"Care to explain that reaction?"
"Not particularly."
The sconces flicker. "Tell me."
Compulsion threads through the words, wrapping around my throat like fingers. My teeth clench. "Can you not use that on me?"
He exhales sharply, closing his eyes. "I didn't mean to."
"Do you not have control of your gifts?"
When his eyes open, there's something strange flickering in them. Something that looks almost like fear. He blinks, and it's gone.
"It's complicated."
"You're not going to explain?"
"I'd rather discuss the scepter."
I study him for a long moment, then relent. "The Flame showed me something. My brother, reaching for a scepter in a cave. Light pouring down on it like it was the only thing in the world that mattered."
"What did the scepter look like?"
"I don't know. The vision wasn't clear." I shake my head. "I assumed it was Mortiana's."
He frowns and looks away, something troubled crossing his face.
"If you already have Mortiana's scepter, why do you need another?"
"I need Sulara's to lift the curse."
"How would a scepter lift a curse?"
"By driving it into the roots of the Bratus tree."
I stare at him. "The Bratus tree. The one that was cursed."
"Yes."
A thousand questions crowd my tongue. How would we get there? How would the scepter heal anything? How is any of this supposed to work?
"Sulara's scepter has healing properties," he says before I can settle on which question to ask first.
"Healing properties." I turn the words over in my mind. The scepters are made from the bones of their gods. "Does that mean Sulara's bones can heal?"
His mouth twists into something bitter. "If they could, I would have lifted the curse centuries ago."
My brows rise. I shouldn't be surprised. He's from Vindariel. He's dedicated his entire existence to breaking this curse. Of course he would have tried everything.
I force myself to refocus. "How does it have healing properties?"
"It's made from one of Sulara's bones and the horn of a unicorn." He raises an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you thought unicorns were a myth."
I give him an unamused look. "I know they were real. I thought they'd been poached to extinction."
"They were."
The words leave a sour taste in my mouth. I'm beginning to understand why some people refuse to use their gifts at all. Why they'd rather live diminished than feed the gods.
