I bump shoulders with Farley as I take a seat beside him on the stone wall. “I need the spending money. And, seeing as you wagered against me, I can’t muster much sympathy.”
“Don’t hold a grudge.” Farley’s shoulder bumps mine in return. “I wasn’t the only one betting against you! At that distance, only someone daft would guess you’d hit all twelve.”
“Why?” My eyes narrow. “Because I’m female?”
“Oi!Don’t be putting words in my mouth.” He eyes the stretch of earth between us and the targets. “Doubt even our top marksmen in the Ember Guild could manage to make those shots without a single bogey. You’re a sorceress, I’m sure of it.”
“I’m no such thing!”
Jac crosses his arms over his chest and stares at Farley. “She doesn’t need sorcery, you fool. She’s the bloody Remnant of Air.”
“So?”
“So, it’s no great shock she can outshoot our best marksmen. There’s likely no target in the realm she won’t be able to hit if she puts her mind—or her power—to it. She can control the damn wind currents. Her arrows will always find their marks.”
“What?” Farley explodes. “Ace! You could’ve told me, you little cheat!”
“I’m not a cheat! Don’t cry foul because you underestimated me.”
“Jac just said—”
“Jac doesn’t know what he’s talking about. I’m a good shot. A natural. That has nothing to do with my Remnant.”
“Mm-hmm.” Jac snorts. “I hate to break it to you, Ace, but your talent with a bow has everything to do with your powers. Half the time you don’t even set your stance or aim properly before you shoot—yet you somehow still hit the target every time. How is that possible? I’ll tell you:it’s not.Unless you’re influencing the wind, sending those arrows sailing through the air with zero resistance. Just because you don’t realize you’re doing it doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”
I blink slowly at him, baffled into silence. Can it be true?Have I been unconsciously tapping into my power? It seems impossible. But perhaps being a wind weaver is so deeply ingrained in who I am, it bleeds into my most mundane actions without any actual intention.
“Don’t look so dismayed, Ace. You’re not the one with an empty coin purse.” Farley grins at me. “Though, in the future, I’ll know better than to bet against you.”
“I didn’t know…” I trail off, shaking my head. “How could I be using my power without even realizing it?”
“Be grateful it came out in your superb archery skills,” Jac says. “There are much more unpleasant ways Remnant maegic can manifest. Trust me.”
I think of the sparks jumping from Penn’s fingertips. Two handprints scored into a wood fireplace mantel. Taper candles boiling into rivulets of wax on a banquet table.
“How out of control does it get?” I ask softly. “The prince’s power?”
Both men glance at me sharply. All traces of humor are abruptly gone from their faces.
“You’ll have to ask him about that.” Jac’s eyes are very solemn. “But you should know…the birthright he carries is not an easy one to bear. It’s not hard to understand why. Of all the elements, fire is perhaps the most…volatile. The most unpredictable. Arguably the most destructive. He battles with that reality every day. Most days, he wins.”
“But not all.”
“Not all,” he agrees. His voice drops lower, out of earshot of the other soldiers milling around the archery arena behind us. “That day on the range, with the Reavers, after he summoned the flame…I wasn’t sure we’d get him back. The battle fury burned so hot inside him, it was like his very skin was aflame. We had to dunk him in ice-cold river water to cool him down. Three barrelsof it. They burst at the seams around him, split open like melons, one after another. And the water didn’t just boil over…itevaporated. I didn’t think we’d ever manage to quell the fire.”
“The Reavers—”
“It wasn’t the Reavers.” Jac cuts me off. “I’ve battled by his side a hundred times. A hundred enemies. Monsters, men, everything in between. I’ve never seen him lose control like that. Never seen him so close to the edge.” His eyes hold mine captive. “It wasn’t about the godsdamned Reavers. It was aboutyou.”
My mouth falls open. But any response I might have mustered is swept away by the sound of approaching footsteps. I do not turn to look. There is no need—the faint tug on the invisible thread looped around my heart tells me clearly enough who stands there. Several soldiers murmur greetings to their prince, but he says nothing. His words, when they come, are for me.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
My shoulders stiffen. Could he never spare a kind word? Could he never utter a simple greeting? It takes all my effort to keep the glare off my face as I glance at him. I mean to meet his eyes, but my gaze snags on his chest. He is still shirtless, his mark on full display. It is even more intricate up close, the design etched in stunning detail. I cannot seem to look away.
“Rhya.”
My eyes sail upward. Color burns across my cheeks. “What?”