Page 21

Chapter Twenty-one

“Another one!”

“How many is that?” Farley calls grumpily from behind me.

“A clean dozen.” Smiling, I lower my bow and turn to face him. “Pay up.”

“You’ll rob me blind, woman.”

I shrug, unconcerned, as I walk back to the low stone fence surrounding the archery arena where I’ve spent the past half hour hitting every target with a precision that impresses even myself. A crowd of spectators has gathered to watch as I shoot bullseye after bullseye. I suspect most of them are more interested in getting a closer look at the Air Remnant than actually seeing my skills with a bow, but they’ve placed bets nonetheless. This final round involved me hitting all twelve dummies directly through the heart. Farley had staked fifty crowns I’d miss at least one.

“He’s already half-lame, Ace.” Jac looks pleased as punch as he pockets the winnings from his copper-headed friend. “You want him out on the streets begging for coin as well?”

I bump shoulders with Farley as I take a seat beside him on the stone wall. “I need the spending money. And, seeing as you wagered against me, I can’t muster much sympathy.”

“Don’t hold a grudge.” Farley’s shoulder bumps mine in return. “I wasn’t the only one betting against you! At that distance, only someone daft would guess you’d hit all twelve.”

“Why?” My eyes narrow. “Because I’m female?”

“ Oi! Don’t be putting words in my mouth.” He eyes the stretch of earth between us and the targets. “Doubt even our top marksmen in the Ember Guild could manage to make those shots without a single bogey. You’re a sorceress, I’m sure of it.”

“I’m no such thing!”

Jac crosses his arms over his chest and stares at Farley. “She doesn’t need sorcery, you fool. She’s the bloody Remnant of Air.”

“So?”

“ So , it’s no great shock she can outshoot our best marksmen. There’s likely no target in the realm she won’t be able to hit if she puts her mind—or her power—to it. She can control the damn wind currents. Her arrows will always find their marks.”

“What?” Farley explodes. “Ace! You could’ve told me, you little cheat!”

“I’m not a cheat! Don’t cry foul because you underestimated me.”

“Jac just said—”

“Jac doesn’t know what he’s talking about. I’m a good shot. A natural. That has nothing to do with my Remnant.”

“Mm-hmm.” Jac snorts. “I hate to break it to you, Ace, but your talent with a bow has everything to do with your powers. Half the time you don’t even set your stance or aim properly before you shoot—yet you somehow still hit the target every time. How is that possible? I’ll tell you: it’s not. Unless you’re influencing the wind, sending those arrows sailing through the air with zero resistance. Just because you don’t realize you’re doing it doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

I blink slowly at him, baffled into silence. Can it be true? Have I been unconsciously tapping into my power? It seems impossible. But perhaps being a wind weaver is so deeply ingrained in who I am, it bleeds into my most mundane actions without any actual intention.

“Don’t look so dismayed, Ace. You’re not the one with an empty coin purse.” Farley grins at me. “Though, in the future, I’ll know better than to bet against you.”

“I didn’t know…” I trail off, shaking my head. “How could I be using my power without even realizing it?”

“Be grateful it came out in your superb archery skills,” Jac says. “There are much more unpleasant ways Remnant maegic can manifest. Trust me.”

I think of the sparks jumping from Penn’s fingertips. Two handprints scored into a wood fireplace mantel. Taper candles boiling into rivulets of wax on a banquet table.

“How out of control does it get?” I ask softly. “The prince’s power?”

Both men glance at me sharply. All traces of humor are abruptly gone from their faces.

“You’ll have to ask him about that.” Jac’s eyes are very solemn. “But you should know…the birthright he carries is not an easy one to bear. It’s not hard to understand why. Of all the elements, fire is perhaps the most…volatile. The most unpredictable. Arguably the most destructive. He battles with that reality every day. Most days, he wins.”

“But not all.”

“Not all,” he agrees. His voice drops lower, out of earshot of the other soldiers milling around the archery arena behind us. “That day on the range, with the Reavers, after he summoned the flame…I wasn’t sure we’d get him back. The battle fury burned so hot inside him, it was like his very skin was aflame. We had to dunk him in ice-cold river water to cool him down. Three barrels of it. They burst at the seams around him, split open like melons, one after another. And the water didn’t just boil over…it evaporated . I didn’t think we’d ever manage to quell the fire.”

