You nearly translated the spell—I suppose you deserve some recognition for that—but I must have failed to fully impart how devious Elder Vansion can be. How reading it from the lens of a modern Wisterian could be ruinous, given how archaic the language is, how simplistic compared to New Vansion.
Aurelie skimmed the words beneath, her translation with the blanks filled in and corrected by Professor Sheldrake:
Spill ancient blood, seize the fated thorn,
A quest for balance, through treason reborn.
One flame to extinguish destiny’s might,
Renewal through battle, one soul to make right.
In the shadows lies the ancient key,
Transformation, betrayal, to set forces free.
At crossroads dark, the portal will wake,
Creation from ruin, the bond we shall break.
Below that, Sheldrake had written,“Shadow” is an archaic term for demon. I believe the “fated thorn” in question refers to King Aciano’s hawthorn crown. Aurelie, this is a plot for treason. Whoever Everard is, he is not trying to send the demons back from where they came. He—
“Good morning, Aurelie.”
Aurelie thrust the letter into her pocket on instinct. Everard loomed above her like a gallows. “You’re early,” she blurted.
“Reading something interesting?”
She forced out a dry laugh. “Hardly. Just a note from one of my professors regarding a project proposal.”
Everard’s lips twitched. “Are you going to let me in, Aurelie?”
“Yes, of course.” She fumbled with the latch, her cold fingers numb and useless. Finally, she managed to open the gate just wide enough for Everard and closed it behind him. She hadn’t finished Sheldrake’s letter, but what she had read was clear enough. This had all been a trap, and possibly one far worse than she could have imagined.
“This way,” she said as they headed toward her workshop where the portal waited. Her mind raced for some sort of way out. Surely this wouldn’t work. She hadn’t translated everything properly—though she knew that likely didn’t matter, since Everard had provided the actual runes and Kiara had copied them with exacting diligence. Well, she would simply have to transcribe thefinal rune incorrectly. If Everard were capable of doing it himself, he would have done so already.
Leading Everard down into the cold, dark basement, she had a terrible feeling that he was going to kill her as soon as she was finished. That he’d never meant to let her uncle go in the first place.
She turned at the bottom of the steps to find him standing so close to her she flinched. “Where is my uncle?”
“He’s still in my basement,” he said. “Here.” He procured a key from his pocket and held it out. “This will free him. You have my word.”
“I don’t trust your word,” she said, refusing to take the key.
He sighed and reached into the breast pocket of his coat, procuring a letter. “Go on, read it.”
This she took, instantly recognizing Leo’s handwriting.
My dearest Aurelie,
Whatever you’re about to do, I beg you now not to. Everard cannot be trusted, and nothing he has planned is worth my life. I will die a willing sacrifice if only you’ll call this off. I love you. All of you. Never doubt that.
Yours always,
Uncle Leopold
She looked up at Everard with fury burning in her eyes. “How is this possibly supposed to reassure me?”
“Well, he had to be alive to write it, didn’t he?”