Chapter 12
Serafina
“This isn’t working!” I scream out, bending over to place my hands on my knees because how was this so easy a few days ago when Theo was in my room?
I was able to bring flames to my hands instantly, the rage he was responsible for creating, making it easy. But Ryjax says not to use anger to fuel my flames, so since then…nothing. I’ve produced absolutely nothing.
“Serafina, you need to focus,” Ryjax says, his voice calm, which only infuriates me more.
Every day has been the same.
I wake up, study the books he brought me about the Essentari for hours, and then he visits me in the evening for our lessons. A routine that’s driving me crazy. A routine I can’t fathom continuing for even a few more days, let alone weeks.
“You think I’m not focusing?” I clench my jaw, hands still resting on my knees.
I don’t want to look at his face, a face that always seems to be trying far too hard to not show any emotion, so I look at the ground instead.
“It’s been three days, Jax. Three days. And I haven’t been able to produce a single flame. ” My head pounds, and my temples ache.
Why can’t I do this?
Because you’re weak, Serafina. You’re weak, and that hasn’t changed just because you’re a Pyroflame.
“I know you’re not focusing. If you were, you would’ve tapped into the flames by now.” His tone makes me want to throttle him.
“You know nothing,” I seethe, standing from my hunched position and glaring at the prince who has become the bane of my existence.
The prince that represents everything I hate, everything I loathe, because he never had to compete.
He never had to face the trials, and it isn’t fair. His people suffer while he lives here.
“I know that every time you fail to form the connection with your fire, you start doubting yourself.” He takes a step toward me, eyes locked on mine, and even though I want to look away, I can’t because there’s something about his voice that seems so genuine, so sincere, and my breath catches in my throat.
“But I don’t doubt you because I know you can do this.
” He takes another step and the way he’s looking at me makes me forget to breathe, because no one has ever said what he’s saying to me before.
“Because I’ve seen you do it. So just do it, Serafina.
” His voice is a challenge, and I hate challenges.
But I close my eyes and try to do what he says.
I picture the flames. The colors, their melodic dance. But I don’t feel the heat. If I can’t do this, how will I ever find my way back to my family? My parents? Char?
Char.
Char with his bright blue eyes and charming smile.
Char with his strong arms and protective nature.
What did Norin do to him? Is he hurt? Does he know what happened to me? Does he know I’m not dead?
“You’re still not focusing.” Ryjax lets out a deep breath. I open my eyes, and he’s shaking his head.
“Yes, I am,” I fire back.
“Then, prove it.”
“I can’t!” I scream because I hate everything about this. I hate that I’m an Essentari. I hate that I’m locked in this room. And I hate the man standing in front of me who wants me to do these things that I clearly cannot do.
“You can,” he says, and my temper flares.
“Do you think this is easy?” I yell, wanting to fall to the ground, but I keep myself upright, breathing fast and heavy.
“Fuck no. Far from it.”
“What?” I blink, his response catching me off guard.
“When I first called upon the light, it was for a fraction of a second, and then I wasn’t able to do it again for months.
It’s fucking hard, and it hurts like hell.
But you’ve already done it multiple times, which tells me you’re stronger than I was.
” He holds up his hands. “Which is why I know you can do this.” Light blasts from his fingers, radiant and beautiful before disappearing entirely.
Great. He’s delusional. The future king of our country is absolutely, undeniably, gods-damned delusional.
“You just need to—”
“Focus?” I cut him off, never wanting to hear him say that word again.
“How am I supposed to focus when everything feels so wrong?” I turn away from him because he’s right.
I’m not focusing, and now he knows it. “My parents are probably worried sick about me. My best friend might be dead. And if I’m not careful, I’ll be dead soon, too. ”
My hands fall to my sides, and I look back at him.
“Don’t say that.”
“Why? It’s the truth? You want me to focus? Well, I can’t. I’m not like you, Your Royal Highness.” I can’t help but notice the way he flinches when I call him by his title. “And I still don’t understand why you care so much. So what if I die? It will make no difference to you.”
“Serafina.” He sighs, and the look in his eyes makes me feel like he’s going to say something kind, but then he shakes his head once more. “Please, just try again.”
