Page 98 of A Courage of the Chosen

As if it can sense where my thoughts have gone, the wintry hold rises. It tentatively unspools from my center, like I’m a timid animal and doesn’t want to scare me when I’m not fighting it for once.

The butterfly continues to flit between my fingers, and it flares brighter as this strange new force hones in on the harmless piece of magic.

Let me show you what you’re truly capable of, it whispers in a voice that’s mine but not.

I sit up in the tub, bringing my knees to my chest, and hold my palm out, where the butterfly comes to rest.

Checking the bathroom door is closed, I loosen the restraints the tiniest bit, enough that something sharp twists in my core and spears down my hand to where my magic waits.

The wings flutter back and forth, caught on an invisible breeze that’s controlled by my will alone, in time with my breathing.

My hand grows cold, and the call gets louder until it’s a chant that I can’t ignore.

The delicate wings glow brighter still, and streaks of . . . shadow begin twisting through the body of the butterfly. Tiny fractures of it, as though I’ve taken a pencil to a blank sheet of paper and drawn the finest of lines through the body of pure light.

With a gasp, I snap back, and lock down every little emotion so tightly that nothing can get through. Not even surprise, when Callahan strides into the bathroom with sweat dotted along his forehead.

“You okay?” he asks, nodding at where my hand is fisted so savagely my knuckles have turned white.

“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “Was just thinking about Mom and Granny. What they’d make of all this.” The part-lie spills easily, and tastes sour on the way out.

“You sure?” he prods again, stripping out of his training clothes.

Now is the time to tell him. To show him what just happened, and share this burden with someone who cares about me. But Grandpa’s words from when he told me about who my father was blare in my head like an alarm bell, loud and clear.

“Callahan has become so embittered by this war, he wouldn’t think clearly.”

He was quick to vote in favor of killing Kerr. Would he be so quick to choose death if it were me?

I’m not confident I can answer that question, so I offer Cal a thin smile and fake reassurance.

Dorche. Dorche. Dorche.

I repeat it over and over again.

My father was Dorche. And that was definitely shadow working its way through my light.

What if . . . what if it means I’m more like Tavish than I thought?

“Can I join you?” Callahan points to the tub. He discards his clothes into the hamper in the corner of the room, and I can’t help but watch the way his body flexes as he walks toward me. A nod of my head and he climbs in, pulling me so that my back is plastered to his chest. “Talk to me, Elsie.”

I hate the subtle plea in his voice. The way he’s so obviously fighting his own needs to meet mine, and allowing me the space to come to him when I’m ready.

The truth is, I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready to tell him this.

“Sorry. Today was a lot,” I mumble.

“I know. You handled yourself well, though.”

He kisses the side of my neck and I sink into him, letting his body and his touch push everything away. Using him in my cowardice to avoid the reality of the situation.

We remain in the bath together, taking turns to wash each other in companionable silence. The questions are there in his eyes, but Callahan doesn’t voice them. He kisses me instead, melting me with each pass of his mouth over mine.

With each tender moment, my resolve weakens little by little, and I know that if he finds out, it’ll break me beyond repair when he turns his back on me.

Chapter 28

Tavish