Too Much Information
TALIA
One detail I’ve observed over the past year, and I’m not sure what to make of it. There is no birdsong in Valta. If there are birds here, they do not sing.
It was a familiar dream, a recurring fantasy since she was young, and it always ended the same way. An embrace. A promise. A bright, inhuman gaze fixed only on her. Except this time, the dream was alarmingly specific.
Gray eyes burned into hers. Starscript glyphs glowed across a bare muscular chest, wrapping around his ribs. Careful calloused hands slid along her jaw, tilting her face up. A mouth dropped to her throat, teeth grazing tender skin, and she heard herself whisper his name—
She woke with a start and realized two terrible things. First, this dream was not some random fae prince—it was very specifically Riven’s mouth she’d imagined on her throat. And second, she’d been broadcasting the scene to everyone. Not just the emotions behind it, actual images.
She’d projected her emotions once, in that wolf cave, but that was nothing like this. The bond had warped her gift.
Oh gods. No, no, no.
She tried to yank the mental images back wherever they came from. They only pulsed brighter—his mouth swept down her neck, his hands slid lower, her dream-self arched into his touch—
“Could you not?” Dawn’s voice cut through the morning quiet. “It’s too early for whatever this is.”
Across camp, Riven was staring hard at the horizon, his jaw clenched tight. Holloway was saddling Ash with aggressive tugs on each buckle. Lore watched it all with barely contained glee. Elbow propped on his knee, chin in hand, mouth curved in a cruel smile. Of course he would think this was funny.
“Fascinating,” he said. “That bond really amplifies your range.”
“Please don’t,” Talia muttered.
“I’m only saying, the detail in some of those images—”
“Lore.” Riven’s voice snapped flat and dangerous. “She asked you to stop.”
Talia squeezed her eyes shut. Yesterday’s ritual had broken something in her. She could feel every emotion in the camp—Dawn’s irritation, Riven’s strained neutrality, Holloway’s horror. Her own mortification weaving between them like a panicked bird.
Everyone else had the decency to avoid looking her in the eye, but Lore was staring. He seemed fascinated, like he was cataloging every detail to study later.
Finally, he stood and crossed to her. “It’s time to learn control. Come. Let me help you.”
Letting Lore into her head seemed like a terrible idea, but when Talia glanced over at Dawn, she scoffed.
“Absolutely not,” Dawn snapped. “I don’t want any part of this.”
Great. Whatever this horrible bond did, it didn’t make Dawn a decent person.
So Talia followed Lore until the camp was out of earshot.
“Flux amplifies your empathic abilities,” Lore explained. “We practiced with crystals, remember? Now you’re drawing from the bond. You need to be able to disconnect from that power source.” He motioned for her to sit. “Close your eyes and feel for the bond. Where is it?”
She concentrated. It wasn’t solid, exactly, but she could feel the pressure of it in her chest. “Right here.” She touched her sternum.
“Good. You’re going to put a filter in right there. Imagine a lens of dark glass, and slide it between the bond and the flow of your emotions.”
He wasn’t making sense. How was she supposed to slide something that didn’t exist into a space she was imagining? This was too abstract. Her frustration flared so hard that Lore flinched.
“This is never going to work,” she muttered.
She pulled away and tried to calm down, plucking anxiously at a patch of grass. A halo of worries circled her head, fading out and swapping in for new ones. What if this was her life now? What if she never learned how to control it?
Her fears felt more solid now that she knew the others could see them. Irritation flashed like lightning, and she sighed.
Riven’s voice cut in. “May I try something?” She startled, not realizing he’d joined them.
When she nodded, his hand settled on her shoulder. “Breathe with me.”
She matched her breath to his, and the static in her head quieted to a low buzz. Oh, thank the gods.
“Flux always wants a path.” He knelt, guiding her hand to the damp grass. “You’re projecting it out, but you can give it a different path. Send it down.”
