Chapter 47
Chapter Forty-Seven
"E mylia, you’re bleeding."
My mother’s brows knitted with concern.
Scarlet stained my palm, blood dripping in slow, deliberate trails off my fingertips, soaking into the earth below. The dirt clung to it—wet and coppery—like the ground itself was hungry for it.
Well, damn.
So much for a clean escape.
The sting followed a second later—sharp, pulsing, a reminder that I wasn’t invincible.
At least not yet.
Mom crouched beside me, her fingers brushing my wrist as she turned my hand over. Her eyes scanned the gash—calm, composed, already slipping into instructor mode.
“It’s the perfect opportunity to practise healing.”
My heart kicked against my ribs.
I nodded—too proud to hesitate. Too desperate to prove I could.
But Gods, I was terrified.
Destruction came naturally to me. When it came to harnessing magik, annihilation was my domain. But healing? Healing required softness. Control. Gentleness. Belief. Things I wasn’t sure lived in me at all.
Standing beside Akaela, my hand buzzed from siphoning. I hovered it over the rift in my skin, fingers trembling above the gaping wound.
I summoned the power that lived inside me now—thick and humming, eager to obey. It surged through me, rushing toward my palm, igniting in my veins, gathering at my fingertips. An orb of water formed, leeching from my skin until it hovered like glass, shaping into a sphere—delicate, perfect. It followed my hand like a phantom, ghosting over the cut.
I pressed it down gently, watching as the water clung—for a breath, for a second.
It trembled.
Then it broke. Collapsed.
Water spilled down my arm in rivulets. Useless droplets. The wound remained.
Unchanged.
Laughing at me. Mocking me.
I gritted my teeth and tried again.
And again.
And again.
Each attempt grew slower, heavier—my hand shaking from the strain, from my own refusal to quit. The water gathered. Hovered. Spiraled into that perfect sphere—and fell apart the moment it touched my skin. Taunting. Pointless.
Again.
The blood didn’t stop.
But neither did I.
Again.
The ache in my chest wasn’t pain anymore. It was fury. At myself. At my limits. At the fact that this—the one thing that required tenderness—I couldn’t seem to master.
The clearing blurred around the edges. Time unraveled. I didn’t know how long I knelt there—just that the sun was lower now. The clearing quieter. One by one, they’d left—Evie, then my mother. She offered to heal me before she went, but I refused. I
f I couldn’t conquer this, then I didn’t deserve it to be healed.
Let it scar. Let it remind me.
Still I tried.
Still I failed.
The clearing dimmed with dusk. The air chilled, stretching golden shadows across the earth. The sky slowly turned molten, honeyed hues stretching across the grass like a promise I couldn’t reach.
I stayed kneeling, hands raw and stained with blood and magik, jaw locked tight.
Then—
“Princess.”
Maalikai’s voice. Low. Rough silk. The kind that always found me.
I didn’t look up.
“It’s enough for today.”
I shook my head, slow and stubborn. Just enough to defy him.
He moved closer, boots whispering through the grass. He crouched beside me, the dying rays of sun painting his skin in firelight, the warmth of him brushing against my shoulder. The last edge of sunlight caught the cut of his jaw, his eyes shadowed—watching.
“You’re bleeding,”he said again. “And exhausted. Come rest.”
“Not until I get it right.”
“You’ve already done more than enough.”
“It’s not enough,”I snapped. My voice cracked around it, sharp and raw.
He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch.
“You’ll learn,”he said gently. “But not like this. You’re hurting yourself more than you’re healing.”
My hands curled into fists. My throat ached. I couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t bear the softness in his voice. Not when all I felt was failure.
Then—he moved.
His arms wrapped around me from behind, strong, steady, grounding. He pulled me close, holding me like I might shatter. His breath ghosted the shell of my ear.
His voice, when he spoke again, was lower. Barely a whisper. “Just because you haven’t succeeded doesn’t mean you’re a failure.”
“That’s exactly what it means.”The words flew from my mouth—more vicious than I intended.
He didn’t recoil. He shifted so I had no choice but to meet his gaze.
And Gods—when obsidian met mine, it hollowed me.
“Your worth is not measured in your healing,”he said, each word deliberate. “You are already everything. You’re perfect, even when you’re not.”
But I didn’t feel perfect. I felt empty. Like this failure proved every dark thing I believed about myself.
“Let me take the pressure off,”he said gently, his eyes darkening.
I knew what he meant. I burned for it. Gods, I wanted it. But still, I hesitated. Giving up felt like ruin.
I broke.
But not into pieces—into surrender.
He threaded his fingers through mine, lifting me to my feet, his other hand steady on my waist. I leaned into him without thinking, without permission. Because I needed the comfort. The danger I’d already chosen. At least for tonight.
We walked toward the path, dusk curling around us in shades of amethyst and steel. He guided me slowly away from the cliff. The sky now shades of lavender, the air crisp with night’s promise.
His thumb brushed the back of my hand.
“Trust me,”he said. “After tonight, you’ll conquer healing. I promise.”
“Promise?”I leaned into him.
He pressed his lips to my forehead, lingering.
“Promise,”he whispered again.
And for the first time that day, I let myself believe him.
My footsteps fell into rhythm with his. And even though the ache still lived in my chest, it no longer felt like it was winning.
Maalikai leveled the playing field.
Obliterated it.