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His eyes hold mine, darkening like a storm on the edge of breaking.

“Then come and take it.”

Chapter 18

Aella

“Left,” I mutter, “blow to the left.”

The lit candle before me remains indifferent, its flame flickering with an insolence only fire can muster. The tiny light dances smugly atop the wax, daring me to try again, to fail again.

And for the past three days, failing feels like all I have done.

The defeats are etched into my memory: a puff of disappointment here, a hiss of frustration there, the scorch of singed fingertips. Even the surrounding air carries the bitter tang of something burned.

Mostly my patience.

I’m not sure what I was expecting after my decision to stay, but it certainly wasn’t waking up the following morning to Lyxander hammering on my door and shoving a candlestick into my hands.

I rub my palms into my eyes, then glance around the library. It’s the same room I stumbled into when I first woke up here, though it’s nothing like I’d perceived it during my panic. Blankets drape cushioned chairs, and books, once scattered in precarious piles, now rest neatly on their shelves. The hearth flickers with a welcoming warmth, and golden ribbons of light dance across the stone walls and wooden bookshelves. The heavy scent of dust has given way to that of mountain air, aged parchment, and woodsmoke.

It would feel comforting. Inviting, even.

If it weren’t for the less than desirable company.

Lyxander reclines in a nest of throws and pillows, one boot braced against the very windowsill I climbed through in my near-fatal escape attempt.

I have no doubt he’s aware of everything within this room, even with his focus seemingly directed at the open book resting in his lap. His wings remain folded, but the occasional twitch when I speak betrays his affect.

I tear my gaze away. I refuse to look at him for long. His presence has a way of stoking my irritation, and there’s already enough heat in this moment to smother me. I fix my stare on the candle perched atop the table I’ve claimed as my battleground.

The tiny flame flickers.

I inhale, steadying myself, and reach for the wind. My fingers curl, and the air stirs against my skin. I coax it, shape it, pour every bit of focus into guiding it toward my will.

The flame leaps, and hope sparks in me. Then it flares too brightly and dies, leaving a thin wisp of smoke curling upward.

“Not again.” I shove my chair back with a screech that echoes through the room and turn to face the man responsible for this torment. “Are you going to help me, or continue to sit there like this is some kind of entertainment?”

“It is,” he says, flipping the page without looking up. “But power always demands suffering. Yours just happens to be…louder.”

“I’m not suffering. I’m failing. There’s a difference.”

That, at last, earns a flick of his gaze. “Only barely,” he murmurs.

“What’s the point of this, anyway?” I say, more to myself than him. “It’s not like I’ll be…blowing out candles in a fight.”

The dull thud of the book snapping shut reverberates through the room.

“Follow me,” Lyxander says, rising with that maddening ease of his and stalking toward the door.

“You know, you could explain before barking orders.”

“Do you want to learn, or not?”

Drawing in a steadying breath, I bury my frustration and follow him from the library and up the stairwell.

The tower isn’t as large as I’d first imagined. The structure rises four levels high—five, if I include the open-air chamber crowning it—and is perched precariously on a mountainside overlooking the Seleni Sea. Each floor follows a similar design: a hallway encircling the central spiral stairwell, with rooms wrapping around the outer edge like petals on a bloom.