The triarchs cast their expectant gazes upon us. With a nod, King Silas turns to the back of the room, where two of his attendants stepforward, carrying an iron-bound trunk. When they flip open the lid, I blink curiously. There are no extravagant silks or perfumes, no goblets or jewelry. It wouldn’t make sense to bring goods like those here. Inside the trunk, the gleam of gold coins catches the light, and lying atop it all are the two dragon scales.
Mersos doesn’t need any goods made from another realm. They could and do cultivate anything here. But gold is always welcome, and dragon scales are the only thing Silas can give them that they cannot make themselves.
Queen Shaylin’s lips curve faintly. She’s not surprised. She would’ve expected nothing less from him. The smile is rooted in satisfaction. Beside her, King Gallor assesses the gold with a glance, his expression giving nothing away.
“Your generosity honors us,” Queen Shaylin says smoothly. “Please, you must all be weary and need rest. Our servants will show you to your rooms, and later, we will celebrate your arrival with a feast. Mersos is yours to enjoy.”
ChApter
Thirty-Six
Ezra taps his chin as he paces the small room the triarchs provided for us for my lesson. Nadya sits in a chair, perusing her great-aunt’s book, while Ezra decides where we should begin.
Though Mersos has mild weather perfect for crops, orchards, and vineyards, I still feel stifled in my mourning dress. I wanted to argue to the king that, since Mersos doesn’t acknowledge the mourning period, it might be acceptable for me to wear something other than the thick, black gown. But when I brought up the idea to Indira, she told me that it didn’t matter what Mersos believed; I had to uphold the ideologies of Hedera and Delasurvia, and it would be a dishonor to Torbin to disregard the rules of the mourning period.
She didn’t bring up these arguments in Bastos, which further convinces me that there was something in the air there that erased inhibitions.
“We’ve concentrated a lot on energy force,” Ezra begins, “but maybe we need to touch upon the other forms of magic that you seem to have access to. And the first one that comes to mind is telepathy.”
I stand in the center of the room, surprised at the sudden churn ofmy stomach. I know there must be some modicum of telepathic power alive within my fae blood, but any time I’ve used it has been accidental as well as painful. I can only hope that under Ezra’s instruction, I can find a way to control the power without hurting myself. “Let’s give it a try. What should I do?”
“Let’s start small.” Ezra shrugs. “I’d like you to tell Nadya something with your mind, and she will repeat it out loud.”
Nadya closes her book and smiles. “Oh, I like this challenge. I’m all ears. Or, I guess, in this case, all brain?”
Ezra chuckles. “However you are able to receive is acceptable.” He turns to me. “Celeste, if you would, please try to speak to Nadya.”
Nadya smiles at me, waiting for me to speak. It takes me a minute to even come up with something I want to send her way. Being playful, she bats her lashes and crosses one leg over the other. She then tucks some hair behind her ear and cups it as if waiting to hear something.
“Stop being cute,” I try to say to her.
She continues to smile, tilting her head.
“Nadya,”I begin, wondering if it works better if I use her name,“stop being cute.”
She narrows her eyes. “Are you saying anything?”
I try again, but she continues to look at me with expectation.
I huff in frustration. “You don’t hear anything?”
She purses her lips, as if waiting, and then shakes her head. “Sorry, no.”
I let out a defeated breath and turn my head toward Ezra.
“It’s all right,” he says, his voice calm and reassuring. “You’re trying to force something that doesn’t react to commands.”
“I just thought maybe—since I’ve done it before—”
“That it would come easily this time?” Ezra smiles, stepping forward. “It’s not about ability, Celeste. It’s about familiarity. You’ve been practicing energy force. You’ve spent time getting to know its shape, the way it moves through you. Telepathy is different. It draws from a quieter place. One that hasn’t been given your attention in any real way.”
I glance at Nadya, who offers a small, supportive shrug, then backat Ezra. “So what do I do? Just keep trying until my brain splits open?”
He lets out a soft laugh. “Hopefully not. But yes, you’ll need patience. Think of your mind like a corridor with many locked doors. You’ve only just found the handle to this one. The fact that you’ve opened it even once—accidentally or not—is significant. Most people go their whole lives without ever even finding the right hallway.”
I breathe in deeply, grounding myself with his words.
“You’re learning how to listen inward,” Ezra continues, his tone gentle but sure. “You’re shifting from instinct to intention. That takes time. The goal isn’t to shout with your thoughts—it’s to thread them like a needle. Delicate, focused, and precise.”
