I allow myself to scream one more time. Just one more. And then I remove the pillow and smooth out my tunic.
I move to sit at the desk, to where the stack of books Ryjax brought me lay a mess. Each one is about the Essentari, the different types that exist, and what their specific abilities are.
I’ve already finished the one about the Pyroflame, having not much else to do during the hours I’m left alone.
I learned how I should be able to conjure fireballs, ones that don’t just sit in my hand, but can be sent flying through the air. I read about how some Pyroflame can create protective barriers, walls of fire that completely surround them. But I haven’t been able to do either of those things.
I reach for the book about the Hydrokin. It makes sense to learn about them next. They control water, my opposing element, which means there’s a chance that I can control it, too.
But that chance is slim.
So slim that I hesitate to even open the book.
Not only are hybrids rare, but those who command the water are said to have a calming presence, which couldn’t be further from what I possess. They’re supposed to be adaptable and reflective, but considering I just screamed into my pillow, I think one would consider me anything but that.
Pushing the books to the side, I rest my head on my forearm. None of this matters anyway. I’m not strong enough to control the flame, and I never will be. Hell, I can’t even conjure it anymore.
Ryjax says that manifesting the flame has nothing to do with strength. That part comes later, when you need to hold it and desire to control it. Creating the flame is a mental thing, andapparently, my mind is an unfocused, untamable mess.
I need to get myself in order. I need to do better,bebetter.
I can’t allow myself to get distracted, to worry about things I can’t control.
I will see my parents again. I will see Char again. That’s what matters.That’swhat I need to be focusing on, and once my mind is centered again, the flames will come.
The sound of knuckles lightly tapping against the door causes me to stand.
It’s late.
I’m not sure how late but well past dinnertime. Ishla had brought me food hours ago.
The knock sounds again, and I suck in a breath.
“Serafina,” he says, and my muscles immediately relax.
I move to answer the door. Ryjax stands in the nook with a covered platter in his hands.
“What’s that?” I ask, focusing on the platter with interest, but I also don’t want to look him in the eyes. Not after how I behaved not too long ago.
“Let me in, and I’ll show you.”
I open the door wider, and he steps into the room. He moves to the desk and sets the plate down.
“Go ahead.” He motions me forward, his gaze going from me to the platter, me to the platter.
I squint before doing what I know he wants me to do. I lift the cover and stare at what looks like a brown sponge with some sort of cream on top.
I raise a brow.
“It’s cake.”
“Cake?” I question, dragging my finger across the top and popping it into my mouth.
The smooth texture hits my tongue, and I moan, which makes Ryjax release a low chuckle. I instantly cover my mouth, embarrassedby the noise. Just like the beef from the other day, cake is also something I have never had, and now, I never want to go another day without it.
My mouth waters.
“Good, right?” he asks, and that devastating smile that I’ve only seen once before crosses his face. If only he’d show it more often, maybe I’d start being nicer to him. “Here.” He pulls a fork from his pocket, and I take it from him.
