When my fingertips reach the cool, smooth glass, my shoulders sag with relief. It takes a minute for me to find the handle. I twist it and pull on it. The door slides open with ease.
I welcome the cool early-morning air that tickles my cheeks.
“Damn it,” I curse and pause in the doorway.
Okay, first thing is the terrace. There’s an wrought iron table and chairs on the left. The narrow pebbled path should be in front of me that leads me farther down the gardens, to the large, flat stone I used as my meditation sanctuary.
I inhale, brace myself, and slowly make my way onward. Unfortunately, I miscalculate where the path is, so I stumble over the low bushes that grow all around the perimeter and once more find myself on all fours.
A laugh bubbles out of me. This is ridiculous. I can’t navigate Vera’s studio. How could I ever navigate a trial, where I’d need to face deadly fae Ezkai?
This can’t be the end of me. Not after everything I’ve gone through to get here.
With an exhale, I pull myself to my feet. I stand still for a moment, trying to gather my thoughts and still the raw emotions that swirl in my chest.
I can do this. How hard is it to find a godsdamned stone in the garden?
In my mind, I conjure the image of Vera’s gardens. The layout takes a while to come to me, the images from Daegel’s estate gardens popping up here and there.
But finally, I manage.
Breathing in through my nose at the count of four, I breathe out through my mouth at the count of six. After a while, I manage to guide my breath through my whole body. From the crown of my head to the soles of my feet.
I’m one with the world, part of the ecosystem. My shoes itch uncomfortably, so I remove them and toss them aside. The grass is cool under my feet, but it feels better. I flex and wiggle my toes.
And then, I charge forward.
This time around, I’m much more grounded and have a clear map of Vera’s gardens. It makes navigating the path so much easier. I tune in to my other senses and listen for the rustle of the leaves, the cracking of the toads, and pay attention to the texture under my bare feet to orient myself.
I do manage to hit my big toe into my meditation rock…
“Ouch! Son of a bitch,” I curse, bracing a palm on the flat surface and bending to check on my toe.
Ah, finally.
Once I’m certain my toe didn’t break, I crawl on top of the damn stone and fold my legs under me. My palms rest on my knees, my back straight like a bowstring.
I inhale.
Exhale.
I don’t feel. Don’t think. I simply am. A still fortress.
Slowly, I reach deeper into my mind. The closer to the misty darkness that covers my memories I inch, the more tension builds in my temples.
I ignore it and press forward. My breathing grows more labored, and the ache intensifies.For fuck’s sake.
I hiss when the burning of my tattoo grows to the level of pain that’s hard to ignore.
But I press forward.
I. Need. To. Learn. This. Fucking. Lesson.
Unfortunately, brute force doesn’t work. The harder I push, the more it hurts. And soon, my mind grows fatigued. I’m dizzy, as if the world around me is spinning…
A familiar emotional network enters my space, which only further agitates me.
I know it’shimwithout having to hear his voice.