She focused. Felt the thread of power inside her, imagined it flowing through her palms. For one perfect moment, the noise stopped.
“That’s it,” Riven murmured. “You’re grounding it.”
But her mind kicked in—how did this work, why did it feel this way, where did the power go?—and she lost it. Emotion surged back.
“You’re overthinking,” Riven said. His voice was gentle, but it sent shards of irritation under her fingernails.
“That’s kind of what I do,” she snapped.
She knew how her own mind worked. It needed a system, a set of rules.
She thought back to the other time something like this happened, in the wolf fight.
She’d shoved her emotions into the wolf’s mind.
It hadn’t been a filter, exactly, but she had directed her empathic power. Kind of. Could she do that again?
She felt for the bond and concentrated on her anger.
It had the most surface area of all her emotions, hot and prickly.
She tried grounding her rage, except instead of pushing it down, she pushed it toward Lore.
The bond pulsed once, like it was giving her a boost, and the heat in her chest eased. It had worked.
Lore tipped his head to the side, and she could feel him staring.
“You’re both wrong.” She stood up abruptly and walked a few steps away, fighting to ignore Lore’s eyes on her.
She reached for the bond and tried again, peeling off a thread of gratitude. She focused on Riven, concentrated on what she appreciated about him. His steady patience. His dry humor. Then she aimed those feelings right at him.
His eyes widened. She was actually doing it. She held the projection steady. Three seconds. Five. Ten. Then gently pulled it back.
A smile played at Riven’s mouth. “You figured that out yourself.”
Heat flooded her face. This time when her attraction flared, she caught it mid-broadcast. Focused it. Pulled it back. It wasn’t perfect, but it was better.
“Nicely done, Talent.” Lore’s eyes flicked back and forth between her and Riven, clearly wondering what had passed between them.
“I combined your methods. The grounding and filtering together.” She couldn’t hold back her smile.
“I noticed.” Lore stepped closer, studying her face with intense focus. “You’re going to be dangerous when we figure out what you’re capable of.”
There it was again, that word. Dangerous. It didn’t sound like a warning. When Lore said it, it sounded like a promise.
The day fell into a rhythm. Riding northwest, stopping when her emotions flared, practicing grounding.
Holloway rode up ahead. He hadn’t said ten words to her all morning. He always did this, drew into himself when she made him feel—what? Jealous? She never knew what she was supposed to do to get him back.
On the other hand, she caught Lore staring at her more than once. The second time it happened, she held his gaze, a silent challenge. His small nod made her pulse kick, and she bit back a smile. Whatever game that was, she was pretty sure it was a bad idea to crack first.
By midday, when they stopped to water the horses, she could maintain control of her emotions for at least twenty minutes at a time. She was making real progress, but not everything was fixed. She found Holloway at the far edge of the clearing, checking straps that didn’t need checking.
“Holloway—”
“I need some space, Tally.” He didn’t look up. “Please.”
She swallowed. “I didn’t mean to broadcast that. The bond, it’s new, and I—”
“I know what the bond is.” His voice was level, but the muscle in his jaw kept twitching. “Dawn explained. It’s not your fault.”
“I don’t want you to hate me.”
His hand stilled on the harness. “I could never hate you,” he said quietly. “And you don’t have to apologize for what you feel.”
She stepped closer. “I didn’t even know I felt that way.” Her cheeks were burning. “I mean, I’m not sure I do. I wasn’t trying to—”
“I know.” He cut her off again, softer this time. “That’s the problem.”
She blinked. “I don’t understand.”
He finally looked at her. And gods, she almost wished he hadn’t. The grief in his eyes wasn’t sharp. It was old. Settled. Like he’d carried it a long time and it was just slipping out now.
“You never mean to hurt me, Tally.” His voice frayed at the edges. “But you don’t have to try. It happens. Every time.”
An ache opened in her chest. “Holloway, you’re my oldest friend. You’re important—”
“Don’t.” A whisper now. “Please don’t do that.”
