The Fragile Threads of Power

She tried to imagine what they were doing as she padded through the darkened rooms, opening cupboards and drawers, looking for the glint of coins, or metal, or magic. Carefully, she reached into the web of magic and began to mend the threads, drawing the frayed ends together, tying tiny knots that then fell away, leaving the ribbons smooth, intact. He threw out a hand to steady himself. “Nadiya.” But she went on, as if she weren’t holding his stolen magic in her hand. “Ideally, the power would go both ways. She felt them, clamping like giant hands against the splintered doorway, felt the frame shudder, and cave in, the darkness shrinking as the door was finally forced closed.