And some ink and paper."

"Fine. Brelyna, you can use the time to learn the Restoration half of the spell. You can handle it?"

"Yes, Kena. Half an hour should be adequate. Perhaps three-quarters."

"Good. Then get to work. I'll make tea."

Myfanwy wasn't sure how much time had elapsed by the time she looked up from her finished spell, but there was a stone-cold mug of tea on the corner of the desk, and Brelyna and Master Marence were quietly chatting under the boughs of a young birch tree in the corner. Brelyna called it Myfanwy's 'spellcrafting trance', and she wasn't far off the mark—nothing and nobody existed for Myfanwy while her mind coiled around the complex puzzle that was the simplest spell form, let alone the minimum-magicka maximum-effect monstrosities that Myfanwy created for herself. It had only become worse since she'd figured out she could craft spells in three dimensions, rather than the standard two. If Myfanwy's regular spellcrafting was like solving a puzzle, three-dimensional spellcrafting was completing a puzzle in your head while doing another one with your hands when you didn't have any corners or edges and ninety percent of the picture was sky.

But she could do it, and she had done it, and—from what Master Ancano said, possibly uniquely—after a decade of by necessity pushing and strengthening her mind further than any other young mage, she was at the point where holding and casting a three-dimensional form was merely very difficult rather than outright impossible.

"I'm ready," Myfanwy said, startling Brelyna so badly she spilled tea all over the grass.

"Forget it," Master Marence said to Brelyna's stammered apologies. "I never water it enough anyhow. Do you need some more time to learn the spell? Or a break? You look a bit drawn."

Myfanwy shook her head. "I'm fine. And I know it, now. I have to, to—" She gestured at the sheet of paper in front of her, covered in a near-incomprehensible mess of spidery planes, cules and axons. Her system for notating three-dimensional forms still needed a lot of work.

Master Marence picked up the sheet and studied it. "Hmph. I won't pretend to understand what you've done here, but I'll trust to your abilities." She thrust the spell back at Myfanwy then bent low underneath her desk, her back creaking. When she straightened again she held in her bony arms a young calico cat.

Myfanwy's hand shot to her mouth. By Brelyna's gasp, she'd recognised the little cat's markings too.

"Is that…"

"The cat that idiot friend of yours last year claimed was an Alfiq spy for the Dominion, yes," Master Marence said, her voice hard. In her arms the cat stared vacantly ahead while Master Marence stroked its dull-looking fur. "Savos and Mirabelle were…let's say a little overenthusiastic while performing the Delve to assess its true nature. They should have brought her to me, but…well."

Ah. Yes. The family scandal. From what Brelyna had said, after Master Marence's family had fallen so far down the social ladder they may as well have taken up permanent residence in the cellar of High Rock society, the two middle siblings had become so disillusioned that they'd turned to the Dominion for a new life. Apparently both were now mid-level bureaucrats in Alinor.

"Her mind has been damaged?" Brelyna asked. She reached out a tentative hand to scratch the cat behind the ears. It might have been a toy cat, like the one Myfanwy had cuddled as a child, for all the notice it paid her.

"Irreparably so. Or at least, that was what I had thought. I'd assumed the best I could do for the poor thing was to keep her comfortable as long as I could. Now, however…" She settled the cat on the desk, carefully arranging her legs. Myfanwy's heart ached for the little thing, so much like her own Sophie, but so wrong.

"Does she have a name?" she softly asked. Master Marence shook her head.

"Names are for the living. It's better not to get attached." Her voice turned brusque. "Right. You saw the mending of the bridge back in Midyear, yes? And you know the theory behind double casting? Well, the casting methods and somatics here are quite different. Instead of each of you casting independently and weaving through the other's gaps, the healer—that's Brelyna—will guide the whole weave. Using a one-handed cast, like this." She demonstrated a sequence of movements with the fingers of her right hand, having Brelyna repeat the motions back to her until she was satisfied.

"And my other hand, Kena? Making contact with the cat?"

"Yes, yes. Though it's not just a transitional step while you're learning, this time. The spell is so delicate that we don't ever want to risk only air- and will-contact."

"Yes, Kena."

"And me?" Myfanwy asked, still unable to look away from the cat's glazed, slack expression.

"Make contact with the cat too—yes, that's good. With your other hand you'll need to make skin-contact with Brelyna."

Myfanwy reached a hand up to the nape of Brelyna's neck. Under her fingers Brelyna's warm skin shivered. She shot a smile over her shoulder.

"Good. You'll need that," Master Marence said, a smile finally breaking through her grim expression. "Now. Myfanwy, hold your part of the spell in your mind. Got it? Excellent. Brelyna, you can feel Myfanwy's fingers, feel her? I need you to extend your magicka into her. Form a link. You'll know when you've done it."

Myfanwy bit back a gasp. Her fingers on Brelyna's neck tingled, sparkling in that half-uncomfortable, half-joyful way as when she swallowed magicka potion.

And then, with the explosive pressure of a bursting dam, Brelyna's magicka flooded through her.

