Somewhere deep in the recesses of her mind, she could hear Galda scolding her for agreeing to something so unknown. This sword had been used in the darkest of rituals. And while Evie had wielded it, what did Aya truly know about the magic in the blade?
A tonic made by the healers in Rinnia was one thing. But this …
As if sensing her hesitation, the man put a withered hand on her wrist. ‘There is nothing to fear. A single touch, and then we begin.’
The words did nothing to calm her raging heart, which seemed to beat harder and harder as she unwrapped the blanket. But she’d made her decision. She could not run from it any longer.
The worn silver of the sword glinted in the firelight, its handle worn and plain. There was an inscription she couldn’t quite read on the blade, and her fingers paused over it, her pulse fluttering in her throat as she stared down at the relic.
The letter burning a hole in her pocket had her grasping the blade in the next breath.
She felt a stirring inside of her, a great rush ofsomethingthat ran from the tips of her fingers down to the soles of her feet.
The Vaguer grinned.
‘The trial begins.’
Aside from that initial jolt, the sword had done nothing. At least, that’s what it felt like as Aya stood next to the Vaguer before the fire, the roar of the flames droning on and on until it was a dull beat in her mind.
He had her call her affinity forward, first in flame, then in ice, then in wind, and then in the earth itself, creating trenches by the fire until he was satisfied. The elemental affinities, he explained, were the first of the Orders; the closest to nature. They were the easiest way to begin the descent into her well, which was how she would connect to hertruenature, as her essence was what fueled her power. It made sense, she supposed, that they’d been the ones she felt safest experimenting with, even when she’d been using the tonic.
Aya wiped the moisture from her brow, the sweltering fire sending sweat dripping down her back. Even though the desert night brought a bitter cold, she couldn’t escape the heat. It wrapped around her entirely, blanketing the sounds of the Vaguer and their voices until they were a muffled murmur somewhere far, far away.
‘What’s the point of this?’ The impatience was evident in her question, but the old man seemed unaffected. He merely smiled his crooked smile, his eyes like chips of obsidian.
‘Still you resist,’ he mused, more to himself than to her. ‘What is it about yourself that you are so desperate to escape?’
‘I’m not trying to escape anything,’ Aya growled. But the Vaguer clucked his tongue.
‘The lies we tell ourselves to avoid our truth,’ he said sadly. ‘You can feel it, can’t you? Boiling beneath the surface. You have shoved it so far down you hardly know how to access it.’
‘My power?’
‘Youressence.’ He whispered the words like a lover’s caress, his eyes flaring in the light of the flames.
‘Who are you, Daughter of Darkness?’
The words weren’t his.
They were a hiss somewhere in the recesses of her mind, a soft, probing voice that had the hair on Aya’s neck rising. She ground her teeth against the name while the Vaguer stepped closer, those midnight eyes growing wider as he took her in. He was saying something, but his words were smothered by the new voice.
‘What is your true nature?’
Aya took a step back, her foot narrowly avoiding one of those trenches. She stumbled, and from the corner of her eye she saw something that nearly made her lose her footing again.
Darkness crawled across the camp like a haunted mist. Itcovered the oasis, covered the rest of the Vaguer, covered everything until all she could see was an endless expanse of deep charcoal gray that swirled around her and the man. His skin seemed to glow in it, and he let out a gleeful laugh that had her skin prickling.
‘What is this?’ Aya demanded.
He grinned. ‘Let’s see what’s inside.’
She wasn’t sure who said it – if it was the Vaguer, whose eyes were gleaming with reverence, or the voice that seemed to be nestled against her ear. Either way, she didn’t like the sound of it. But before she could speak, someone was calling her name. She whirled toward that voice – like the sun given sound. And though she knew it was impossible, that it defied every law of nature and the gods, she knew who she’d see standing before her.
Her mother hadn’t aged a day. She looked exactly as Aya remembered, down to the brown pants and emerald-green tunic she’d worn when she left. Her long, dark brown hair was tied back with a white ribbon, her pale blue eyes bright as she smiled.
‘Ma,’ Aya breathed. Something was cracking inside of her, some wound reopening in her soul as she stared at her mother.
But her mother wasn’t looking at her, Aya realized. She was looking just next to her, to where a young girl, eight at most, stood, her blue eyes filled with tears.
