‘You think I haven’t tried?’ Will forced his voice to remain calm – bored, even. Because yes, every Visya learned how toshield. It was one of the first things they were taught when their affinities presented themselves in childhood, and it was crucial for those with sensation affinity. Because Sensainos could feel sensation just as easily as they could manipulate it, and could become overwhelmed by it before they learned how to shield.
Before they learned that they couldcontrolwhen they felt someone else’s state.
Will was one of the most powerful Visya in the history of the Dyminara. Shielding was second nature to him. And yet the more he used his affinity, the weaker his shield had become over the years.
When a sensation became too intense, toostrong… he might as well not have a shield at all.
This was a weakness. One no healer had ever been able to explain. One he’d already had to reveal to Gianna when she’d made him her Enforcer.
He couldn’t stand the thought of another person who could exploit it. Better to make Aya think it didn’t matter.
Will gave a blithe shrug as he stood. ‘The gods demand balance. Apparently, this is how Pathos gives me mine.’ A fitting punishment from the god of sensation. Will patted Akeeta before striding to Aya, stopping just inches away. ‘I guess he decided it wasn’t fair for me to be perfect,’ he mused, his fringe brushing his brow as he looked down at her. ‘Don’t worry. All other parts of me functionexceptionallywell.’
‘Doesn’t this bother you?’
‘No.’
It wasn’t entirely a lie.
Aya blinked at him, a scoff bursting from her lips. ‘Of course not,’ she breathed. ‘Why would I expect anything else from Dunmeaden’s Dark Prince? You bask in using your affinity to inspire fear.’
She stepped closer, her chin lifting as she met his gaze. ‘You like it, don’t you? The self-importance of it all. The fact that people tremble in your presence. The fact that you canfeelthe fear you cause.’
He could feel the heat radiating from her body, could feel her chest brush his as she sucked in a breath.
‘You’re sick.’
She made to step away, but he grabbed her arm, tugging her back to him. Aya yelped at the sharp heat that radiated down her arm – the same one that echoed in his own as she pressed up against him.
‘I don’t need an affinity to inspire fear, Aya love,’ he hissed before shoving her away. Cold air rushed between them as he stalked to the barn door. ‘You’d do well to remember that.’
8
‘You’re going to spoil your appetite,mi couera.’ Aya’s father wiped his brow as he shut another pie in the oven. Apple and cinnamon wafted through the small kitchen, the heat adding to the warmth that burned from the stone hearth in the living room. Her childhood home was small and unassuming. It looked nearly identical to the other farmhouses that dotted the valleys. But her parents had always made it a grand home.
Not in the ways of the merchants in town, with their stately townhouses and perfectly kept flower boxes. But through yellow paint that made the walls feel as though they held the sun. Through the scent of a home-cooked meal always flowing from the tiny kitchen. Through laughter and singing and a love stronger than she’d ever known was possible between two people.
The magic of her mother still flowed here. It was often what kept Aya away.
Sure, she blamed her training and her duties. But even before she moved to the Quarter, Aya made herself scarce around the house.
Her father, ever the soft and generous soul, understood – or at least thought he did. He knew that the hole her mother had left bit at Aya, even to this day. That the lasting, joyous memories that filled this house were too much for his stoic daughter.
Aya never bothered to correct his assumptions. Never bothered to tell him that she could still hear the words she’dscreamed at her mother – the last words she’d ever said to her – before she’d boarded that godsforsaken ship.
‘Don’t they feed you in that palace of yours?’ Pa pulled out a worn wooden chair across from Aya, sinking into it with a light sigh.
‘Your cooking is better,’ she said through a mouthful of meat pie.
It was a high compliment. Elara was no novice chef.
Pa’s laugh rumbled in his chest, his eyes crinkling as he smiled at his daughter. He, like most people who knew Eliza, always told Aya she was the spitting image of her mother. Where his skin was olive, theirs was pale. Where his eyes were a warm brown, theirs were a cool blue. Where he was tall and broad, they were short with subtle curves. Where his hair was black, theirs was a deep, dark brown.
But Aya could easily see the features Pa had given her.
His long dark lashes. His full mouth. His straight nose. His downturned eyes. The way they crinkled when he smiled.
‘She speaks the truth,’ Tova’s voice chirped from the small sitting room. Her friend had long since abandoned baking to curl up with a book instead, and her long legs draped over the arm of the leather chair she’d sunken into. ‘She also never stops eating.’
