Chapter 12
Chapter
Twelve
T heron stormed away, his boots slamming against the ground, his irritation leaving a stifling tension in the air behind him. Zander didn’t move an inch, his gaze focused ahead, but there was something in his eyes—a flicker of concern, a brief moment of reflection that quickly faded.
The rest of us stood in relative silence, the buzz of magic still lingering, the heat of it fading into the cool afternoon air.
“Let’s get back to it,” Zander commanded, his voice pulling everyone’s attention back to the task at hand.
Dorian stood by, his arms crossed, seemingly lost in thought as the prospects continued their turns. His eyes followed each one, clearly watching with the same keen interest as Zander.
Ferrula was next. She stepped forward with a look of concentration, pressing her palm to the ground just as the others had.
A subtle pulse of energy crackled in the air around her, but nothing major happened at first. Then, with eerie precision, she darted forward—faster than the eye could follow, the air parting around her as if she were more shadow than flesh.
“Honed reflexes.” Zander’s voice was sharp and approving as he nodded.
Dorian’s eyes glinted with pleasure at the discovery.
“Impressive, Ferrula,” he said, nodding to her. “You will be a force to reckon with when fully trained.”
But as soon as the words left his mouth, Perin—of course it was him—stepped forward. The man had a smug look on his face as he slapped his dagger hilt with one hand, clearly eager for his turn.
He knelt quickly, touching his fingers to the ground, and a dark, suffocating energy flowed around his body as he called upon his magic.
But this time, something went wrong.
The magic sparked out of control, and Perin’s arm jerked sharply—there was a sickening crack as the muscles of his bicep and forearm tore, and he let out a strangled grunt of pain.
The moment he snapped the tendon, he barely even winced before mending it with his own power. The tendons reknit themselves before everyone’s eyes, but it was clear he was still in severe discomfort, his face twisted in pain as he gripped his arm, sweat rolling down his forehead.
Zander exchanged a quick glance with Dorian, the briefest flash of concern crossing their expressions before Zander spoke again.
“Tendon reaver.” His voice was low, like he was trying to hide his shock, but the way his eyes flitted over to Dorian spoke volumes.
Dorian’s expression grew darker. He opened his mouth, but it was Meri, the healer, who reached out before anyone could react.
She placed a calming hand on Perin’s arm, and the fiery, crackling pain seemed to dissipate instantly. The white light of her healing aura flooded the area as Perin’s arm healed completely, the tension melting from his body.
Zander waved a hand, calling the trial to an end.
“That’s enough for today.” He surveyed the remaining prospects. “Everyone has taken their turn. Most have manifested abilities, but those who didn’t will need further training and time before they can fully harness their powers.”
It was clear that most of us had done well, but those of us who needed Meri’s help felt the weight of unsolved potential. I was still aching from the trial, but I barely had the time to focus on it before the call to dinner rang through the air.
As we walked back to the barracks in silence, the disappointment of the day’s events hung around me like a thick fog. The others seemed just as absorbed in their thoughts.
At dinner, Cordelle leaned in, clearly excited about something. “I’ve done some research into fae powers,” he said between bites. “Once we’ve trained more, I think we can unlock abilities or combinations we don’t even realize we have yet.”
“That sounds like a lot of work.” Jax rolled his eyes, clearly relieved to be eating instead of dealing with more training. “What do you know about powers?”
Cordelle’s face softened as he shook his head. “I research a lot of things, but rare powers—powers connected to the dragons—are my focus.”
Naia raised an eyebrow as she took a bite of her food. “And what about today’s powers?” she asked. “Any idea why the magic was so easy for some to control and difficult for others?”
Cordelle hesitated before replying, his voice more serious than usual.
“Elemental powers are usually inherited. Earth magic is tied to the stability and roots of the land, which explains why it came easily for me. As for the Kinetic Surge—Naia, I think you’ll have to learn to focus it in short bursts or you’ll end up tearing down the whole training ground. ”
By the time we returned to our room, exhaustion had begun to sink into my bones. The trials, the training, the argument between the princes—it was all too much. I just wanted to lie down and shut out the world for a while.
I kicked off my boots and flopped onto my bed, intent on stealing a nap, but the moment I closed my eyes, a prickle ran up my arm.
A tingle, like something static, something charged.
The hairs on my skin stood on end, and the sensation spread, crawling up my shoulder and across my chest.
