“Does that make me weak?”
He brushed his fingers over my knuckles. “No. You think giving it away protects others. But the only thing more dangerous than your magic is a world without the person who refuses to use it carelessly.” His hand tightened around mine. “I’ve never feared what you can do, Lolli. Only what you’d give up to stop yourself.”
We didn’t speak again as the trees thinned, the forest giving way to the cliff and sky. Wind rose from the edge, lifting the ends of my hair and carrying the distant rush of water far below.
Zaicha was already there, standing near the overlook. Tall and still against the horizon, dark hair spilling over one shoulder before she gathered it up and secured it with a loose clip. The motion was casual, almost fae-like.
She turned as we approached her, her smile warm and unguarded. Her attention flicked between our joined hands before settling on Brenton.
“I like him already,” she said softly. Almost shyly. “Anyone you trust this much must be worth meeting. I’m glad you thought to bring him.”
Some of the tension I carried in my shoulders left. “I want to do this with him. I want him to understand me and whatever decisions I make.”
“Shall we begin, then?” She gestured to a clearing far from the cliff’s edge.
Brenton stayed uncharacteristically quiet. His fingers tightened once more around mine before he offered her a polite smile. When he stepped forward with me, he angled his body slightly in front of mine. Not exactly blocking, but there.
His shoulder brushed mine while his gaze stayed on her longer than courtesy demanded.
Then he nodded. “Lead the way.”
We stopped at the center of the clearing where the wind softened, and the trees stood like a quiet wall behind us.
Zaicha faced me, her gaze settling on mine in a way that made it difficult to look away.
“How did it feel to heal the dragons?” she asked quietly.
I didn’t hesitate. “Amazing.” A breath slipped from me. “Like finding a gift I never knew I had.”
Her head tilted slightly. “Yet . . .?”
The words rose before I could stop them. “It didn’t feel like it belonged to me. It felt . . . borrowed. Like it could change its mind at any moment and hurt someone instead.”
“You don’t trust the magic.”
My fingers curled against my palm. “I don’t trust me.”
“What would you say if I told you I trust you?” Her gaze flicked to Brenton. “As surely as your mate does.”
I frowned.
She stepped closer. “Life and death are not enemies. They do not conquer the other. One begins where the other changes form.” Her gaze held mine, patient and certain. “You felt it as foreign because you met life through the hands of death, and you were taught that those things cannot belong together.”
The wind stirred around us, carrying the distant cry of a bird unseen overhead.
“But they do,” she continued. “Death does not suffocate life, Finley. And life does not banish death. They exist in union, each giving the other meaning.”
The back of Brenton’s hand brushed my knuckles. “Yesterday, you were afraid.” A faint smile touched his lips. “And you still chose to help them.”
My voice came out small. “Why did it feel like it could turn on them?”
“Because you have only been taught how to funnel the death,” she said. “Not how to live with it.”
“Will you show her?” Brenton asked.
Zaicha didn’t answer but lifted her hand, palm upward. The air shifted.
I felt it before I saw it. A familiar pull in the air, like a memory my body recognized before my mind did. The space around us grew heavy, threaded with an essence that was neither wholly living nor dying.
