Jac, Cadogan, Mabon, and Farley all speak to me when I reach their huddle by the door. Words of thanks, words of congratulations. For the life of me, I cannot focus on anything they’re saying, even as they slap my back and smile down into my face. I am waging an inward battle against myself, fighting against the rising surge of power—suppressed while Carys needed my aid, now rearing its ugly head. My pulse is thunder in my veins; my nerve endings crackle like lightning. I place a hand against my Remnant, pressing hard through the fabric of my gown, as if to force it into compliance with sheer willpower.
It prickles defiantly.
Leaning against the far wall like he is carved from stone,Penn takes one look at my face, grabs me by the hand, and leads me away without so much as a word of explanation to his men.
“Penn,” I breathe, a note of desperation in my voice.
“Not here,” he mutters, tugging me into the empty dress shop. “Not yet.”
I say nothing more. In silence, we cross to the front door, passing bolts of fabric and half-pinned mannequins. We step out into the bright light of midday and cross from one side of High Street to the other, ducking between a parked cart of apothecary supplies and a towering stack of flour bags outside the chocolatier.
There is no need to describe to him how precarious is the thread on which my control hangs; no need to share how the coil of power at my chest is threatening to come unspooled with each passing instant. My emotions are a raw current; my every feeling blasts through the bond without restraint. There is no way to hold it back, no way to tamp it down. He shares my searing agitation, my brimming disquiet, with each step we take down the cobbled streets of Caeldera, with each breath I pull into my shaky lungs.
The crowds are thick around us, throngs of shoppers and tradesmen lining the streets. Their faces are a blur in my peripherals, an undulating sea I cannot bring into focus. They give us a wide berth as Penn leads me back toward the palace. His hand is strong and warm around mine, grounding me when the emotions grow to a fever pitch.
All sense of light and joy is slowly being crowded out by darkness and despair. Visions flash through my head with each step.
My body, floating at the center of a ripping tornado. A shattered wagon in pieces on the ground. Gower’s corpse, spearedclean through. My little dagger slashing against the hollow of his throat.
A scene of devastation.
A scene of death.
At my own hand.
You killed a man.
I need a release. I am barely holding on. Try as I might to push it down, to keep it in, I have not yet learned whatever control will allow me to gather my power in like a breath but not release it in a gust that obliterates everything around me.
Penn was right when he found me back in those woods. I am afraid. Afraid of my own capabilities. Afraid of whom I might hurt. I think of Soren—his nonchalant skill with the goblet, making the beads of water dance an intricate ballet for my amusement. How is it he learned to command his power with such nuance, when I cannot access my own without unleashing a wave of raw strength that sweeps me away? How is it he mastered his abilities when Penn, in nearly the same amount of time on this earth, seems scarcely able to tap into his without incinerating everything in his path?
There must surely be some middle ground between locking in my power and wielding it like an extension of myself. But if there is such a balance, I have no idea how to strike it. When the wind rises inside me, it is like a cyclone. Unstoppable. Unfathomable. I cannot hope to prevent it. All I can do is seek high ground, or try like hell to outrun the worst of the fallout.
By the time we reach the cavern behind the falls, I feel as pale and shaky as Carys looked in the throes of delivery. Penn’s strides never falter as he leads me up the rough-hewn steps. Mist hangs heavily in the air, filling my lungs and slicking my skin. I press my lips together as though I might contain everything inside, no longer even daring to draw breath.
“Rhya.”
I glance at Penn, barely seeing him. My eyes are turned inward, to the raging storm that rattles my bones. My lungs scream for air, but I do not comply.
“Breathe,” he orders, gripping me by the shoulders. His fingers bite into my flesh hard enough to bruise. “You have to breathe.”
I shake my head. I am afraid to part my lips, afraid the smallest breach in my external control will trigger the same inwardly.
“Gods, youfeeltoo bloody much! That bleeding heart of yours is going to get you killed.” He looses a low oath. “You need to separate yourself from it. Create distance between your mind and your heart. Between your heart and your power.”
He makes it sound simple.
“Strong emotions are a liability. They are a powerful trigger for someone like you. For someone like me. Feeling anything too deeply—pain, panic, fear, joy, desire, or”—his voice catches—“love—” He clears his throat, hard, and continues. “Is far more dangerous than feeling nothing at all. It can make your control slip like this. It can make you spiral into chaos.”
I struggle to focus on what he’s telling me. His words are distant, muffled by a roar of wind inside my head.
“The things we want most in this world…The things that make us feel the most intensely…” His eyes are locked on mine, never shifting, trying to convey something he isn’t willing to put plainly into words. “Those are the things we cannot have. Not without great risk.”
I try to nod but can’t manage it. Despite his urgings to distance myself from them, my emotions are still running rampant. My heart hurts almost as much as my screaming lungs. Though neither aches as much as the mark on my chest.
“You are stronger than your fear, Rhya. You are strong enoughto push down the power. You just have to believe it.” He shakes me so hard, my head snaps back. “You are the gate that holds the wind at bay. You are the sentinel at the threshold of chaos. You will not yield. You will not fall. Do you hear me?”
He’s scaring me—almost as much as I’m scaring myself. And yet, there is some small part of me that responds to the violence of his grip, the uncompromising edge to his words. So I close my eyes and do as he says. I seek my center, find myself floating at the eye of a hurricane. The storm clouds are black as night, billowing with malice. The waters are not calm; they churn around me, a frothing portent of the tempest to come. I know I do not have long until the wind bursts from beneath my skin. I tremble as I tread water, fighting to keep my head above the icy swells.