She glances down at her arms, blue and transparent. Panic clouds her energy. “I don’t know how to shift forms! I don’t know how to stop this!”
“You’re just upset, but it’s all right. I’m here. Just look at me. Focus on my eyes.”
Her eyes lock on mine and she gives me a shaky nod.
“Put your hand over mine.”
She does, then cries out when her hand falls through my palm.
“Don’t try to touch my hand yet,” I say. “Just lay your hand over mine.”
She tries again, and this time, she simply lets her hand hover.
“Good. Don’t look at anything but my eyes. Now, think about what it feels like to hold my hand. Think about the warmth of my palm. Think about the firmness of piano keys beneath your fingers. Remember how it felt when we danced last night? Remind yourself how it feels to have your feet upon the ground. Imagine the sensations.”
Her energy calms, and the whirlwind begins to slow.
“Focus on the beat of your heart, then the feel of your breath. Feel it entering your nose, filling your lungs.” I watch as her form slowly darkens, shifting from blue to warm skin. Little by little, she lowers to the ground until her feet land softly on the earth. “Take my hand.”
She does, eyelids fluttering as relief lightens her energy. With a sob, she wraps her arms around my neck. I pull her close, caressing her back, making soothing sounds in her ear.
But our work isn’t done. The whirlwind continues to blow around us, the sound of her eerie scream still filling the air.
Gently, I pull Ember’s arms from around my neck and hold her gaze. “Ember, you need to stop the vortex.”
Fear darkens her energy. “I can’t. I’m not controlling it.”
“You are, my love. Magic is fueled by personal intent. If the vortex still spins, it’s because something inside you wants it to.” I shift our stance so that we face the other figure. The woman still crouches close to the ground, hands over her ears, head tucked into her knees. Shards of wood knock into her again and again, and I see several open cuts over the backs of her hands.
Ember’s emotions flare with rage. “She murdered my father,” her voice comes out with a tremor. “She confessed in the coach. For three years, she blamed me for it, let me believe it had been all my doing.”
“She will be punished,” I say, tone firm, “but not like this. You may feel angry now, but if you kill her, I know you won’t forgive yourself.”
“I hate her,” she hisses, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I hate her with every inch of my being.”
“That’s all right.” I place my finger under her chin and gently return her gaze to mine. “Your hate is valid. You hate her because of what she did. She killed your father.”
She nods.
“And you loved him.”
Another nod. Her energy begins to soften.
“Focus on that, Ember. Focus on how much you loved him. How much you loved your mother. Think how proud she would have been to see you take unseelie form.”
She holds my gaze a few moments longer, then falls to her knees. All at once, the vortex goes still. Shards and splinters, all that remains of the coach, come crashing to the ground, forming a circle of debris. Her eyes flutter closed, and I catch her before she falls on her side. She’s unconscious, drained from such an expenditure of energy. One’s first shift into unseelie form can do that to a fae.
“Monster!” shouts the other woman as she rises to her feet on trembling legs. Her skin is covered in a thin layer of dirt, shards of wood, metal, and glass clinging to her hair. Her hands and cheeks are crisscrossed in numerous tiny cuts. The two young women I’d spotted earlier run forward, as does Brother Marus. Based on their appearances, I can tell the three women are related. So, this is Ember’s stepfamily.
Nyxia floats down as a dark wind, then lands in her seelie form beside me.
Ember’s stepmother points a shaking finger at the sleeping form cradled in my arms. “Monster,” she says again. “Arrest her! This vile girl almost killed me!”
My sister takes a forbidding step forward, but I hiss her name to stop her. “This is my problem,” I say, laying Ember softly on the ground.
She clenches her jaw. I can tell she wants to argue. Take charge. Clean up the mess I’ve made like she’s done so many times before. But if she truly wants me to be king, if she trusts me as much as she’s claimed, then she must let me do this.
She holds my gaze a few tense seconds then finally relents. “Go ahead, then.”
