I shift closer carefully, conscious of my size and strength and her fear and uncertainty. “You don’t need expertise, justconcentration. Tell it what you want it to do.”
Her hands quiver. “If I lose control again?”
“Then we’ll contain it again,” Kelan says, coming closer.
She studies us, her green eyes flitting from man to man. Who knows what she’s thinking? This situation is strange and unfamiliar for us all. We are strangers who can suppress the only thing that’s kept her alive in this world. She must be terrified of what we could do to her.
“Tell us your name,” I say.
She blinks as though she forgot we don’t know.
“Aura,” she whispers, then slowly closes her eyes. I hold my breath and wait.
8
DARIAL
Kelan loosens his hold on Aura’s magic the way one might loosen a fist that has been clenched too long. The change is immediate. The air inside the cave seems to shiver, no longer tight and pressurized but expanding. The sharp metallic tension that had threaded through my veins softens. The hum of her power returns in a low, trembling note.
Aura senses it too.
Her spine straightens, her inhale deepens, and beneath the fading restraint, her magic answers, alive, aware, and very much her own.
She straightens where she sits on the edge of the bed, her shoulders tensing, and her hands bracing against her thighs. Her eyes flicker with sharp uncertainty, as if she expects the magic to betray her the moment she acknowledges it, or us to call it back before she has a chance to wield it.
“You’re not bound anymore,” I say quietly, determined to reassure her. “We’re… standing close.”
Ronyn lets out a breath from where he leans against the stone wall. “Think of it like guardrails,” he adds. “You’re still the one driving.”
Aura’s mouth twists, but she nods once.
Slowly, she lifts her hands.
The magic gathers between them like the flicker of a flame or the bubbling of a boiling pot rather than with the power of violent rending. Pale light blooms, illuminating her fingers and the faint scars that line her skin.
She stares at it, startled, then swallows and looks at me.
“Try,” I say.
She presses her hands to her forearm.
Small cuts fade beneath her touch, the skin knitting itself together with quiet efficiency. She inhales sharply, then laughs once, breathless and disbelieving.
“I can feel it,” she murmurs. “It knows where to go.”
Kelan inclines his head. Ronyn’s posture eases a fraction.
Encouraged, Aura shifts her focus lower.
Her feet are in the poorest shape: bruised, cracked, marked by shallow gashes she’s clearly ignored for too long. Hesitation flickers across her face when she looks at them, the memory of pain making her magic waver.
“Slowly,” I murmur. “There’s no rush.”
She presses her glowing hands to her feet.
This time, the magic burns brighter, and her jaw tightens as she works to heal the more severe damage. Her breath hitches as skin seals and swelling eases. The light pulses, then dims, and she sags back against the bed with a small, frustrated sound.
“That’s enough,” Kelan says, firmly. “You’ve done well.”
