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Gods, thinking that wasn’t helping. The embers throbbed more violently—

A low-pitched cracking sound drew my attention to the cage floor. Where my bent knees rested on the black tile, a small splinter appeared in what looked like shadowstone, forming a thin spiderweb of fractures.

Gasping for air, I looked at the bars above me. A faint cloud of dust drifted down. Something glinted at the center of the cage up high, where all the bars came together, but I couldn’t focus on it.

My gaze moved to the chamber beyond. A buttery yellow glow from several chandeliers cast a soft light over shiny, obsidian walls. Shadowstone. I could see the cracks in the stone—fractures that were far deeper and impossible for me to have caused.

I saw a gilded seat. How many damn thrones did Kolis have? One in every room, it seemed—possibly even the bathing chamber.

But it wasn’t the only item. Centered around it was a sitting area with several settees, a few low tables, and a couple of wingback chairs. To the left was a dining table and some other chairs. A dark, cherry-wood credenza was against the wall, stocked with numerous bottles of liquor and stacked glasses. All but the credenza and what it held was gilded.

Did Kolis hold meetings in here?

Fucking gods, I bet he did.

Several windows were near the ceiling, too high to reach and only a couple of feet wide and tall. So, unless I learned to fly and could contort my body to half its size, they wouldn’t do me any good.

I could only assume I was inside some chamber within Cor Palace, but I had no idea for sure. I could be anywhere.

Ash could be anywhere.

The tile beneath my palm cracked.

Holy shit, I was breaking shadowstone, one of the strongest materials in both realms—if not the strongest.

Oh, gods, I needed to calm down.

I slid my trembling hands to my knees. I could do this. I could control the panic and the Primal essence, couldn’t I? Even if it didn’t feel like it, the anxiety came from my mind. I knew how to stop it. And the eather? I now knew that was a part of me, so much so that the embers couldn’t even be removed without killing me. I’d controlled it earlier. I could do it again now. The embers are yours for the time being, I reminded myself.

And I could control them again. I could control myself. I was not weak. I wasn’t helpless when it came to this. I wouldn’t be. I refused.

So, I needed to figure this out.

Was the essence responding to my emotions? To the violent mix of panic and anger? Or was it reacting to the feeling of not being able to breathe? It wasn’t the former. Yes, the eather always became more active when I felt something strongly, but it was the breathlessness and the feeling of not being attached to myself that was the cause. It was the spiral of feeling completely out of control as if I were capable of doing anything to myself, and anything could happen to me. That was doing this. Because it felt like dying. Like running full speed toward death.

But I wasn’t completely out of control. I wouldn’t do anything to myself. This wasn’t like the night I’d taken too much sleeping draft. I didn’t want to die. I hadn’t really wanted to then, either. I’d just been lost. And I was breathing. Not very well, but I wasn’t being choked by unseen hands. Air was still getting into my lungs. I just needed to slow down my respiration.

My fingers dug into my knees as I forced my aching jaw to open. I went with Ash’s instructions because it made me feel like he was here, and I badly needed that. I conjured up the memory of his body bracing mine, and his arms wrapped firmly around me. Gods, I could hear him, his smoke-and-shadow voice.

“You need to slow your breathing,” he said softly. “Put your tongue behind your upper front teeth.”

I did as he’d instructed, pressing the tip of my tongue to the back of my upper teeth and keeping my mouth closed. Then, imagining that he was guiding me to do so, I straightened my back, removing any actual physical pressure from my chest.

“Close your eyes and listen to me.” I obeyed the command from the memory. “Focus only on me. I want you to exhale to the count of four. Don’t breathe in. Just exhale. One. Two. Three. Four. Now, inhale for the same count.”

I did exactly that, breathing out and then in.

“Don’t stop.”

I didn’t. I kept going as seconds became minutes. I didn’t regain control immediately. I had to fight for it. Needed to wait for my chest to loosen and my throat to expand. I had to fight for my breathing to slow and deepen. Fight for the embers to calm down.

So, I did what I did best. I fought.

I had no idea how much time had passed. Could’ve been a handful of minutes or hours, but the tears finally slowed. My breathing deepened and became steadier. The embers calmed, and the spiraling feeling faded until I felt present, attached to my body, and in control once more.

Blowing out a ragged breath, I rocked back and then pushed to my feet. The pain in my face and mouth alternated between a dull ache and a throbbing pulse as I shoved tangled, damp curls back. I carefully wiped at my cheeks, my stomach dipping at the red sheen I saw on my palms.

Tears of blood.