“The griffon shield kept us alive,” I murmur, and Tiernon sends me a sharp look from across the room.
“Do you want to discuss that now?”
Gerith sneers at him, opening his mouth, and I hold up a hand.
“Tiernon, my brothers have been impacted by this since the moment Bran showed up at our door. They’re old enough now to know the truth and to understand the risks. I can’t keep them safe by hiding things from them.”
It’s taken me a while to understand this, but I get it now. Evren sends me an appreciative look while Ger reaches out and squeezes my hand.
“A griffon shield?” he asks, and I fill them in.
“Wow.” Ev’s brow wrinkles. “I’ve never heard of something like that.”
My eyes meet Tiernon’s. “Rorrik was right. I had no control over the shield. I could only hold it for moments. If anyone else had seen it …” My voice trails off. Jorah saw it. But this, I know, he’ll keep to himself.
“He’s also right about something else. I need to learn how to use it,” I say. “If I’d been able to use water, the way I did that day when Rorrik was here, I could have avoided Albion’s knife.”
A muscle jumps in Tiernon’s cheek at the mention of the knife. “If you’d already shielded, it’s likely you couldn’t have summoned water. Not without more training.”
“So I need to train. I don’t know why my power is working this way, but I can’t hide from it any longer. Will you help me?”
He gives me a look. “You know I will.”
“Will we leave Senthara now?” Evren asks. “Are we going to go north?”
“No. I’m sorry, Ev.”
Tiernon lifts a brow and I know he’s wondering how far my newfound transparency will go.
“I have to kill the emperor before we can leave this place.”
Gerith goes white. Slowly, he rolls off the bed, getting to his feet. “That’s impossible.”
I sigh. “It’s not impossible. He’s not immortal. But it is very, very difficult.”
Ger throws up his hands. “You were just nearly killed by a guardant!”
Tiernon grins at me. “How’s that candor working out?”
I poke my tongue out at him and his eyes darken.
My neck begins to burn, as if my bond with Bran is waking at the reminder of my task. The dull itching spreads through my hands, and I attempt to ignore it.
The urges aren’t mine.
They’re Bran’s.
And I won’t let his bond make me throw away my life.
“I’m more concerned about Mortuus,” Evren says, suddenly sounding more mature than I’ve ever heard him. “You said you heard his voice in your head.”
I want to dismiss the voice as my imagination, but that would be a lie.
“Yes. Twice.”
“I’ve never heard of him being able to communicate before. Even to his followers. Did you know there has been an entire sect dedicated to freeing Mortuus for decades now?”
Gerith, Tiernon, and I stare at him.
