I didn’t need to think about that. “No,” I said, looking back at the sketch. “Not once they turn. They’re no longer alive. Nothing remains that makes them mortal, at least.”

And that was sad because all of them had been mortal at one time—people who had lives and were someone’s daughter or son, friend or lover—before the Ascended ripped everything away from them.

My hands curled into the soft material of the robe. The number of lives the Ascended had destroyed was utterly incalculable. They could’ve done that to Ian and to Tawny, devastating everything that made them who they were.

The Ascended had to be stopped.

“The difference here is that the Gyrms were never alive in the first place,” Kieran explained, running a finger along sentences that looked like nothing more than scribbles on an ivory page to me. “They were created from the soil of the gods and from the eather—from magic—and used to do the bidding of the one who summoned them. Created them. They have no thoughts, no will beyond why they were summoned.”

I blinked once and then twice. “They were created from dirt and magic? Seriously?”

Jasper nodded as he started pacing. “I know it sounds like something made up to scare children—”

“Like the lamaea?” I asked.

He stopped and looked at me, glass halfway to his mouth as Casteel coughed out a quiet laugh. His pale eyes shot to the Prince. “I don’t even need to ask which one of you told her about that. Out of the things you could’ve shared with her, you chose that?”

“It was a passing comment in a wider, much more important conversation that she has somehow latched on to and never forgotten.” Casteel took a drink. “Not my fault.”

“How could I ever forget about a creature that has fins for legs and tails for arms?” I wondered out loud.

“The lamaea were never real. It was just a thing really twisted parents made up.” Kieran shot his father a pointed look. “But the Gyrms were, and they were usually summoned to serve as soldiers or guards—protectors of sacred places. It says here that they can be killed with any puncture wound. Apparently, it shatters the magic holding them together, so one doesn’t have to aim for the heart or the head.”

“Good to know,” I murmured.

Kieran continued scanning the page. “Once they’ve served their purpose, whatever holds the soil and magic used to conjure them—usually a vase or cloth of some sort—is destroyed by fire. Once nothing but ash remains, they disappear.”

“They’re just conjured into existence to do whatever someone needs, and then…poof, they’re gone?” My nose wrinkled. “That seems wrong and sad. And, yes, I get that they’re technically not alive. It still doesn’t feel right.”

“It’s not,” Casteel agreed, a muscle working in his jaw. “It’s why that kind of magic is forbidden by Atlantians and mortals alike in this realm.”

There was that word again. It tugged at the memories of my time in the crypts with Jansen. “When you say ‘realm,’ what are you talking about?”