The silence between them was so thick she could hear wind whispering through the dry grass.
“I don’t want to lose you,” she said in a small voice.
He closed his eyes, just long enough to pull something fragile back into place.
“You’re not going to lose me.” He gathered the reins. “I just need to let go of what I thought we were.”
The words knocked the breath from her. He turned away before she could answer.
She would fix this, figure out how to make the two of them okay again. Holloway was the only other person left who’d loved Merit and Cordon the way she had. He knew her better than anyone. She wasn’t sure who she’d be if he let go of his feelings for her.
That night they made camp at a ridge sheltered from the prairie wind.
Riven sat alone by the fire, polishing his blades.
He’d stripped down to a sleeveless vest, and the silver tattoos on his arms caught the light.
She wanted to turn and run and pretend none of this ever happened, but she forced herself to approach.
“Can we talk?” she asked.
Riven’s hands stilled. He set his sword down carefully. “About this morning?”
Heat flooded her face. “Not sure I’ll ever be ready for that conversation.”
His mouth twitched, smile lines showing at the corners. “For what it’s worth, there are worse ways to find out someone’s thinking of you.”
Her breath caught, and he looked away, giving her space to recover.
“Start wherever you need to.”
Straight to it. She drew a breath.
“The reports,” she said. “I need to know what you did, what you told them. I want to hear it from you.”
He nodded. “Your grandmother hired me in Vaelis. I told you this. But she gave me a contact at the Pentarchy garrison, and they offered to extend my contract.”
The honesty landed hard, even when she’d expected it. “So you reported on me?”
“Twice.” A muscle jumped in his jaw, and he shook his head. “It was after I heard where Lore planned to go, what he asked you to do.”
“That wasn’t your decision to make.”
“Agreed.” He turned his body toward her, giving her his full attention. “It seemed the lesser evil. Valrotala is a dark place, and I have—history there. I hoped to shield you.”
“So you protected me by betraying me.”
“Yes.” No hedge, no apology, but regret lived under the words. She could hear it in his voice.
“And then you stayed behind. I thought you died.”
“I came after you to explain myself, but I found enforcers on your tail. Distracting them was the best I could do.”
She was finding it hard to breathe. Did he think one heroic act would clear the board? She thought back on the voyage, their morning walks to the office, that conversation on the roof. How much of that had he shared with her grandmother, of all people?
“You should have told me.” It felt good to say out loud.
“You’re right.” His voice rumbled. “But I wasn’t sure you’d listen to me. Keeping you alive mattered more than honesty for its own sake.”
That answer was so him. Practical, direct, infuriating. She laughed, then she groaned. “I’m still mad.”
His mouth twitched. “You have every right to be.”
He shifted just slightly, his knee brushing hers, a subtle point of contact she could have pulled away from, but she didn’t.
“That can’t happen again. I need you to be honest with me.”
He nodded slowly, thinking. “I was raised to be an oathsworn protector. It was my whole purpose. This”—he gestured between them—“is less familiar. I can do my best.”
Her throat tightened. What did he think this was? “What if it goes both ways? I get to watch out for you too? I saved your life back there, you know.”
He chuckled. It was a nice sound, deep and rumbly. “Like partners? I suppose I couldn’t call you boss.”
“Exactly.” They were going to be okay. Something in her chest unknotted, just for a new kind of panic to set in.
“It’s a deal, then.” His knee pressed into hers, and he gave her a smile, a real one.
Talia turned away before the wave of emotions could hit her full force. She dropped to a crouch, pressed her palms hard into the cold earth, and grounded every emotion clawing up her ribs—pushed it down, through, away—before it could spill over.
Whatever she was feeling for Riven, she didn’t want it. She certainly didn’t want him to want her. She’d crushed Holloway without even trying. If that was love, if that’s what it cost, it wasn’t worth it.