His jaw tightens. “You asked me to help you. Instead, you wound up hurt—”
“I’m fine. Look at me.”
Look he does, eyes scanning my face intently. He appears unconvinced.
“Really. I’m all right.” I fight off a yawn. “Nothing about six years of sleep won’t cure.”
“I’ll let you sleep for six decades if it means you stay safe. This is exactly why I did not want you attempting to use your powers.”
“I have to learn my limits. If I never explore them, if I walk around blindly suppressing them, as I have for most of my life…” I stretch out my arms as I speak, wincing at the soreness of my muscles. “It could end up in a far worse disaster than a bout of unconsciousness. Which you already know. You’re just too stubborn to admit it right now.”
He scowls at me.
I smile at him. “How long was I asleep, anyway?
“A full day.”
I press my lips together, absorbing the news. An improvement over the last time, but not by much. It is nearly dusk outside, twilight slanting through the misty tower windows all around us. My lips curl up at one side. “On the upside, I got to skip another loathsome dinner at court.”
His eyes flare with humor, but his grave expression does not so much as flicker. “I take full responsibility for what happened. Next time—if there is a next time—we’ll be more careful. Much more careful. I promise.”
“I don’t blame you, Penn.”
Without thinking, I reach out and place my hand on top ofhis. His whole frame jolts, a tiny earthquake rocking his bones. With aching slowness, he looks down at my fingers—slim and pale against his sun-bronzed skin. I doubt his expression would be more bewildered if he’d glanced down to find his hand intertwined with an ice giant’s.
I tell myself to pull back, to pull away, but my body no longer seems to be cooperating with rational thought. For a long moment we simply sit there, in the twilight stillness, neither of us daring to move or speak.
“You should know, I…” Penn hesitates. “If I’d thought for a minute that…”
“That what?”
“You have a great deal more power than I was expecting,” he admits, almost reluctantly. “For someone with such a limited grasp on her abilities, you are able to expel a great deal of raw strength.”
“Really?”
“You nearly hurled me into the godsdamned waterfall.”
I blink. “I did?”
“You did.”
“I don’t remember that.”
“That’s not surprising. When you let the power course through you unchecked, it overrides all your other senses.” His stare turns severe. “That’s why I have been stressing the importance of learning to contain it. You’re lucky you lost consciousness before it killed you. Before it killed the both of us.”
I remember the agony I felt before I passed out in the cavern—the splitting pain that threatened to cleave my head in two. Never in my life have I known such pain. I have little desire to experience it again. Still, I need to learn to use my power properly. Otherwise I risk it lashing out unbidden, and potentially harming anyone in my path when it does.
“So, what now?”
“Now you rest. You recover your strength.” He sighs, a soft huff of air. “Then, when I decide the time is right, we try again.”
“What if I can’t learn to contain it?”
“You will.”
“But what if I can’t?”
His hand pulls away, leaving mine cold and empty against the blankets. His tone is hard as brimstone. “You will, Rhya. Because you must. I will not see you hurt yourself or anyone else. I will not allow your conscience to be blackened by the consequences of losing control.”