“What?” Her eyes widened.
“You use his death as an excuse to ignore your Power bond. You refuse to claim it fully or train it properly, which makes you dangerous. Based on what you told me about your brother, I do not think he would approve of your ignorance.”
Astraia seethed, her skin heating with anger, and her bonds rushed to life, as though they could sense the topic of conversation.
“How dare you,” she snapped, teeth bared. Her fingertips pulsed with white light, thrumming through her core, desperate to unleash chaos on the infuriating man next to her.
“Now who is afraid?” He smirked, raising an eyebrow, then nudged his horse forward ahead of her.
“I will kill him,” she whispered to Orion as she kept a few paces behind the bounty hunter, eyeing the back of his cloak.
Whether she would admit it or not, the brute had struck a nerve. Elion would be ashamed of her for stifling her bonds, for hiding parts of who she was, all because of fear. It was righteous fear, she reasoned. Fear that kept her from harming others.
Yet the more she tried to silence her Power bond, the louder it screamed and the more aggressive and unyielding it became. Losing her tether in the void of her mind was not an experience she wished to revisit ever again. Neither was flaring Power until she burned to ash.
She could not fail Elion again. Power could be tamed. She just needed the right training. It was then she decided she would master her bond, if not for herself, then for him.
They made camp in a narrow clearing nestled between the moss-draped trees of Virellia’s borderlands, where the air shimmered with pollen and low-floating mist. The sky above them was beginning to darken, yet a few scattered stars managed to pierce the fading veil—faint reminders of what once was.
Astraia knelt by the firepit, coaxing flames from dry kindling. The warmth of it was meager, but enough to ward off the chill creeping through the undergrowth.
Across from her, Draven sat sharpening his blade with quiet precision, amber eyes catching sparks from the firelight.
She hated how easily the silence between them had become…comfortable.
“I still don’t trust you,” she muttered.
He looked up, smirking faintly. “Good. I wouldn’t trust me either.”
She rolled her eyes and settled onto her cloak, knees drawn to her chest. “So what’s your game then? Following me across the continent. Playing my shadow. Waiting for your opportunity to turn me in?”
Draven didn’t answer immediately. He finished a pass of his whetstone, then set his sword aside.
“I’ve seen what happens to those who flare without control,” he said, voice lower now. “You’re powerful. Too powerful to be reckless.”
Astraia flinched, her fingers curling at her sides. “I wasn’t reckless,” she said quietly.
Draven’s gaze didn’t waver. “I didn’t say you were. But you’re scared of it.”
The truth of it hit harder than any blade. She looked away, the fire casting shadows across her face.
“You’re hiding it. Binding it down so tight you can’t even breathe. That’s no way to live, Traia.”
She stiffened at the sound of her name in his mouth. It sounded…different. Less like a challenge and more like a plea.
“And what do you know of it?” she asked.
Draven stood and crossed to her side of the fire. She didn’t move as he knelt beside her, close enough to feel the heat of him through her cloak, eclipsing the heat of the fire.
“My father was star-bonded,” he said. “To Rage.”
Astraia blinked in surprise, her gaze snapping to him. He had never spoken of his life, let alone his past. “Then you know what it feels like…when it rises. How it tries to consume everything.”
He nodded once. “I also know it doesn’t have to.” He glanced at her, then nodded toward the glen beside their camp. “Come on. You’ve rested enough.”
***
“No.” Astraia stood, arms crossed, facing Draven.
