Page 68 of Daughter of the Serpent

If they discovered her training strayed from the rest, would they approve?

His eyes darkened. "Do you want to live?"

She startled, his question a slap to her mental walls.

"I am not Drengr, nor a pon to your temple." His posture turned rigid, muscles coiling as he turned toward her. The fire in his eyes burned, disintegrating any trace of his earlier ease. "I will train you as the Hazier train - or not at all."

She hesitated, fingers knotting together.

Was this the right path?

Straying from the temple - from everything she knew - felt wrong, and yet her heart questioned.

His jaw clenched at her hesitation, her silence. "It’s time to think for yourself.Choosefor yourself." Turning toward the horizon, he exhaled sharply. “You have been taught who you are.” He stated flatly, “Taught what to think, what to believe, what you should and should not do - but that is not your truth, it istheirs.” His eyes wandered over her, as if dissecting every crook, every cranny, and filling them all with his judgement. “For a moment, forget. Forget what and who you were told to be - and open your eyes to who you need to become.”

Her breath caught, trying to digest his words.

Who was she, if not of the light? The cursed daughter of Lafar? The servant meant to comply and follow only the path set out for her?

"What does this have to do with my magic? My training?"

"Everything," he said without hesitation. His voice carried a sharp edge now, cutting through the space between them. "I must know you are willing to surrender to my training - completely. Without resistance. There is no time to coddle you, no time to ease you intocomfort. There will be truths you will not want to hear. Truths that could cause you to question what you believe."

His gaze flickered over her, studying, searching. "Are you willing to open that door?"

Could she?

She wanted to argue, to refute him, to tell him she could handle it, but deep inside she wasn’t sure she could.

Her lips parted, but no words came.

He exhaled, his next words quieter but no less cutting. "I see much fear in you."

The words struck, sharp, unexpected.

She hated how true they were.

Hated the way his expression shifted, how doubt flickered across his features as if he were questioning whether she was even worth his efforts.

Her breath tightened in her throat.

Then, finally, two words slipped past her lips - careful, deliberate.

"I'm willing."

His eyes lingered on her face, unreadable. For a moment, he said nothing. Then, as if satisfied, he turned his gaze toward the ocean. The wind stirred his dark hair, the weight of the moment settling between them.

"But," she said suddenly, making him pause. "I still don’t understand how magic is so different, so unlike that of Mardova."

“It is not different - but the manner in which it is wielded.” He explained turning back to her.

“The Hazier cultivated their own way.”

She observed him, her curiosity peaked. “How?”

"The Hazier did not survive by obeying the rules of men," he said, voice quieter now, but no less sharp. "They did not bow to the empty headed leaders who knew nothing of battle and blood, nor priests who knew nothing of the intimate way of magic outside their precious books. That is why they became the strongest of the clans.” He told her, “It was never their leaders nor wise ones who bled on theopen field, nor touched source like the warriors of the north. The people here are pig headed, proud. Unwilling to see anything beyond their own noses, even if there's a new way - a better way.”

Sylvie bit her lip. The way he spoke - brutal, honest - it shocked her senses. Her life had always been a delegate dance of words, masks, and faces - interchanging, mingling, and twisting into what and who she needed to be to be approved of. His bluntness was the very opposite of what she was accustomed to.