Page 32 of To Scale the Emerald Mountain

“I don’t know. I guess she thought it was important for some reason. I don’t really know why.” My voice comes out as a whisper, and I chide myself for sounding like a scolded child asking for forgiveness.

Locane lets out a long breath and schools his face back to neutral. “Can you search for visions?”

“What do you mean by that? Hand select what I want to see, like choosing a book from a shelf?” My words drip skepticism.

“Yes, I suppose. More or less.”

“I don’t know what would make you think I could do that, seeing as how I just told you I can’t even control when a vision comes to me.”

“I think you are capable of a lot more than you could ever fathom.” Locane pushes his plate forward roughly, then stands.

He turns my stool to face him and places a hand on either end of the back, caging me in. He leans in close so we are sharing air; the passion in his eyes is fierce. My breath hitches at the intensity of him being so close. I’m hit with that off familiarity again when I catch his scent of worn leather and sea salt.

“You can do so much more than they ever would have let you.”

“Who?” I whisper.

The fire bleeds from his eyes as he backs away slowly, extending his arms fully before he drops them to his sides. “Your grandmother held you back.” His tone is flat, and he begins pulling away before even fully opening up.

“You said ‘they.’“ I stand now, invading his space—same as he had just invaded mine.

“Yes, the proverbialthey.Your grandmother and everyone else involved in your so-called training.“ The displeasure that Locane briefly showed when I told him about trying to control my Sight has returned. “Your magic is strong. So strong I don’t thinktheyknew what to do with you.Theywere stifling you. Not training you.”

“You know nothing about my Nana.” My fists ball at my sides.

Locane smiles at me cruelly. “I know a lot more than you.”

“And what the fuck is it that you think you know so well?” I struggle to keep my voice steady and tears from welling. He isn’t going to elaborate in any way that matters.

“I know that they’re scared of what you could accomplish. Given the right tools, information, and direction. I know that they could have helped you be great, but instead they kept you down and held you back until all you became isthis.”

Locane’s cruel words sting at the blatant insinuation of my inadequacy. Instead of spitting hate filled venom back at him, I can’t help the question that leaves my mouth. “And what, exactly, do you think I could accomplish with you, Locane?”

“Everything,”he says, grabbing my shoulders and placing a gentle kiss on my forehead.

Locane turns and walks away before I can react, leaving me shocked by his action and trying to decipher the whirlwind of emotions he’s shown in such a short time. Again.

I stand and lean on the breakfast bar. Our abandoned breakfasts steadily turn colder as I silently fume for several long minutes.

Or maybe it’s only been seconds.

My breath is becoming more and more erratic. A strong fury courses through me—making me know myself even less. Without thinking, I pick up my plate and throw it against the wall with a loud crash. The untouched omelet splatters on impact and falls with the rain of shattered glass.

Turning in the direction Locane left, I follow. My face turns redder with each pounding, purposeful step.

I approach the vestibule door and throw it open wide, making it bounce off the wall. The exterior front door is already open, allowing in the warm rays of sun and cheerful sounds of birds chirping.

Charging through, I make it outside in a few long strides, moving faster than I ever knew I could. Locane stands on the path facing the house, arms crossed, a look of expectancy on his face. His expression morphs to smug satisfaction as I step onto the porch.

Striding angrily down the steps, I rush towards him, throwing a perfectly formed punch to his face. Locane dodges it quickly, but as he’s still ducking away from my punch my foot comes up and connects hard with his cheek, throwing him down into the grass.

Standing rooted to the spot, uneven breaths saw through my lips. I watch him on the ground, waiting for him to get back up as my sudden burst of anger quickly bleeds away. A small trickle of blood escapes through his hairline down his temple.

“Shit.” I find my bearings and bend over him. Just as I’m crouching down Locane groans and rolls over. “I didn’t mean to do that. But I’m also not going to say I’m sorry. You deserved it,” I say, reaching to grab his hand and help him into a sitting position.

Locane touches the trickle of viscous fluid and inspects it, rubbing his fingers together. He then rubs them against my mouth—forcing me to taste the metallic tang of his blood. I scream and jump up, wiping my mouth. “What the fuck are you doing?” I yell.

“What? You earned being able to taste my blood.”