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I nodded. “I need a moment,” I choked out.

Frustration flickered across his face. Lorian wasn’t used to feeling helpless. And he wouldn’t like the thought of me out of sight. Still, I knew he would allow it, if onlybecause he could sense something was very wrong.

I took a short walk to a copse of trees nearby. When I was out of view, I took a deep breath.

Somehow, I’d rejected the very power that had allowed me to save Lorian’s life, suddenly fearful that I would use it again in a way that would make Telean disgusted in me. A way that would put more people at risk. After Stillcrest’s camp had been attacked, it was as if some part of me had decided it was my power that was at fault. Even though it was the choices I’d made with that power that had led to those consequences.

“You are my blood. And I expect better from my granddaughter than a queen who hands her power over toanyone.”

My grandmother had warned me. As much as she could. And directly after that conversation, I’d handed my power—both my time magic and my autonomy—over to the gods.

I closed my eyes. And this time, I didn’t merely prod at my power. I didn’t pull at the threads that usually came so easily to me.

No, I clutched a metaphorical sword and slashed blindly at whatever was keeping me from feeling my own magic.

And suddenly, Icouldfeel it. The barest whisper of my power, hidden but not stolen. A heady rush surged through my veins.

My power wasn’t gone.

It wasn’t gone. It was merely trapped behind a wall of stone and fae iron.

The gods had hidden it. But I’d found it. And I wouldfree it.

Some part of me still wished the gods truly had taken my power, even now. Because the thought of telling everyone I loved that I had done this to myself…

Nausea swept through my body, and I panted through it.

My power disappeared. As if it had never been there.

No. No, no, no!

I focused on the blade of my sword, sharpening it with every drop of willpower I had. Lengthening it with thoughts of the hybrids waiting for us. Strengthening it with the rage that burned within me. Drawing back my sword, I put everything into my next swing. The blade hit the stone and fae iron of the wall. And the wall began to crumble.

I heard a sob leave my throat, but I kept my eyes closed, even as I was suddenly encompassed in a deep, seething pool of disgust.

Zathrian was right. No one had done this to me. The gods hadn’t taken my power. I hadn’t burned it out.

No, I’d crippledmyself. Which was much, much worse.

I’d mademyselfhelpless. I’d mademyselfa victim.

And if I wasn’t careful, I’d build that wall higher around my power, using my own self-loathing.

I could feel it now—like a thick, angry black cloud, settling over the stone and fae iron in front of me.

No matter how much I crumbled that wall, it rebuilt. Again and again and again.

My chest ached, and I took a deep, shaky breath, searching for a new approach.

Leaning against the tree, I let the horrible, poisonous feelings flood through my body. My stomach turned, my limbs tingled, and my throat clogged.

For once, I didn’t push those feelings away. I didn’t pretend the voice in my head didn’t exist.

I felt all of the shame and disgust and fury and helplessness.

The world didn’t end. The feelings didn’t kill me. They came in waves, receding further each time.

And then…for a few seconds…I was at peace.