“He taught me to keep the storm inside contained!” I nock another arrow. It is one of my last. “To shut the gate within, so it does not rip off the hinges and kill me in the process.”
He shakes his head and growls, “Godsdamned Pendefyre and his godsdamned need for control.”
“Can we focus?” I fire an arrow at a particularly large Reaver who has cornered a family by the foot of the bridge. “There are more important things tonight than my inability to weave the wind.”
“No, there aren’t,” he snaps, an uncharacteristic bolt of temper. His hand finds my arm and he jerks me to a stop. Beneath the maegic, his eyes are full of tightly leashed frustration. “Listen to me.”
“Soren—”
“Pendefyre wants you to lock down your power because that’s how he manages to coexist with his own. Like an alcoholicat the bottle, he consumes in extremes. All or nothing. Feast or famine. It is simpler for him to abstain when the alternative is annihilation.” Soren leans in so his face is a hairsbreadth from mine. “But you do not share his vices. You do not possess the same issues with control. You simply need to learn to drink in moderation—and from someone who knows how.”
I jolt back an inch. “I don’t think—”
“Deep down, you know I am right. Think of the times your maegic has come to you naturally. Not when you’ve forced it out, not when you’ve coerced it with brute strength. When it flowed without thought, easy as a breath in your lungs.”
I see my arrows sailing, always finding their marks. I see my feet flying over cobblestones, wings of air beneath me. I see my palms lifting, a pure blast of power sending Keda’s killer through a windowpane.
All those times, I had not forced the maegic. I had not even thought about it. It had come to me just as Soren said—like a natural extension of self.
“Your power is not the problem,” he murmurs. “Your teacher is.”
I jolt. “But—”
“You are not like him, skylark. You are likeme.” Soren’s liquid eyes are a roving tide, shifting over my face. His hand rises for the briefest moment to where my bodice plunges, coming to rest on the exposed whorls of my Remnant.
I nearly leap out of my skin. No one else has ever touched my bare mark before. It is excruciatingly sensitive under his fingers, the skin tingling in a way that makes it impossible to breathe, let alone speak.
“You said there is a storm inside you—one that needs taming. I’m going to let you in on a little secret,” he tells me softly. The tingling intensifies, a flood of pure sensation, as he sends a pulse of maegic directly into my skin. “It is not a monster to be shovedinto a cage, nor a daemon to be subdued. There is no storm to tame.Youare the storm, Rhya Fleetwood.”
We jerk apart as another group of Reavers run at us, shattering the moment. But as I reach for another arrow in my quiver, I cannot stop thinking of Soren’s words and what they will mean for my future…assuming any of us lives through this night.
You are not like him, skylark.
You are like me.
My quiver is empty when I catch sight of a familiar face racing toward the bridge. Racing toward me. His gray hair streaks back from his face as he runs to my side. In his eyes, worry wars with steadfast composure.
“Uther!”
“Have you seen Carys?” He is winded and sweaty but otherwise appears unharmed. “I went to the shop; there’s no sign—”
“She and Farley were making their way to the keep, last I knew. I was with them until we hit the marketplace, but I got drawn into the battle and lost track of them.”
His worried gaze sweeps the lakeshore. My own follows, widening in surprise at what I see. The fighting is dying down. The sand is littered with dead—mostly Reavers, I note with no small amount of satisfaction. The few who remain alive are being driven back down King’s Avenue. Some are fleeing outright toward the tunnel. However impossible, it seems that we might actually win this fight.
“I’m sure Carys and Nevin are safe inside the keep,” I assure Uther, grabbing his hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “She did not want to leave the shop. She wanted to wait for you there. But when the fighting hit High Street, I gave her no choice.”
“You did the right thing. Thank you, Rhya. For going to her, and for forcing her to head for safety. I know how stubborn my wife can be.”
“Oh, she would’ve been just fine without me. She has her saber, after all.”
He smiles. “I’m relieved to hear it. Still, I’ll feel better when I confirm it with my own eyes. We have seen heavy losses—soldier and civilian.”
“But the worst of the fighting seems to be over.”
“For now,” he agrees. “Pendefyre and Mabon have sealed the tunnel again. For how long, we cannot say. Whatever enemies remain in the city are being executed by Cadogan’s and Jac’s units as we speak. But the clans are only a precursor. Efnysien’s army awaits outside the city perimeter. Five thousand men in red, prepared to crush us if the Reavers do not succeed.”
I inhale sharply. “So many.”