Kitten and Allure

a nightmare.
All organized through the slow drip of information we and Jada have managed to muster and piece together. But they’re not going to be able to stand in my place inside Kitten’s bubble. No matter how close those women are to me and my family, they can’t help. Only an Elorsin can.
The Elorsins have been planning for the moment when we’d try to free this kingdom – but our plans have always ended in our deaths. Until we met Shade. Which was only confirmed with Mother’s prophecy.
Truth is, I don’t have any answers, and a messenger could arrive tomorrow with new pieces to this puzzle. What we already have barely makes any sense.
Wait until your grief has passed, then – Seek the remnant beyond the border.
Speak to a man named Martin but believe the word of a bird.
Let your reflection go hazy in clear waters and see instead through a gray lens.
In Silvari glass is a blade that can pass, a soul that can kneel, and a world that can heal.
This is not a battle that can be won. Before this time can pass, the mortal soul from its beginnings can not last. There is no way a soul can rule and live.
Because I heard what the Origin Spring said to the tallest forest tree – the key will be in the last of me.”
All I know is that my lines – Let your reflection go hazy in clear waters and see instead through a gray lens – are not a weapon, tool, or solution that is going to get us out of this mess.
The room feels too still and vulnerable as I light the overhead lantern. Logic says we’re alone. Those Sabers had no way around my Allure, and I can feel the cottage is empty – everyone has desires if I search hard enough. Even the desire to breathe. But I’d still feel better with wards on the doors. The horses are by the stream, and if I can coax my boy closer, there’ll be no need to disturb Kitten. I pace across to the door and out onto the deck. My boy lifts his head in curiosity as I jog down the steps, making a clicking noise and holding my hand out. A thin tendril of power remains with Kitten. At least she is letting me do this, letting me move away from her.
Being perfectly compliant.
A sharp thud, followed by a groan. I spin around, my power snapping outwards and searching my surroundings again as I dash back inside.
Kitten is on the floor.
No one and nothing else is here with us.
This is… unexpected.
I order my magic to behave, drawing it inward, putting that one tendril back to work. It leaves a niggling pain in my chest, through my soul, but it obeys. Just. Then, once her chest has risen, then fallen, then risen again, and I can confirm she’s definitely still breathing, I take a few steps back. Watching through the bay window as her wall rolls her across the floor.
Bloody Aeons.
Seth’s skills are more spatial than mine, but I haven’t been watching her intently for weeks now without knowing the basic parameters of her bubble, and these aren’t it.
She’s lost paces, from her original twenty-two down to what though?
More importantly, why?
The Release Seal on my hand itches, a nice distraction from the fact that my head is suddenly light with a rush of fear. The seal should look like an arrow for direction, flicks of symmetry for leave and return, overlapped by limitations on the number of days and permission to reach the limits of the kingdom. And the usual layer of protection that means none of us can touch a council member, dignitary, or the Crown. Lithael doesn’t want Sabers being released and going hunting for him.
Which doesn’t matter anyway, because the seven dots on this seal are down to two, and the leave and return curls are three-quarters dissolved.
Two days until our souls start a tug of war with the White Castle. Eventually, the castle will win.
She stirs just a little, and with a snap, she cuts off my power. Resisting me.
I rush to her side, picking her up and settling us both onto the couch. Settling her on my lap. My hand rests on her chest, my power opening up and my Seed overriding her resistance. Pressing into her. Pressing her into me. At once exactly where she should be and also far too dangerous.
I. Can’t. Win.

Eighteen Paces
I shift my weight to the side and nuzzle my face into whatever is underneath my head. “So comfy,” I moan.
My pillow vibrates with a stifled laugh.
“Kitten,” Roarke says, his voice coming from directly behind me.
Crap.
I sit up and turn toward the guy whose leg was acting as my mallow on a long gray sofa.
Inside. I’m inside.
The view through the window is of a familiar stream running down the hill. Really big trees. A path made of pebbles, all muffled heavily in darkness. If it weren’t for the flickers of light from the stream and the flashes of lightning in the distance, it would all be too obscure to make out.
I’m inside the dead woman’s house.
The flicker of a single lit lantern brushes over a low coffee table, two single chairs, and a worn green rug. The room’s practically round, with a small kitchen and stairs behind us. All the furnishings are facing the huge bay window and the view – well, what would be a great view if it weren’t pitch black outside. The clouds are heavy, blocking out the stars everywhere but one crack in the sky where a slice of the moon is barely managing to peek through.
Okay, it’s still night, the same night I assume, but how did I get inside? Memories come flooding back, and I turn an accusing gaze on Roarke.
“You knocked me out!” I shout, stabbing a finger into his chest. I don’t care if he makes a really comfortable mallow. “We had a