I try to source it from the ground this time, but all I feel is Wrath’s aggravating presence. The magic bursts again, sending my body flying back. I twist, attempting to break my fall as I hit the ground.
“You didn’t listen.”
“Of course I listened!” I snap at him, standing upright. It is hard to focus when his magic makes my mark sing for him like a songbird—the traitor.
“I think you can try once more before you reach burnout.”
“What’s burnout?” I ask.
“It’s the amount of magic one can wield before you become drained,” Wrath explains.
“What happens after that?” I keep pushing him for answers, wanting to learn more.
“Most commonly, you’ll fall into a deep slumber for a few days as your body replenishes. In rare cases, death.”
My eyes widen. “You can die?”
“It’s a nasty curse,” Wrath says. “You won’t die, though. I’ll flood you with my magic before that happens.”
“How benevolent of you.” I lighten my tone, almost teasing him. Of course, he needs me alive—for this journal, for the curse. I am a tool for him to get what he wants.
“Careful, that almost sounds like you’re being nice to me,” he warns.
I stifle a laugh. “You’re right. Can’t have you thinking I enjoy your company.”
His lips twist wryly, but Wrath refuses to smile. I wonder if he thought that was amusing. Placing my hand back on the book, I try to unlock it one last time. He places his hand over mine. My mark runs down the length of my arm and into my fingertips to meet his touch, which infuriates me to no end.
I close my eyes and try to draw power from the earth, not Wrath. I take my time, trying to feel through the shadows for something to come to me rather than trying to seize it. It lingers in the air around us, the walls, and the stone beneath my feet. I wait for it, then leverage the power. Something pops under my palm, and my eyes fly open in surprise. As soon as I look down, I lose focus, and control slips through my fingers.
The magic sends me backward, directly into Wrath’s chest. His hands grasp my shoulders to steady me. We are a mess of limbs and hands as we clamber to stay upright. Wrath stabilizes me, and I apprehensively glance over my shoulder at him. We stare at one another for a tense moment, his hands still clasped around my shoulders. I jump out of his hold like a cat dropped in water, trying to hide my flustered state.
“Did I do it?” I open the cover of the journal. On the inside, written in a thin script in the top corner, is my mother'sname. I try to flip to the next page, but they remain bound together.
“You opened one page.”
“That’s farther than you got,” I point out.
“Yes, congratulations,” Wrath says indifferently. “We’ll try again in four days. Don’t exert yourself too much so the magic can replenish.”
When I gather myself, I feel the wave of exhaustion, but still, I stand an inch taller. I wielded magic and didn’t die, which is a great success in my book. What other things could I learn to use magic for? It’s strange to see myself as one of them after being raised to hate them.
I likely don’t have that much in my veins compared to a full-blooded Elvarran, but it is an interesting prospect. The power I’d been taught to fear tasted nothing like evil as it moved through me. If anything, it felt like possibility. Could I turn it to my advantage?
“Who said ‘we’?” I challenge.
“You did. You asked for money, and I gave it to you. We will continue until the journal is open,” he replies firmly.
“In four days, then.” I accept his challenge, closing the journal's cover.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
There isa soft knock on my door, so faint I almost miss it. Moving across the room, I open it to find Aurelia. Like the other kitchen staff, she wears a soft cream dress, an apron, and a bandana around her hair.
“Aurelia!” My heart leaps. “Come in.”
Widening the entrance, she slips past me. Shutting the door, I glance back at the young girl. She struggles to hold herself together, her hands tightly wound in front of her, and the edges of her eyes water slightly. Underneath her right eye is a large purple bruise that is beginning to fade. I wondered how many times he’d struck her over the years.
“I-I wanted t’say thank you.” Her voice wobbles, emotion flooding to the surface.