“The Reavers—”

“It wasn’t the Reavers.” Jac cuts me off. “I’ve battled by his side a hundred times. A hundred enemies. Monsters, men, everything in between. I’ve never seen him lose control like that. Never seen him so close to the edge.” His eyes hold mine captive. “It wasn’t about the godsdamned Reavers. It was about you .”

My mouth falls open. But any response I might have mustered is swept away by the sound of approaching footsteps. I do not turn to look. There is no need—the faint tug on the invisible thread looped around my heart tells me clearly enough who stands there. Several soldiers murmur greetings to their prince, but he says nothing. His words, when they come, are for me.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

My shoulders stiffen. Could he never spare a kind word? Could he never utter a simple greeting? It takes all my effort to keep the glare off my face as I glance at him. I mean to meet his eyes, but my gaze snags on his chest. He is still shirtless, his mark on full display. It is even more intricate up close, the design etched in stunning detail. I cannot seem to look away.

“Rhya.”

My eyes sail upward. Color burns across my cheeks. “What?”

“I asked what the hell you’re doing here.”

“What does it look like?”

“It looks like you disobeyed my direct orders to stay in the tower.”

“You never gave me any orders. You weren’t even there when I woke up, in fact.”

His teeth clench together. “Do not test me. I’m not in the mood.”

“As far as I can tell, you’re only ever in one mood. Grumpy, gloomy, grouchy… ”

Farley and Jac swallow laughs.

“Get up.” Penn glares at me, unamused. “Now.”

I glare back at him, stubbornly keeping my seat on the stone wall. He tolerates this show of defiance for about three seconds before he reaches down, wraps his hand around my biceps, and jerks me to my feet.

“Hey!” I snap. “Let go! We’re in the middle of target practice! And Jac is about to teach me some dagger play.”

“Not anymore.”

“But—”

“Say goodbye.”

I cast a desperate glance at Farley and Jac as Penn tugs me away. Both of them are grinning broadly. Farley lifts one of his crutches and waves it at me as I am tugged around a corner, out of sight.

“Must you always act like such a brute?” I hiss.

Penn remains silent.

We do not take the main road, but divert onto a narrow back route that cuts behind the barracks and winds past the rear of the stables. It is far less busy than the market thoroughfare; we pass only a handful of young grooms mucking out stalls and polishing saddle leather. They keep their eyes respectfully averted as Penn forces me along, ignoring my visible struggles.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Back to the keep,” he says, never pausing his long-legged strides.

“I thought I wasn’t a prisoner.”

“You aren’t.”

“Then why do I have to stay in the tower?”

“It’s safer.”

My heart quails. I battle to keep my tone even, but worry sluices through my words nonetheless. “I thought you said I was safe here. That no one could get to me.”

“It’s not your safety I’m worried about.” He halts so abruptly, I trip over my own feet. Only his hold on my arm keeps me from careening into the dirt. “Until we know what you are capable of, I’m not letting you wander about causing trouble. Understood?”

“No, it is not understood . You can’t keep me locked up there all alone for the rest of eternity. I’ll go mad!”

“I can do whatever I see fit.”

My temper flares hotly. “I will not spend my days locked behind walls, hidden from view, with only books and dust bunnies for company. I’m not your perfect, precious Enid, in need of constant protection.”

His hand falls away from my arm like I’ve scalded him. “I’m acutely aware of that. You could not be more different from her if you tried.”

“I…” My words die at the look on his face. Pain. Unmistakable pain. He hides it quickly, but not quickly enough. At the sight, my temper vanishes as suddenly as it appeared. On its heels comes a rush of regret at my hasty words. “I’m sorry. I should not have…It’s not my place to…”

Penn’s jaw tightens. “It’s fine.”

We lapse into terse silence, neither knowing how to proceed. I am rather ashamed of myself for resorting to verbal barbs. Why is it I have no problem passing easy hours with his men, joking and laughing, but the moment I get into his presence my tongue sharpens into a knifepoint?

In truth, I do not know enough about his relationship with the former wind weaver to rightly comment on it. Whether they were mere friends or something more…Penn has not told me and I have not yet summoned the courage to ask. Whatever they were to each other, she had clearly mattered a great deal. She still does, if the echoes of heartbreak haunting his expression are any indication.

“You have no idea how to properly control your power,” he says finally, breaking through the heavy silence that presses in on us. “You could hurt someone.”

“Then train me.”

He jolts in surprise. “Excuse me?”

“You say I’m a danger—to myself, to everyone around me. Then help me. Show me how to control it.”

