Behind me, I felt Kaelren watching. Always watching, always calculating, always carrying the weight of failures that might not even be his.
But I didn’t feel any connection. Definitely not. That would be ridiculous.
Even if our marks pulsed in perfect sync with each other’s heartbeat.
6
Elle
“Again.”
I pushed myself up from the moss-covered ground for what felt like the hundredth time, spitting out dirt and what I hoped wasn’t blood. My entire body ached, the marks on my skin pulsed with an angry heat, and I was seriously reconsidering every life choice that had led me to this moment.
“I can’t,” I gasped.
“You can,” the Sage said calmly, sitting cross-legged on a mushroom that glowed with soft purple light. “The marks wouldn’t have chosen you if you couldn’t.”
“The marks made a mistake.”
“The marks don’t make mistakes. They make choices others don’t understand.”
We were in a training grove deep within the hollow tree, where the walls curved into a natural amphitheater. Bioluminescent fungi provided dim, uneven light that left pockets of darkness, making it hard to track movement. Which was probably the point.
“Try again,” Sarnyx said from where she leaned against the wall, thorns extended from her arms like she was born with them. She’d been my opponent for the last hour, and she wasn’t holding back.
“I don’t even know what I’m trying to do,” I protested.
“You’re trying not to die,” she said helpfully. “Very important skill here.”
“I meant with the magic!”
“So did I.”
She moved, faster than anyone covered in thorns should be able to move. I threw myself sideways, barely avoiding the thorned whip that grew from her hand. It cracked against the ground where I’d been, leaving gouges in the moss.
“Better,” the Sage observed. “You’re learning to read intent.”
“I’m learning to run away.”
“Same thing, initially.”
Sarnyx came at me again, and this time I felt something. A pull in my chest, like someone had hooked a line behind my sternum and yanked. Without thinking, I slammed my hand against the ground.
The reaction was immediate and violent.
Roots exploded from the earth—not small ones, but thick, angry things the width of my arm. They shot toward Sarnyx with intent, wrapping around her legs before she could dodge. She cursed creatively as more roots responded to my unconscious call, creating a barrier between us.
“Finally!” Bryx cheered from where he sat watching, Peeble perched on his antennae like a tiny crown. “She did the thing!”
“I did the thing?” I stared at my hand, which was now traced with gilded light that matched my marks. “I did the thing!”
“You did the thing badly,” Sarnyx corrected, slicing through my roots with her thorns. “But you did it.”
“The Root responds to need,” the Sage said, standing with fluid grace. “Your need to survive finally exceeded your fear of the power.”
“I wasn’t afraid of the power.”
“You’ve been terrified of it since you arrived,” Kaelren said from the shadows. I hadn’t known he was watching. Of course he was watching. “Terrified of what you might be. What you might become.”
