“No,” Brenna said, and she sighed, tired. “My magic is not like theirs. Their magic...is like mine.”
“You taught them your magic?” Betrayal curled in Ciaran’s chest.
“No. Not them.” Brenna swept a hand over her face, smeared more blood accidentally. “But...yes, our magic came from the same...source.”
“Your friend in the silver bowl. The one who tells you when they’re coming.”
“He doesn’t tell me when they’re coming - I know.”
“Is he their commander? Did he train them?” Like you trained me. Ciaran couldn’t say it.
“He lost control of them,” Brenna said, and her eyes darkened.
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