Page 50 of The Freedom You Seek
“Out of my way, uncle,” I growled, more beast than anything else.
“I can’t let you hurt one of your own, Dion, and you know that. Get a grip on yourself. We’ve put up with your temper outbursts until now, but this is crossing the line and will stopimmediately.” Antas expression and tone, his stance, the way he stemmed his hands into his sides, and his eyes staring at me with an unyielding force of will—he was the spitting image of his brother, even in the way he bared his teeth at me and ordered me to stop, just like him.
Eyes widening, my instincts kicked in, and before I could even try to distinguish between the reality I perceived and the one that was actually real, I stumbled a few steps back, my gaze fixed on the ground as fury morphed into panic.
After a fraction of a second, the comprehension that it was my uncle who stood before me—and not his brother—sat in, and my racing heart slowed down, each beat steadier than the last. My mind had played a trick on me, supported by Antas’ changed mannerisms, and it had worked—and had probably saved Thain’s life. For now.
Yet, I was far from calm. Fury was still coursing through my veins, and I grasped at the tiniest shroud of self-control I could find as Antas’ attention shifted to something behind me.
I circled halfway around my own axis and noticed Nayana staring at me with wide eyes, her cerulean eyes so dark they were almost indigo. I zeroed in on her, observed how she clutched her left wrist as she shook like a leaf and moved to stand in front of her in an instant.
In response, she flinched and retreated a few unsteady steps, staying at arm’s length from me. A slap in my facecouldn’t have stung more, just as the fear written in her eyes twisted my insides, as its presence was no one’s fault but my own. I’d pushed her away, and by the way she held her wrist, she’d gotten hurt.Fuck.
Seeing Nayana injured by my hand was enough to sober me up completely and instantly. My composure returned, and I resembled less and less of a rabid animal going for the kill.
“Naya.” My gaze honed in on the wrist she was cradling. “I’ve hurt you.”
I wouldn’t have stayed around if Fig hadn’t asked me to. I’d never feared Dion before, but the last minutes had changed that. The thoughtless way he’d shoved me away left a painful, open wound in my chest.
“Yes. You pushed me, and I fell.” Keeping a safe distance from Dion, I looked at him and furrowed my brow.
“And now you’re scared of me. Hurt and afraid.” His voice sounded bitter, and the amount of self-loathing in his expression momentarily shocked me. Safe to say, that wasn’t the Dion I knew.
“Yes.”
“I…apologize. Please let me make it up to you.”
I’d never seen him like this. Anguish, hope, anger, and so much more mixed together and radiatedfrom him in waves, and it was obvious if I said no, I could break something forever.
“If you promise not to murder anyone from this travel group, then I’ll try,” I said and held Dion’s gaze as I forced myself to smooth my features and relax my stance. Antas nodded approvingly at me.
“I vow on my honor—you have my word.” Dion sounded rough, and he approached me slowly. This time, I managed not to flinch, not even when he carefully took my hurt wrist in his big hands. “Let me wrap that up. Afterward, if you want, I’ll explain what Fig meant earlier.”
I nodded, buried the uneasy feeling that I couldn’t shake, and followed Dion. He led me out of earshot of Fig and Antas, but we stayed in sight. He looked very young—broken, in a way. My fear slowly morphed into compassion, although I couldn’t quite explain why.
He guided me to a fallen log, and after I’d been seated, he crouched down in front of me. Instead of fetching bandages, he tore a strip from his tunic’s hemline and began gently wrapping my sprained wrist.
I swallowed a comment about him kneeling before me, but it almost bubbled out. Luckily, I stopped myself just in time. As much as I enjoyed teasing Dion, this wasn’t the time or the place.
I allowed him to finish his self-imposed task in silence and carefully tested moving my wrist. It felt stable enough, and I nodded to Dion. “Like new.”
“Don’t lie to make me feel better. That’s beneath you, Naya.”
“Come on, sit with me. You’ve agreed to explain things to me.” Changing the subject, I patted the empty space next to me on the log.
Dion accepted the invitation, and as usual, he didn’t leave much space between us. I didn’t have the impression he realized that he grabbed my good hand and enveloped it in his own. Mine felt tiny compared to his, and though I’d have preferred some distance between us, he possibly needed me close to keep him grounded. How had I become Dion’s pacifier? And when?
“I’ll give you a brief explanation first and then dive deeper, all right Jama?”
“As long as you tell me what all of this means without losing your mind, I’m fine with that.”
“I’ll try.”
“You have my full attention.”
“So, you’ve learned that magic exists and that it comes in different elemental forms. What I didn’t tell you—because I thought it was inconsequential—is that there are a few individuals who have a magical predisposition but can’t wield magic themselves. They’re called Amplifier because that’s basically what they do. A Wielder can access the passive magical energy called Potential in an Amplifier to boost their own wielding magic. The Amplifier’s predisposition has to match the Wielder’s element to be compatible.” Dion paused but raised his hand, stopping me from asking questions. “So yes, the others think you’re an Amplifier and that you have such a predisposition. And if Th—heaccessed your Potential earlier today, it would mean that it’s fire type,” Dion sighed. His anger had givenway to deep fatigue; at least that’s how I interpreted his slumped shoulders and weary expression. It was so unlike him I even forgot to mull over what he’d just told me.
“I—”