He is quiet for a long time, staring at me. When he speaks, it is almost a whisper, though there is no one around to hear. “You would trust me with this? To teach you?”

“If there was someone else I could ask, I would. But we both know you are the only one I can turn to.” I swallow hard, trying to get my racing pulse under control. “If not to train me, why bring me here at all?”

“To keep you safe. To keep you alive . If you die, gods only know how long it will take to find another like you. I will not spend any more years in the Midlands hunting halflings. I do not have the stomach for it.”

“I am…” I search for the proper words. “ Grateful …for your protection.”

His mouth twitches. “Right.”

“Gratitude aside,” I hurry on, “I meant what I said before. I cannot spend my life locked in a stone tower. I’m not built for it.”

“While you reside beneath my sister’s roof, I’m afraid you must maintain at least some presence at court.” He blows out a breath. “Do you think I would attend her bloody dinners if I had any other choice in the matter?”

“You are at least accustomed to this world. You grew up here. No one dares question your place.” My voice drops to a murmur as my eyes drop to my feet. “I do not belong here. I am not meant for fine society. I feel no desire to overindulge in piles of gourmet food; I care nothing for stilted conversation with jewel-draped courtiers. I…I grew up in a cottage. In the wild, in the woods. The closest I have ever come to royalty before now is the queen bee of the hive in our gardens. I do not embroider or paint watercolors or play pianoforte or…whatever else the accomplished ladies of the court do to occupy their time. And I have no wish to. Why waste a whole day locked indoors when I could better use it hunting or healing?”

“Can you not simply rest for a time? Until you’ve some meat on your bones and some color in your cheeks? Until that haunted look has faded from your eyes and you stop flinching at every sudden noise?” Penn sounds more exasperated than I have ever heard him. “Or have you spent so long running, you’ve forgotten how to stop?”

My eyes stay locked on my shoes. The tips of my boots shine with fresh polish in the midday sun. “Do not speak to me of rest. You do not rest. One day home, and you’re already at the sparring pits.”

He grunts, a sound of begrudging agreement. “Court chafes after so long away. It will pass. You will settle. Give it time.”

I shake my head. “I won’t—”

His hand latches on to my chin without warning, cutting off my words. He jerks my face up to his, so I can no longer escape his eyes. They smolder with a conviction that catches me off guard

“You say you have no place here? You do. Your place is with me. So long as I am here, no one will dare lift a hand nor utter a word against you. Do you hear me?”

“I…” I swallow hard; his eyes track the movement. “I hear you.”

“Good.”

“Still, you must at least give me the freedom to be outside during the day. To feel the wind and the sunlight and the grass beneath my feet. You must let me have a purpose here, beyond that of a rare butterfly pinned behind glass.”

He stares at me, still holding my chin. I can see the thoughts working in his eyes but I cannot decipher them. I sense nothing from the link that stretches between us, a band of tension from the exposed mark on his chest to the concealed one on mine; not the slightest hint at what he might be feeling. So I am utterly surprised by the words that come out of his mouth.

“You are nothing like her.”

I flinch, thinking it an insult.

Until he keeps talking. “Enid…She was many things. Gentle. Kind. Intelligent. But…not strong. Not fearless.”

My lips part. He watches my soft exhale of surprise slip out, his eyes lingering on my lips so heavily I dare not draw another breath. “I’m not fearless.”

He does not answer. But his hold on my chin changes, morphing from a restraining grip to almost a caress. My breath snags in my throat as the strong pads of his fingers slide along the sharp line of my jaw, then trace down the slope of my neck. I tremble as I feel the rough scrape of calluses from his sword.

There is such strength in those hands. Such power. They could break me with minimal effort, snatch my life away in the lull between two heartbeats. Yet they are unbearably gentle as they move against my skin. His thumb strokes over the highly sensitive hollow of my throat, tracing the pulse that throbs in my jugular. It pounds in double time, as though I’ve just run a great distance. Ironic, as I have never stood quite so still. My feet are firmly planted against the dirt. In this moment, I would not move for anything.

“Penn,” I whisper.

The word breaks whatever spell has fallen over us. His eyes tear up to mine, pausing briefly at my mouth along the way. With one final swipe of his thumb over my pulse, his hand falls back to his side.

“You want to learn about your powers?” His voice is full of gravel. “Then, come. I will teach you what I can.”

I blink. “ Now? ”

“Unless you have something more pressing to do with your afternoon,” he calls, turning on his heel and striding past the back side of the armory, toward the distant keep. I watch his bare back disappear around the side of the building, a play of rippling bronze muscle in the sun.