It was like fire. It was like ice. It was like she could suddenly feel every one of her veins and arteries, and every one of them was coursing with liquid lightning. She was only capable of thinking in cliches, barely capable of thinking at all, as every fragment of her body came alive and became a willing conduit for something more. Something miraculous.

Was this what Brelyna felt like, all the time? What Onmund felt like? And J'zargo? No wonder he couldn't go two hours without needing to fling some fire around—this was wonderful. Magical. The power was begging to be used, to be let out, to be given shape.

But she couldn't grasp it. The heady power coursed through her, setting her soul on fire with an ecstasy on the cusp of pain, but when she reached for it like she did for her own magicka her mind slid off. It wasn't hers. It was using her, rather than the other way round.

Frustrated tears prickled in her eyes. It was only with a great effort that she held onto the tangled Illusion form coiling in her mind—one so complex and subtle even she barely understood how it was meant to work when paired with its other half.

"Myfanwy." Master Marence's voice reached her ears as though from a great distance. "Myfanwy, you're all right?"

She nodded through gritted teeth.

"All right. Now, the tricky bit. Brelyna, you're going to be performing the healing itself. Firstly, reach into the cat's mind. Can you feel it?"

"Yes," Brelyna said faintly. "It's…Oh, Ancestors. What has happened here?"

"Don't think about that. Think about how it can be set right."

"But there is…too much…"

"Come on, girl, you know better than that," Master Marence said gently. "Just like when you were learning to heal physical injuries. Find a corner—a single thread—a small thing you can set right. Start with that. Can you see something?"

"I—I don't know—" Brelyna swallowed. Myfanwy had heard her so hesitant and scared only twice before: once when she'd accidentally turned herself green, and then when the Eye of Magnus had stolen her mind and she'd come to Myfanwy, pleading for help.

Myfanwy tightened her fingers on Brelyna's neck. She wouldn't fail her. Not this time.

You can do this, she thought fiercely, willing Brelyna to hear it through their strange, thrilling, terrifying connection. I believe in you.

There were several long seconds of silence. Brelyna's skin grew sweaty under Myfanwy's touch.

"Come on, girl," Master Marence urged in a low voice. "I know you're capable."

"I…" Brelyna began weakly. "I…Yes! I have it. I have something."

"Excellent" Master Marence's relief was apparent. "Keep hold. Now, you'll need to split your consciousness to take Myfanwy's spell and weave it together with your own as you mend the thread. Myfanwy will be holding the spell itself, so your mind won't be overwhelmed."

"Yes, Kena."

"Myfanwy, you'll need to let Brelyna in."

Myfanwy was starting to feel lightheaded. She held tight to consciousness, blinking against the wooziness. "She already is. I can feel her."

"Not like that." From the corner of her eye she saw Master Marence shake her head. "Into your mind. So she can grasp your spell."

"Um. Okay." What?

"Brelyna, whenever you're ready."

She wasn't sure how Brelyna did it, but suddenly she was there. Not just her magicka—Brelyna herself, riding along the river of liquid lightning in Myfanwy's veins. She could feel her, in her skin, in her muscles, behind her eyes, in her—

No.

Something inside Myfanwy slammed shut, just as Brelyna tried to enter her mind. She hadn't acted consciously, but she couldn't have stopped it, either—it was like touching a hot oven, or being unexpectedly caught naked. Just as the body flinched away, so did the mind. She managed to maintain physical contact and stop the spell from slithering away, but only just.

"Let her in, Myfanwy," Master Marence said patiently.

She could feel Brelyna as a gentle pressure against the walls around her mind. She willed them to lift. It shouldn't be hard—she had complete control over her mind, always. That was what made her so good. Compared to the spell nestled just behind them, removing those barriers should have been nothing.

But she couldn't.

Let her in, she told herself, eyes squeezed shut, as Master Marence repeated the same thing out loud. It's not that hard. What are you so scared of? Just let her in. She needs you. This poor little animal needs you too.

With an excruciating force of will she wrestled the barrier back, just a little bit. Brelyna's consciousness moved inwards, towards Myfanwy, towards the centre of her, where she could—

The walls slammed back. They crashed down so violently that Brelyna was expelled altogether, stumbling backwards as her consciousness and magicka both fled from Myfanwy in a great rush. Myfanwy was left feeling so hollow and empty that it was like the sun had gone out. She wanted to cry. Her mind felt flayed raw.

"Sorry," she muttered, staring at the patch of flattened grass by her feet. She wasn't sure who she was directing the apology at most. As if of their own accord her fingers brushed along the little calico cat's knobbly spine.

"It's quite all right," Master Marence said briskly. She pushed a tiny bottle of magicka potion into Myfanwy's unresisting hand, then handed a larger one to Brelyna. "I would have been astonished if it had worked on the first attempt. We'll just have to keep working at it. I know it feels uncomfortable, but with a bit of practice I'm sure you'll manage to open yourself up to Brelyna. After all, you love her, don't you? You trust her."

Myfanwy didn't reply as Brelyna interlaced their fingers and brushed a kiss against her cheek. Yes, she did love Brelyna. And that, she suspected, was exactly the problem.