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“Ouch!” Touching a hand to my forehead, I felt blood running down.

The bird’s expression, if it could be called that, was one of ample frustration. As if I were not doing what she thought I should be.

My pulse quickened. Pain and clarity converged.

I held my breath, looking into the owl’s golden eyes.

Why was I lying here?

Was I merely a pawn in my father’s game? A prize to be won or a trinket to be broken and discarded?

An awakening was taking place within me.

My vision spun, but this time, I could glimpse the threads hanging between the fabric of reality. Threads I could almost reach out and touch. A wellspring of energy waiting to be harnessed.

And I had never truly tapped its full potential. Not really.

I had used what seeped out of me. The power I could not contain. I had used Draven’s power out of necessity. I had tapped into him, into Nightclaw, even into Excalibur—believing my own powers were so limited, so drained, that I had no other choice.

I had healed Draven when he was wounded and believed myself clever for pushing myself to the edge of my limits. For healing him with my will.

Now a surge of determination flooded my weakened limbs.

Closing my eyes, I delved. Delved into the well of power within. Saw how deep it went. How vast the pool truly was.

I navigated the currents of my magic, saw the poison trapped inside my body, and rushed to meet its insidious advance head-on.

The grass beneath me seemed to shiver. Silently, Tuva lifted off and flew away.

My eyes remained closed, watching the poison recoil from my advance as if scorched by an inner sun.

I turned my attention to my wounds, envisioning the knitting of flesh.

I felt the moment the arrow wounds closed and the poison’s malevolence dissipated.

I rose to my feet, no longer bound by weakness.

The battleground awaited me, and with every heartbeat, I knew I stood at the threshold of destiny.

Across the field, my mate fought on.

He fought alone.

But he did not have to.

Dark coils shot from my hands, weaving across the field like vines and catching my brother by the ankles.

He stumbled, then fell with a shout.

The coils continued wrapping, winding up Lorion’s legs, over his chest, binding his arms to his sides, then sliding over his face, into his mouth.

He was rendered silent. Contained. Just the way he and our sister had hoped to make me.

I walked slowly towards the two men. Draven had lowered his sword.

He stared at me, taking in my closed wounds, my unimpeded gait.

“Once, you did the same for me,” I said quietly as I reached my mate. “Do you remember?”