After a long, steadying breath, I follow.

We stand facing each other across the hidden ledge of rock behind the falls. Tucked below a ceaseless cascade of water, the half cavern is totally concealed from view. It is a secret place—the sort you’d never stumble upon accidentally, accessible only by a slippery climb up rough-hewn rock steps through the mist. Strange symbols are etched into the volcanic ash walls. A code of glyphs, indecipherable and ancient. I wonder what they mean, and who carved them. If they have been here as long as the city itself. Perhaps even longer.

The water is a constant roar all around us. We have to shout to hear each other amid the din, even standing a handful of paces apart.

“Focus, Rhya. Find your center.”

“I’m trying.”

“Not hard enough, apparently. I can feel your anxiety through the bond. Your fear. It’s swamping you.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Stop reading my emotions!”

“Then conceal them from me. Push me out.”

“You make it sound so simple.”

“It is simple. Simple as closing your eyes or blocking your ears.”

“You forget this is all new to me. You’ve been doing this a lot longer than I have.” I pause, tilting my head in contemplation. “How old are you, anyway?”

“Old.”

“That’s not very specific.”

His brows knit together. “Older than you, not quite as old as Soren. Old enough to know that putting a number on the age of someone immortal is about as useful as selling ice in the Frostlands. Now, can we get back to more important matters?”

“Fine,” I grit, closing my eyes once more. “I’m focusing .”

I hear him sigh. I try to ignore it, turning my senses inward to the storm that swirls ceaselessly within. It is less difficult to shut out the roar of the falls or the man standing across from me than it is the worries of my own mind. Penn is right—I am afraid. Afraid to tap into my Remnant again. The last time I did so, I spent the following two days unconscious.

Penn speaks again, much nearer this time. “So long as you’re afraid of your own power, you’re letting it control you. If it controls you, it can overwhelm you. Harm you…along with everyone else around when it inevitably leaks out.”

“So how do I get over the fear?”

“Face whatever it is that makes you afraid.” He pauses. “What scares you so much?”

I swallow hard, hearing Soren’s words in my head.

It will crack your mind like the shell of an egg…

“Rhya. Look at me.”

I open my eyes and stare straight into Penn’s. His face is close—shockingly so.

“Think of your Remnant like a gate, keeping all your power inside,” he murmurs lowly. “When that gate opens, you let a short burst slip through. In the past, that’s only happened when you’ve been scared or when your life was threatened. You’ve unconsciously cracked that gate open, let a bit of your power spill out. Enough to keep you alive, enough to protect you.”

“On the bridge.”

“Yes, the bridge. The Red Chasm. The mountain.” His eyes narrow a shade. “A crack is fine—so long as it’s controlled, so long as you can shut that gate again when the danger has passed. But any more than that…”

My brows lift, a silent question.

“You don’t want to let so much power flood out that it takes the gate right off the hinges,” he says carefully. “You may never get it closed again.”

I shiver.

“Don’t worry. I will teach you to keep it contained. I will teach you control. You just need to be vigilant.”

“You make it sound like my Remnant is a foe to be fought.”

“It is. I fight a war against my own power with every breath. I still struggle to keep it in check—and I have been doing this for far longer than you’ve been alive. I can only hope you have an easier time than I do.”

“But you use your powers.”

“I do. Reluctantly. In moderation. And only in the absence of any better options. It is not a party trick to be used for amusement.”

I think of Soren and his water goblet, the dance of droplets. I’m not sure the Water Remnant would agree. “Why?”

“You saw the wildfire on the mountainside. How it raged. You said yourself it was unnatural. Untamable.” He does not look away from me, even for an instant. “Why do you think I was so desperate to get you away from there?”

“The battle—”

“Not the battle. Me. I was protecting you from me. I knew what would happen when I unleashed my flame. I knew it would burn out of control. I knew there was a chance I’d kill everyone within my radius. Including Jac, Mabon, and Uther.”

I suck in a startled breath. “But you didn’t.”

“No, I was lucky. This time, I managed to lock it down before I took any innocent lives.” His eyes are haunted, full of fiery ghosts I cannot decipher.

This time.

There had been other times when he could not lock it down. Could not contain it. And others had paid the price.

I suddenly see his desperation to get me off that mountain with fresh perspective. I see him with fresh perspective. He exercises rigid control in every aspect of his life not because he is a dictator by nature, but because deep down he is terrified of the hell he could unleash, should his restraint slip at any given moment.

