“It belonged to Queen Arianrhod herself, two centuries ago. Now it belongs to you.”
To me.
My hand tightens possessively, as though he might reach out and take it away from me. Which is ridiculous, as he’s only just gifted it. But the whip has a thrall of its own—one I am finding it hard to resist.
“I cannot possibly accept something so valuable,” I say, forcing out the words.
“You can. You will.” Soren moves close and places his hand over mine, tightening until the heavy, solid gold handle scores against my palm. “It belongs with a wind weaver far more than on a shelf gathering dust.”
“But—”
“Rhya.”
My mouth clicks shut at his tone.
“I have been waiting for an opportunity to give you this gift since I first saw you unleash that electrical storm on Fyremas. Months of anticipation for this single moment.” His eyes narrow a shade. “Do not spoil it out of some misguided feeling of obligation.”
I suck in a sharp slice of air. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yes. I’ll keep it.” My lips twitch. “Mostly because I think if you try to pry it away from me, my fingers may react of their own accord. With violence.”
His eyes edge with silver as he laughs. “Now that that’s settled…” His hand, still holding mine, spins me neatly around so my back is pinned to his front. “How do you feel about giving it a try?”
“Here?” The word comes out in a panicked squeak. “Now?”
“Look around. There’s no one to harm but a few electric eels. And somehow, I don’t think they’ll mind the extra charge.”
I allow my eyes to swing around the cove from the shallows where the waves gently kiss at the shore to the deeper waters where, every so often, a flash of white zaps from the turquoise depths.
No wonder the shorebirds and seals give this place such a wide berth.
“What do I do?”
He pauses to think, for once not ready with an answer. “It’s a conduit of sorts. From what I’ve read about Queen Arianrhod, she used it for precision strikes in battle. With each crack of the whip you should be able to send a paralyzing bolt of lightning at an enemy. In theory, at least. You’ll have to trust your gut to guide you in putting said theory into practice.”
That sounds less than ideal.
Soren senses my hesitation, reading me easily despite myfirm mental shields. “What did it feel like the last time you used your lightning?”
“The only time, you mean.”
He sighs, his breath stirring the hair at my nape, sending a shiver down my spine. “What did it feel like?”
“Like my skin was about to explode. Like every nerve ending in my body was immolating. Like I was about to die and I did not truly care, because if I was dead I wouldn’t be in pain anymore.”
He is silent, mulling that over. Eventually, he lifts his hand out in front of us and, with a surge of maegic, calls forth a globe of water from the cove. As it comes closer, I see he’s captured one of the electric eels within it.
My eyes widen as it halts five paces from us, hovering in midair. “What are you doing?”
“Research.” I can hear the smile in his voice. “Look at it. Really look. What do you see?”
I study the vibrant yellow eel, its serpentine body undulating as it makes slow loops around its floating cage. It is horribly ugly, with a gaping mouth full of razor-sharp teeth, slitted nostrils, and dark beady eyes inset in its head.
“I see…a very unfortunate-looking neck scarf.”
He huffs out a chuckle. “Okay, then what do you feel?”