He didn’t hesitate but sat up, arms open, and pulled me in, tucking me against his chest like he’d done a hundred times before. His embrace was familiar and comforting. Like family.
I didn’t know how long he held me, only that he did until I was ready to let go. My face was buried in his shirt, damp with tears, and when I finally stopped, he leaned back enough to tip his chin down.
“Talk to me.” His voice was soft and gentle but unrelenting.
It wasn’t exactly a demand. It never was with him, but an open door.
So I told him.
About Zaicha and how she’d used me as a conduit, twisting my magic into a weapon I couldn’t control. How the death god wasn’t some distant myth but my father. How Brenton and I had fallen into each other, our bond only growing stronger when we tied our magic to our bond. How we became anus.
He listened as he always did.
Then came the cave. How I’d been ready to burn every last thread of my magic to stop Zaicha from using me. How, in doing so, I would’ve burned Brenton’s magic out, too. How furious he’d been that I’d make such a choice for him without his consent.
My voice cracked. “Not even an hour later, there was this boy. The villagers believe Zaicha attacked him because he’d been fine before he collapsed. By the time I got to him, he was so close to death. My magic was already exhausted from healing the dragons and then trying to burn my magic out. The only way to save him was to give him what was left of me.”
Unable to meet his eyes, I swallowed hard, my fingers digging through another kernel of popcorn. “Brenton must’ve felt it in our bond. He sent a surge of his magic through mine. Pinned it down. He held me there until he severed the connection. The boy died.” My chest heaved. “I could’ve saved him, but Brenton . . .”
Etienne didn’t rush to answer. His tired eyes searched mine. “The cost to save the boy was you,” he said quietly. “What else could he have done? I would’ve done the same thing. And if it’d been Brenton sacrificing his life, you would’ve done it too.”
My protest stuck in my throat. He was right. I would’ve decimated all of Vistos, the boy included, before letting Brenton give himself away.
Etienne tilted his head. “Can you really be angry with Brenton when you would’ve done the same thing?”
I didn’t answer, but I didn’t have to. He knew.
He knocked his shoulder against mine. “Finny.” He let out a soft sigh. “You don’t have to keep trying to erase yourself or your magic to fight her. You’ve got to take control. This isyourmagic.Yourpower. Not hers. Stop letting Zaicha dictate the cost.”
“I’m trying?—”
“Are you, though?” His head tilted, that familiar half smile tugging at his mouth. The one he used when he said something sharp but wanted to cushion the blow. “Because it sounds like you’re ready to throw yourself on the pyre again and again instead of fighting foryou.” He leaned in, his voice coming gentler now. “What if you don’t have to give anything away?Not your magic, and definitely not yourself. What if claiming it, claiming you, is what makes you untouchable? What if that’s how you beat her? Not by sacrificing any part of you but by refusing to give her a single damn thing.” His eyes softened. “What if you stop trying to survive her and start fighting back? No more running. No more sacrificing. You face her head-on. All of you.”
Emotions caught in my throat.
“And Finny,” he whispered, “you don’t have to choose between life and death. You wield both. Use it to end her.”
I stared at him, letting the weight of his words sink in and settle in places I’d kept locked away.
He wasn’t wrong. He rarely was when it came to me.
For so long, my magic had felt like a punishment I couldn’t escape. I’d wanted it gone so badly I would’ve given anything. And then Zaicha held that wish in her hands, like a dagger disguised as mercy. She knew my weakest link. My desire to rid myself of what I’d always considered a millstone.
But maybe winning meant choosing me and claiming what was mine. Weren’t those the words I cried to Brenton last night? That I wanted a choice?
“I’ll do it,” I whispered, voice steady. “I’ll choose myself. I’ll fight for me.”
His mouth spread into a small, proud smile.
“But . . . what if Brenton doesn’t want this anymore?” The words came out quieter. “What if he doesn’t want to keep fighting with me? Or keep our magic bound?” I’d told him I regretted binding our magic, but I hadn’t meant it. What if he did?
Etienne looked at me, a smirk in place as he shook his head. “If he didn’t want to fight beside you, he wouldn’t still be here. He wouldn’t have stood at the door all night or stayed in this house. He wouldn’t be Brenton.”
I huffed out an unsteady breath.
His smirk thinned. “Pull on your fighting leathers if you must, but talk to him. All of it. No half-truths or skirting around anything. You hash it out until there’s nothing left to misinterpret.”
I nodded.
