Chapter 7 Elle #2
Instead of pulling or pushing, I tried to shape the power like water finding its course. The fifty flowers suddenly merged into one massive bloom the size of a dinner plate, petals shifting like oil on water.
“Better,” the Sage said. “Now make it small again.”
I focused on the flower, imagining it shrinking. The power resisted—it didn’t like reversing growth. The flower shrank slowly until it was normal sized, then tiny as my thumbnail.
“Good. Now make it sing.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Everything alive has a voice. Find it.”
I reached for the flower with my mind, feeling for something like resonance. The flower chimed once, a clear, ringing note.
“Holy shit,” I breathed.
“Focus,” Kaelren said sharply, and I flinched before I could stop myself.
He’d moved closer without me noticing—close enough that I could feel the cold radiating from his corrupted marks, the way they seemed to pull at mine like opposing magnets.
He was staring at the flower with an expression I couldn’t read.
Disgust, maybe. Or calculation. With him, it was always calculation.
“You’re losing concentration,” he said, but his voice had lost some of its edge.
“Hard to concentrate with you looming,” I muttered.
“Get used to it. In actual combat, your enemies won’t maintain a respectful distance.”
He was right, which was annoying. But there was something else—the way he’d said your enemies instead of enemies. Like he’d almost included himself in that category, then thought better of it.
We spent the rest of the morning on precision exercises, and I became increasingly aware that Kaelren was watching every single one.
Not from the edge of the training ground like the others, but close.
Circling. Observing from different angles like he was cataloging my weaknesses—or maybe my strengths, I couldn’t tell.
Each exercise pushed my control. The marks at my collarbones grew warmer, pulsing with increased intensity, but thankfully not spreading further.
What was spreading was my awareness of him.
The way he moved, silent as shadow. The tension in his shoulders that suggested pain he was ignoring.
The moments when our marks pulsed in sync and his eyes would snap to mine before he looked away, jaw tight.
I tried to ignore it. Tried to focus on the Sage’s instructions, on the flowers I was coaxing into existence, on literally anything except the fact that I could sense exactly where he was even when I wasn’t looking at him.
That damned connection the Sage kept mentioning. Whether we wanted it or not.
“Stop thinking about him,” Peeble whispered from my shoulder. “Your flowers are getting spiky.”
I looked down. The beetle was right—the latest bloom had grown thorns.
“I wasn’t thinking about him,” I lied.
“Your subconscious disagrees.”
Across the training ground, Kaelren’s carved marks flared silver-black for just a moment, and I knew—knew—he’d felt whatever that was. Our eyes met. His expression was closed, cold, but something flickered behind it before his walls slammed back up.
“That’s enough,” the Sage announced at midday, their timing either impeccable or intentional. “You need rest.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re shaking.”
I looked down at my hands. They were trembling, and there were thin green lines running through my fingernails like veins in leaves.
“That’s new,” I said, trying to sound casual about becoming part plant.
“Your body is adapting,” Eltrien said, approaching with his healing supplies. “May I?”
I nodded, and he examined my hands with clinical efficiency.
“Three days since the first threshold and you’re already this far along,’ Eltrien murmured, examining the green lines. ‘The transformation isn’t just accelerating—it’s compounding. Your blood is changing composition.”
“Into what?”
“Something between human and plant. A bridge.”
Kaelren made a disgusted sound and stalked away.
“What’s his problem?” I asked.
“You’re becoming what he can’t,” Sarnyx said bluntly. “The marks chose you. His were carved. You’re evolution. He’s just dying slowly.”
“That’s harsh.”
“Truth often is.”
I wanted to argue, but exhaustion was hitting hard. The precision exercises had drained me more than yesterday’s power displays.
“Rest,” the Sage said. “This afternoon, we’ll work on communication.”
“With plants?”
“With the Root itself.”
I made my way back to my tent, pausing when I passed Kaelren. He was destroying training dummies with ruthless efficiency, corruption spreading from his strikes like disease.
“You’re pushing too hard,” I said without thinking.
He froze mid-strike. “Excuse me?”
“Your marks. The corruption’s spreading faster when you push them.”
“And you care because?”
“I don’t. But Josephine would be pissed if you died before helping me figure this out.”
“Josephine is dead. Her opinions are irrelevant.”
“Wow. Cold even for you.”
He turned to face me fully, silver eyes like winter. “Focus on your own transformation. Mine is not your concern.”
“Fine. Die of stubbornness.”
“I intend to. After I fulfill my promise.”
The threat was clear. I was just a task to complete before his own end.
“Good to know where we stand,” I said, and walked away.
Inside my tent, I collapsed onto my bedroll, staring at my changing hands. The green veins were spreading, creating patterns that were beautiful if you didn’t think about what they meant.
Julian would have called me reckless, I thought bitterly. Said I was being ‘unnecessarily dramatic’ about a few scratches. He never understood that sometimes you had to bleed to grow stronger. Then again, he never understood much about growth at all—just control.
“Your life is a disaster,” I said to the tent ceiling.
“But an interesting disaster,” Peeble replied, apparently having followed me.
“Is interesting worth dying for?”
“Better than dying of boredom with that imbecile you called a fiance.”
They had a point. Even with the whole turning-into-a-plant thing and the assassin-bodyguard who’d kill me without hesitation, this was better than slowly disappearing into Julian’s shadow.
“That’s depressing.”
“That’s growth,” Peeble said.
“Terrible pun.”
“I’m a beetle. Terrible puns are my only joy.”
Despite everything, I smiled. Then exhaustion pulled me under, and I dreamed of roots and roses and silver eyes that calculated the exact angle needed to end me efficiently.