“What part of I can’t, don’t you understand!” I scream, and he flinches for a second time. But now, he’s turning away from me and moving toward the door, which only makes me more upset because I don’t want him to go.
Damn my fucking temper.
“Wait,” I say, the word a desperate plea on my lips, and I hate myself for it.
He doesn’t turn, but he does stop walking, and I know he wants me to say something, anything.
But I don’t.
I can’t.
I can’t because he’s the prince. A member of the family I have despised my entire life.
He has lied, or at the very least, twisted the truth.
But it’s more than that.
He commands shadows.
I cannot trust him.
But even so, loneliness somehow feels like a greater danger than he’ll ever pose.
When I don’t respond, he sighs again.
“Good night, Serafina.” He opens the door.
“It’s my birthday today,” I whisper, and I don’t know why I told him that. But my words make him pause. He’s frozen, hand resting on the knob.
Please stay, I want to add, because even though he’s the prince, I really, really don’t want to be alone.
Not tonight.
But unfortunately for me, I’m realizing that a bit too late, and he moves through the door and closes it behind him.
I fling myself onto my bed—his bed—and drag the pillow over my face. I grip both sides and pull tight, nearly cutting off my ability to breathe, and then I open my mouth, and I scream.
I scream and I scream, hoping the pillow muffles the sound enough to not draw any attention to myself.
But maybe that’s exactly what I want.
Attention.
From someone, anyone, but the prince who just left me here alone.
Again.
And on my birthday no less. But why wouldn’t he leave? I haven’t been very nice to him. And he is trying to help me.
Isn’t he?
Yes. He is. I know he is.
So why can’t I control my temper around him?
Because you’ve never been able to control your temper.
I allow myself to scream one more time. Just one more. And then I remove the pillow and smooth out my tunic.
I move to sit at the desk, to where the stack of books Ryjax brought me lay a mess. Each one is about the Essentari, the different types that exist, and what their specific abilities are.
I’ve already finished the one about the Pyroflame, having not much else to do during the hours I’m left alone.
I learned how I should be able to conjure fireballs, ones that don’t just sit in my hand, but can be sent flying through the air. I read about how some Pyroflame can create protective barriers, walls of fire that completely surround them. But I haven’t been able to do either of those things.
I reach for the book about the Hydrokin. It makes sense to learn about them next. They control water, my opposing element, which means there’s a chance that I can control it, too.
But that chance is slim.
So slim that I hesitate to even open the book.
Not only are hybrids rare, but those who command the water are said to have a calming presence, which couldn’t be further from what I possess. They’re supposed to be adaptable and reflective, but considering I just screamed into my pillow, I think one would consider me anything but that.
Pushing the books to the side, I rest my head on my forearm. None of this matters anyway. I’m not strong enough to control the flame, and I never will be. Hell, I can’t even conjure it anymore.
Ryjax says that manifesting the flame has nothing to do with strength. That part comes later, when you need to hold it and desire to control it. Creating the flame is a mental thing, and apparently, my mind is an unfocused, untamable mess.
I need to get myself in order. I need to do better, be better.
I can’t allow myself to get distracted, to worry about things I can’t control.
I will see my parents again. I will see Char again. That’s what matters. That’s what I need to be focusing on, and once my mind is centered again, the flames will come.
The sound of knuckles lightly tapping against the door causes me to stand.
It’s late.
I’m not sure how late but well past dinnertime. Ishla had brought me food hours ago.
The knock sounds again, and I suck in a breath.
“Serafina,” he says, and my muscles immediately relax.
I move to answer the door. Ryjax stands in the nook with a covered platter in his hands.
“What’s that?” I ask, focusing on the platter with interest, but I also don’t want to look him in the eyes. Not after how I behaved not too long ago.
“Let me in, and I’ll show you.”
I open the door wider, and he steps into the room. He moves to the desk and sets the plate down.
“Go ahead.” He motions me forward, his gaze going from me to the platter, me to the platter.
I squint before doing what I know he wants me to do. I lift the cover and stare at what looks like a brown sponge with some sort of cream on top.
I raise a brow.
“It’s cake.”
“Cake?” I question, dragging my finger across the top and popping it into my mouth.