“It must be exhausting,” I whisper.

His brows lift. “What?”

“Keeping it in all the time.”

I do not just mean his power. I mean his agony. His despair. His deep loneliness. There is no one around him who can ever truly understand the weight that rests upon his shoulders. Upon his soul.

Penn watches me for a heavy beat. His voice, when it comes, is hardly more than a murmur. “It is better to exercise control than suffer the consequences of losing it. Now, shut your eyes and focus.”

I press my lids closed, again seeking the swirling storm within. The wind rises instantly, a howl beneath my skin that vibrates along my limbs. Every hair on my body stands on end as I let the power pulsate. The Remnant is a steady throb at my breast, cold as ice, beating along with my frantic heart.

“Quiet your mind.”

I nod as I seek out the eye of the storm, where all is calm and centered. It takes a moment to find my way there through the roiling surf and screaming wind, but once I do, a serenity settles over me. A sort of clarity I only ever feel there, bobbing in tranquil waters as the hurricane circles at a safe distance.

“Good.” Penn takes my hands without warning, pressing his large, callused palms firmly against mine. My heart lurches into my throat as a white-hot pulse of power jumps from him to me, like a static shock. In my mind’s eye, the water I am floating in warms by several degrees, as though he’s blasted fire down the bond between us.

“What—what are you doing?” I breathe, cracking open my eyes to look at him.

He sends another pulse shimmering down the bond. “Do you feel that?”

“Y-yes,” I stammer.

“There is a natural symmetry between the maegic that whispers through your veins and that which burns in mine. A tactile connection helps at the beginning when the connection is still…new.” He pauses. “When you used the bond to find me today, what did it feel like?”

“Like tugging a thread or following an unspooled skein of yarn.”

“Faint?”

I nod.

“It will strengthen. Eventually, with a bit of practice, you will be able to locate me much more easily. And to feel my fire, along with my physical presence.” Heat blasts down the link again; I start at the sensation of warmth spreading through me. “To channel me, in a sense. And vice versa.”

“Channel you?” My heart is thudding madly. “You mean tap into your power?”

“Yes. It is sometimes possible to channel the power of another Remnant.”

“Not always?”

“Just as air fuels a fire and water extinguishes it, the four Remnant powers can fuel and feed from one another. There are innate compatibilities. And, with them, innate limitations. Some elements work better in combination than others. For instance, fire and air are…”

I arch a brow. “Combustible?”

“They can be, yes. Your power and mine work well together, as air feeds a burgeoning flame to new heights. But when it comes to fire and water…” His sun-bronzed shoulders lift in a slight shrug. “Soren and I are not only opposites in personality. Our powers are at opposite poles of the tetrad.”

I think of their Remnant marks—Soren’s flowing across the left side of his chest, Penn’s furling over the right. Their placements mirrored, yet aligned.

“So you can’t channel his power? Can’t link with him?”

“It would not be easy. Nor, I imagine, comfortable for either of us. Even when we were on better terms, we never found occasion to try.”

“You’re natural foes, then? Enemies by design?”

“Not foes, exactly. Foils would be more accurate. You will likely experience a similar sensation with the Remnant of Earth, if they are ever discovered.”

“Why?”

“Earth and air are fundamental opposites, intrinsically at odds. We are all connected, but some of those connections are more harmonious than others.” His hands tighten on mine. “Even within the tetrad, there is a natural balance of power. None of the four can rise unchecked or wield their power uncontrollably, for we each have a foil.”

My mind turns this over. It does make sense. “Water to quench fire, earth to tamp air…”

He nods. “And flame to boil the flood, wind to stir the soil.”

“Does that mean air and water would also be compatible? That if I were to merge with Soren—” My words cut off sharply as a pulse of power—this one hotter, nearly scalding—shoots down the bond at the mention of Soren’s name. My wide eyes scan Penn’s rage-suffused expression.

Perhaps it is not wise to mention Soren at the present moment.

Penn swiftly recovers from the slip. His nostrils flare and his jaw clenches with effort as he scales back the unexpected heat.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur, feeling sweat drip down the back of my neck. My body temperature has yet to regulate from his blast.

“Don’t be.” There is the ghost of a chuckle. “Here I am trying to teach you control, and I practically lose mine before we’ve even begun.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not.” His teeth grind together. “It’s just what you said— merge .”

My brows lift. “Is that not the same as channeling?”

