She marches toward the door and begins tugging on it, to no avail. “Let me out.”
“Just talk to me. Please.”
The door rattles as she yanks on it repeatedly. My instinct has me sending shadows skittering across the floor toward her. They turn to mist, surrounding her, and she steps back, frightened. I close my eyes and exhale slowly, trying to find a memory.
One ofhermemories.
In rapid flashes, I see a curly-haired blond—they’re laughing together, crying together—I see a woman hand her a vial of a strange purple liquid—a man pressing his forearm against her throat—the commander asking her to find the Shadow Wielder—two cloaked figures: one with blazing red eyes and the other with blue. At last, there’s an image of people clad in white, chanting, offering her a drink in some sort of cavern, and overwhelming pain shatters my connection.
I release my hold on her memories, feeling as though I’ve had the wind knocked out of me. “Forgive me …” I recall the last image and realize that she’d also been in white. “You were a Purist?”
Her deep brown skin blanches and she steps back, leaning heavily against the door.
“I’m not putting any blame on you. I’m just trying to figure out your motivations.”
“You are prying into my innermost thoughts.”
Her words cut through me worse than any knife could. “And you were part of a group known for slaughtering anyone with magic.”
“I was desperate!” she shouts, a hiccuping sob tearing through her. “I wanted to believe thatsomethingcould changemy life for the better. That I could cure myself of this horrible thing that made my mother loathe me and made my life a living hell. I gave in to their ideals because Iwantedto believe it. I wanted to have hope instead of only desperation.”
With all my heart, I want to release her, to hug her, to apologize. “I understand desperation,” I say. “Desperation is why I am holding you here. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to hurt you. But weneedyour help. Do this one thing and I will leave you alone for good. If that is what you want, I will respect your wishes.”
She hiccups again, letting the tears fall. For a while, only her sobs fill the dreamscape.
I sigh and unlock the library doors with an audible click. “You can walk out right now and never look back. Block me out of your mind. Destroy the stone.” I release the hold of my shadows and her back straightens slightly. “Or … you can keep in mind everything I’ve shown you, and all the times I’ve pleaded with you. I can’t force you to believe me or to be a hero, as you put it. Trust me, all I ever wanted to do was to be safe and sound at home. But personally, I can’t continue to sit back and allow bad things to happen when there’ssomethingI can do about it. Can you?”
Her hand moves to her pocket, and she stands unmoving for a while. She turns, and for a moment, I think she’s going to walk away. To take the only hope we have left. To sever the connection.
But she pauses, her hand on the door as she glances over her shoulder at me. “You’re right; I don’t believe in the Zenith. I want more than anything to get out of here, but I’m afraid. I may be the one with magic, but my best friend is braver than I have ever been. I’ve lied to myself for so long. And I hate who I’ve become. I hate that I’ve allowed people to make me complacent. But it’s so hard to stop running away, to stop pretending … whenI’m terrifiedall the time.” She closes her eyes, more tears rolling down her cheeks.
My heart aches for her. I wait patiently for her to find her words again. It feels as though a long time passes before she releases the handle of the door and turns to face me. “Alright,” she says. “What do you need me to do?”
Chapter 56
My heart flutterserratically as I’m escorted to the sovereign’s study and into the small dining area. I’m barely over the Dreamwalker trapping me in that dreamscape, and her words have burrowed into my heart and eaten away at my conscience. She’s right. Neris is right. Every time I try to take a step forward, my own cowardly nature slams me right back into a place of indecision. It’s been just over three weeks since my arrival at Paramount, and I feel no closer to getting out of here. I need to try harder to push through the fear.
As I enter the room, Lynx turns her masked face to me. To my surprise, Neris is seated there, a picture of beauty in her flowy cerulean gown and her golden curls tumbling over her shoulders.
“Welcome, Lady Gwyneth,” the sovereign says lightly. I nervously smooth my hands over my own dress, feeling surprisingly even more out of place now than I do in Zenith uniforms. I curtsy and ease myself into the seat next to Neris. She glances askew at me before her eyes flick forward to the sovereign again.
“You must be wondering why I’ve invited you and Miss Reneris to dinner,” he says.
“Yes, Excellency.”
“I like to get to know my recruits, and I haven’t had the chance to properly converse with you.”
Servants bring food in, metal domes and plates clanging and clattering lightly as they set down a variety of foods: mutton, cabbage in a parsley sauce, and thick slabs of crusty bread. Once they leave and our plates are piled high, the sovereign’s deep blue eyes settle on me again. “When did you learn about your terraforging?”
Neris and I glance at each other briefly. “I was very young.”
With a thoughtful look, Neris adds, “Maybe five or six years old?”
I nod, and the sovereign places food in his mouth and chews slowly.
I glance across the table at Lynx, who sits there, her hood still up, her eyes peering out from her mask. A few strands of honey blond hair peek out from under her hood as she slowly twirls a fork between her fingers. Her sleeve slips back slightly, something like white fabric visible underneath. When she catches me staring, she tugs her sleeve down and stops twirling her fork.
“I’m told that Wielders who do not use their powers after they manifest—unless they wore a dampener—are slowly driven mad,” says Rheon. “How did you manage to avoid that, living in Erleya under the late Queen Morwenna’s reign? And especially in a renowned household such as yours, where privacy is a rarity.”
