Tarrin looked at me. “We really need to work on your definition ofwell.”
Another bout of laughter consumed us.
Hysterics gone, we sat on the veranda. We’d had to clear the chairs of glass remnants, and shards still lay at our feet, but it was good to be outside.
I observed them as we sat in silence. I realized my gratitude and affection for the king had expanded to include Tarrin and Nevander—and I no longer felt alone.
Seeing them at ease with one another made me smile, and I knew I’d remember this moment for as long as I drew breath.
“Thank you,” I said.
Tarrin was closest to me, and I leaned over and gripped his hand in mine, squeezing tightly. I looked them each in the eyes. “I am truly grateful. Thank you.”
Tarrin placed his other hand over mine and offered me a knowing smile.
Releasing my grip, I relaxed into the chair and let his comfort andsafety wash over me. We looked disheveled, and our hair was white with dust, but we were okay—safe—together.
“I think I know how to do it,” I said.
“Do what?” the king asked.
“Spells, magic, conjuring, whatever it is we want to call what I can do.”
Nevander lifted a brow, but the other two surveyed me, waiting for me to explain.
Going to the source—conjuring from its depths was too powerful when only a fraction of that power was needed. The first time, I’d been afraid it wouldn’t work, and I didn’t know any better the second time, so I’d been blunt, forceful, greedy. But I could dance with only the wisps of the power I feel thrumming around me. There was no need to go to the pits of its source, the one that gladly humored my every whim. With this knowledge, it might even be possible to wield spells, but that was for another day.
If I were the middle of the coin, then I should be able to oscillate between the two sides at will, avoiding the center, lest it destroy me. And maybe if I’d been born in a different form, a less fragile one, I would be able to wield the wildness of the middle. But as it stood, I couldn’t, and perhaps that would always be true.
Fresh out of words, I focused on a tiny purple flower that lay solo on edge of the veranda. As I sent an intention its way, its petals fluttered before it gave way and flitted toward the king. Dancing before him, he reached out and plucked it from the phantom wind.
Chapter 19
One Who Believes
The clarity I’d had with the flower proved to be fleeting. My raw magic continued to be capricious and dangerously intense, like a wild stallion resisting any attempts to be reined in, lest it be tamed. While I hadn’t succeeded in tempering it, being bucked off was no longer a life-threatening endeavor—which was a small mercy, I supposed.
When I wasn’t losing control of my power, I was entirely miscasting spells. Spellcraft made me nauseous, if not outright sick. Between the two, my body was taxed, and a deep, throbbing ache was now my constant companion, but I was making progress.
I learned to see our sessions like the training I’d begun many moons ago—only instead of daggers, it was different forms of magic. Somehow, it lessened the pain to pretend it was only sore muscles that plagued me.
Outside of training, I was engrossed in studying the king’s trove of spells. Occasionally, to his silent displeasure, I’d cast a spell amid the small library or on my bed, where I’d taken to reading, somehow managing to catch a chair on fire and shatter a few more windows. Upon witnessing the aftermath, Tarrin would invariably shake hishead in amusement and suppress a laugh as he grinned at me. My eyes were always doing the heavy lifting of an apology to the king as I offered him a bashful smile. We all knew admonishing me would have little effect against the stronghold my obsession had over me.
Tucked in with a tome in hand, my gaze drifted away from it, its weight heavy in my lap as the darkening gardens outside my chamber windows gave way to my daydreams—as was often the case when evening fell and I was left to my own devices.
A tiny ember floated in the air, twirling lazily at the whim of my restless fingers. I wasn’t sure when conjuring that spark with a snap had gone from impossible to commonplace—funny how fast one adjusted when faced with no other alternative.
“Nyleeria?”
The delicate ember sputtered out as I jumped up and twirled to see the king within a few paces of me.
“Sorry,” he said. “I knocked, and your door was ajar. Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” I managed, even as his presence seemed to charge the air of my room; he’d never crossed the threshold before. I’d been closer to him before, was touched by him even, but this felt different. His being in my chamber, within proximity of my bed, created a sense of intimacy that I wasn’t prepared for.
“I came to see if you’d like to join me for an evening stroll?” His words were tentative, unsure.
“Sure,” I said, mouth dry. I offered a small smile and stepped past him to grab the light sweater Ava had left out for me.
