“Good. Now tell me, how did you do it?” she asked, and I was confused again.
Did I miss some part of the conversation? My expression must have given my confusion away, because she laughed and quickly kissed my lips chastely before releasing me from her hold.
“How did you drain the life from the Noble Student Residence Halls’ garden? Can you show me?” she asked and pointed to my strawberries.
I gasped.
“Not my strawberries,” I protested.
The mere thought of destroying my favourite fruit was almost blasphemous and pulled me immediately out of the aroused haze that I had been slipping into. Selene laughed; she knew my love for my strawberries, her smirk giving away her intent. I frowned in a playful sort of way, the silent teasing between us lessening the previous tension.
“Anyway, I don’t think I could do it again if I tried,” I told her, unimpressed with her blatant disregard for my strawberries.
She calmed quickly, “Explain,” she demanded, an edge to her voice, and distrust filled my stomach in a queasy way. The softness of our interaction turned hard again.
“Is that my own, or do you distrust me?” I asked.
Anger crossed her features momentarily, and with it, a brief burning in my chest before both sensations quickly stopped.
“We will find a way to put a stop to that. I do not enjoy you questioning me based on phantom emotions that you can hardly distinguish from your own,” she told me, and the way she looked away from me—just briefly before turning her eyes back—indicated that she was upset.
“So you distrust me?” I questioned again, pressing for an answer.
She may have been upset that I could feel how she felt, but still, I was offended. “I’ve never lied to you. Why do you have so much distrust for me now?”
“I’ve never heard of a Flores witch draining life, Percy,” she stated coldly, her eyes watching me as if expecting to find some answer in my expression, “Heidi lied to President Minerva when she said such a gift was rare but not unknown. This leaves two possibilities for what took place today. The first and infinitely more likely: you and Ana were dabbling in inter-coven magic—a violation of Borealis law that carries the death penalty. Or second, you possess a novel ability, and not some insignificant, barely-worth-writing-about novel ability, but one with the potential to bring entire lands to their knees without a single shot, nor bomb, nor soldier’s life risked. An ability that would be sorely coveted and produce a whole new set of challenges for me in keeping you safe. So, my little pet, which problem must I contain?”
I gulped nervously.
“You’re talking about war?” I asked and she simply kept her stare on me, waiting for an answer. “I’d never help in a war. I don’t care what it’s about, whose side we’re on. I won’t ever help to starve another person, Selene. Never,” I told her categorically. Her stare held. “I, we, we weren’t—it’s not inter-coven magic,” Istuttered, feeling the weight of Selene’s silence as she waited for my answer. Selene exhaled unhappily.
“It was your own magic?” She asked.
I nodded.
“I wish it had been inter-coven magic,” she sighed. “It would have been far easier to find someone to burn in your place, abdicate as heir to the throne, and disappear to live somewhere far and remote—a different land—together. This new ability of yours complicates already complicated matters further.”
“What do you mean? What matters?” I asked.
Things had been calm since the summer. Sure, there were tensions between the Academy guard and the Royal guard, but that was kind of to be expected given how protective Selene was. But she had reminded me—Selene had chosen me. No new suitors pursued her—or if they did, I was unaware—and she did not entertain them. She had even informed the King of us. She hadn’t told me much about how that conversation went or how he felt about it, but life had been normal—as normal as it can be for a Princess.
“You said you cannot repeat the feat. That is unacceptable. You must be able to perform the same magic again. It’s the quickest way to prove you and your friend’s innocence—before the accusation spreads kingdom-wide,” she said, ignoring my questions. I huffed in frustration. I knew she would not answer me. Selene had a habit of keeping her work to herself.
“I don’t know how I do it. I’ve only done it once before,” I said, deciding to leave the issue of complicated matters alone until Selene chose to share with me in her own time. I trusted that she would—eventually, if she thought it necessary or not at all if whatever she classed as complicated corrected itself. I felt upset. If I could trust her so easily, why could she not trust me?
“You’ve done it before? When?” she questioned, eyes glowing brighter, interested.
“The day you came for me. In the spring. When you—when you threw me to the ground. I noticed my strawberries wilt. I didn’t think of it again. Not until now. But it was a minor version of what I did today,” I explained.
“I apologise for being so rough with you,” Selene said sombrely.
“It’s okay,” I rushed to reassure her, not liking the flash of sadness that crossed her face. But she shook her head to stop me.
“You will not make excuses for me or attempt to lessen my guilt. It is deserved. Still, we must move on. What I understand is that in both instances when you performed this magic, you were unexpectedly attacked and/or scared, yes?” she asked, I nodded. “You must practice then, until you can perform the same magic again on at least one plant. You will show President Minerva your new ability as soon as you can. It is the easiest way to release the accusation of inter-coven magic.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” I agreed. “I’ll start now.” I turned to choose which plant in my garden would sadly be my victim.
Selene turned me back around by my shoulder, an endearing smile tugging at her lips.