“No. It is not. In the time before the Cull…to merge with another fae…” His eyes lock with mine. “It was akin to a mating bond. An unbreakable, irremovable covenant. A soulmerge.”

“Different than the Remnant bonds?”

“Yes.” He pauses tightly. “Two separate powers unify into one intractable maegic. A joining of souls that cannot be forced—and cannot ever be undone.”

“I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“Nor would you. Even in the days of the empire, soulmerges were exceedingly rare. Some claim they were no more than legend. Others believe the emperor himself was the product of such a union, that his parents had soulmerged and, in creating him, passed on a potent medley of elemental power.”

“Is that even possible?”

“I’m not certain. But it is said he could wield more than one element in his heyday.”

“Which ones?” I ask, heart beating rapidly.

There is a bated beat of hesitation. “Fire and air.”

Our eyes hold for a long time, neither of us saying any more. Eventually, Penn’s hands squeeze mine and he seems to snap out of the daze he’s slipped into.

“We’ve veered off topic. Let us get back to more important things before we lose the daylight. Close your eyes.”

I am all too happy to oblige, suddenly desperate to escape the intensity of his gaze. When I’ve refocused and am once again bobbing in the still waters of my mind, he sends a short blast of heat down the bond.

“You feel it? The pulse?”

I nod.

“Good. Now, I want you to send it back to me.”

“What? I can’t—”

“You can. Just like you did on the mountain, when you created your air shield to keep the fire at bay. But instead of blasting it physically outward, channel it internally down the bond. Into me.”

“What if I send too much?” I ask, nervous at the prospect of losing control. “What if it overwhelms me and—”

“This is a safe place. The sigils carved into the walls of this cavern are wards. Any power you expel here will be absorbed into the volcanic ash. If your control slips, you’ll provide the barriers that protect Caeldera with a surplus charge. So even if you fail, you’ll be helping. Not hurting.”

That soothes me some. My voice is small as I put words to my final worry. “But you’re here with me. What if I hurt you? What if—”

“You won’t hurt me.”

“But—”

“ Trust , Rhya.” His hands tighten almost to the point of pain. “Trust me. Trust yourself.”

The dark storm clouds of my power swirl faster, pressing in on me. In the distance, lightning cracks down over the water, a splinter of untempered power. Wind, raw and ravaging, howls in my bones.

“Now,” he urges. “Release it. Give it to me.”

I do.

It ripples outward, a shock wave blasting through me. Out of me. From my skin. From my soul. As it had on the mountain, but magnified tenfold. Penn jolts backward as it passes through me into him. The bond between us grows taut, pulled tight as a bowstring, screeching under the sheer force of power flowing between us. My hands flex against his, holding on with all my strength, afraid to let go. Afraid, if I lose hold of him, I will also lose hold of the maegic that threatens to overwhelm me.

I try to keep it contained. To keep the power from breaching the confines of my mind. But even as I struggle, the storm clouds that ring that quiet, safe place within turn to pitch, blacking out the sky as they close in from all sides. The waters in which I bob, once warm and still, turn to froth as unpredictable swells churn riotously around me.

I feel the moment I am swept away—feel the moment the cavern around us goes static, the wail of power in my bones, in our bond, turning to a real, visceral howl in the air as incorporeal power turns concrete.

“Rhya!”

My eyes fly open as air tears violently at our clothes, a swirling vortex of mist and dust. Penn is there, chestnut hair whipping around his head, eyes burning into mine. The maegic in them smolders close to the surface. He is holding my hands, absorbing the shock waves of my power. All around us, the wards in the walls are aglow in the gathering dark, scores of red burning against the black volcanic stone as the wind surges out of control.

“Rein it in!” Penn shouts over the screaming gusts. “Find your mind’s center!”

But I am lost in it—lost in the storm, lost in the chaos of wind currents that have strengthened so quickly into an uncontrollable tempest. The floodgates are open, just as I feared, and I am ill-equipped to slam them shut again. My head aches as if it is being split in two, the bones of my skull creaking like they will burst apart at any given moment.

I hear Penn shouting my name, calling out commands, but his voice seems to come from a great distance. I can no longer feel the grip of his hands on mine. I can no longer feel anything at all.

Nothing but wind.

Nothing but cold.

At my chest, the Remnant burns. Breath stealing. Blinding. It pulses painfully—once, twice. A third time. And then, just when I think I might die from the agony, just when the thrashing wind threatens to lift us both off our feet and hurl us into the falls…

My mind gives way.

Consciousness flickers out.

And I tumble blessedly into darkness.