“Were they armed?”
“I… No.”
“Fighting you?”
“No, but?—”
“Were you emotional?”
She huffed out a breath. “Yes. They made fun of my hair.”
“Children?” His expression was flat, void of disgust, or really any emotion at all.
She tightened her jaw. She just needed to say it.“Yes. Children from my village in Mise. I didn’t understand what I was doing. It just happened.”
He nodded. “Just like yesterday, you were angry, out of control and unfocused. We need to ensure you are none of those things on the battlefield, or instead of being a killer, you will be killed.”
“I don’t understand,” she whispered.
The words were about more than just what he had said. She didn’t know why he was still looking at her the same way, why he wasn’t suddenly disgusted or afraid. Anyone with sense would be.
But Vane just stopped circling her and explained, “Your magic needs to be second nature to you, not something that erupts from you when you’re angry or afraid. You need tobeafraid and still be able to access it.”
“And how in the gods’ names am I going to achieve all that in two weeks?”
His answer was brutally stark.“Practice. Right now, there are three traitors to the crown waiting in an unmarked tent not far from here. You’re going to kill them.”
Chapter 17
Soren stood outside the tent,her heart pounding in her chest. Her fingertips tingled and her head felt light. Next to her, Vane stood, his features impassive.
“This isn’t right,” she whispered. “You know it isn’t.”
He glanced sidelong at her. “This is survival.”
“For me, yes.”
“That’s all that matters.”
She didn’t push as to why he seemed to care about her survival. In the end, he was right. For her, choosing to do this or not was ultimately life or death. If she defied orders, she was sure she would be silenced, no matter how useful she was.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped inside the tent. As promised, three people, one woman and two men, sat, chained to wooden chairs. Two of them appeared to have been beaten brutally, and the other couldn’t have been older than Soren herself.
Vane stared at them for a moment before declaring, “All three of you confessed to aiding Misean forces, as well as conspiring to kill several high-ranking Arenean generals. Your violence will be met with such. If you have any last words, say them now.”
They all remained silent, their eyes on Soren as she took a step forward. The youngest had blue Misean eyes, though they were slanted up at the edges, signaling one of their parents was from Aren. Soren could only imagine life as a bastard during the war, forced to betray one of their families at every turn.
She knew all three rebels could see her slave anklet and her features clear as day. She only hoped they didn’t hate her for not being as brave as them.
“Now, Soren,” Vane said, standing just behind her. “Live.”
Kill to live. Kill or die.
She shut her eyes and reached for that well of darkness inside her, a tear tracking down her cheek. But as soon as she let some of it leak out, she reared back. It was so cold, a kind of deep night that never ended.Thatwas what she was dooming these people to. She tried to take it back and shove it into the prison again, but it was too late. The darkness was already overwhelming her, taking hold and clawing its way out of the cells she kept it in.
She opened her eyes, and as she did, an unnatural darkness settled over the tent, blowing out the gas lamps. Shadows swirled around the chained ankles of the rebels, and the youngest drew in a sharp breath. One of the others gasped, “Gods help us.”
“I’m sorry,” Soren whispered, though she felt nothing.