Above us, a thunderclap split the sky.
The air in the room thickened, a strange pressure building, and dread settled in my stomach like a stone.
Please, not me. Not again.
I gritted my teeth and clenched my fists, trying to will it away, but my breath caught as the tingling intensified—sparking at my fingertips like unseen lightning.
“Ashe, open your eyes,” Riven’s voice cut through the room.
I shook my head. “No.”
“Ashe. Now.”
I hesitated, but something in her tone forced me to obey.
I blinked my eyes open—and Riven gasped.
“They… look like storm clouds.”
I sucked in a sharp breath, my body rigid as Cordelle stepped forward. His gaze was keen, calculating, the scholar in him outweighing the poet for once.
“You need to control it,” he instructed.
“I can’t!” My voice cracked. “I’m not doing this!”
Cordelle exchanged a glance with Tae before speaking carefully, like he was piecing together a theory as he spoke.
“You might be experiencing backlash from your dragon.”
I stilled.
“What?”
“If she’s as powerful as they say,” he continued, “then she might be having a… tantrum. And you’re too new at this to shield yourself.”
“How do we stop it?” Ferrula asked, concern threading into her voice.
Even Eilvin, who had barely spoken since Lauren’s death, shifted uneasily. “This isn’t normal.”
Cordelle reached out, his fingers brushing my arm.
“Do you still have the charm I gave you?”
I fumbled with the sleeve of my tunic exposing the bracelet with the charm.
“Good,” Cordelle said. “Keep it close—it might help?—”
Before he could finish, mist curled through the air.
The room dimmed, shadows flickering as storm clouds began to form—inside.
A crackling gust of wind rushed between us, rattling the furniture.
“Is she a Storm Reaper?” Eilvin’s voice held more than concern—there was fear.
Naia turned toward him. “What do you know about powers?”
Eilvin sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m a lowborn noble, like Tae.”
Tae swore. “Nobles are trained about powers, but a Storm Reaper? That is a true fae power. It has never existed in a halfling.” He exhaled, shaking his head. “It has to be something else.”
“Even rarer than Zander’s?” I pressed.
Tae and Eilvin exchanged a look.
Tae hesitated, then nodded. “Yes.”
I barely registered his words, because the heat inside me flared again—a deep, searing burn in my veins.
I gritted my teeth and reached for Kaelith, shoving past the pain.
If you’re trying to kill me, just get it over with.
A deep, rumbling growl echoed in my mind.
Then, just as suddenly as it began—the pain vanished.
The storm clouds faded. The mist dissipated.
The air stilled.
The only sound in the room was my heavy breathing.
The soft, measured cadence of Cordelle’s voice filled the room, his poetry weaving between tales of battles fought in the outer kingdoms and the haunting, delicate sorrow of star-crossed lovers.
I let the words wash over me, letting my body sink into the mattress, the weight of the day pulling me in and out of sleep.
At some point, the warmth of the room, the steady rhythm of his voice, and the subtle hum of magic still lingering in my veins lulled me into oblivion.
When I woke, the room was quiet. Only Cordelle was with me.
He was sitting at the edge of my bed, a thick, leather-bound book resting on his lap. His eyes flickered up from the pages as I blinked blearily at him.
“You’re awake. The others went for a walk, but I said I would stay with you. I borrowed a few books from my father,” he murmured, tapping the worn cover. “They’re on powers—how to control them, how to channel them properly.”
I sat up, still groggy, running a hand through my hair. “And?”
Cordelle hesitated.
“Tae was right,” he said finally. “The power you appear to have—it isn’t just rare. In fae culture, it is tied to a lost bloodline. One that was… eradicated in the fae wars.”
My stomach tightened.
Eradicated.
“I think your power is similar, but I haven’t been able to identify it completely yet,” he admitted.
I swallowed hard. “So I might be descended from… a dead bloodline?”
Cordelle met my gaze, his expression serious, searching.
“I think you may be.”
A chill skittered down my spine.
“I have no idea how,” he continued. “But we will find out.”
I forced a deep breath, ignoring the way my chest tightened.
“Does the king care about commoner bloodlines?” I asked.
Cordelle hesitated again.
“Not if he thinks you are a bastard offspring,” he said, “but if you’re not from one of Warriath’s noble bloodlines—then, yes. He would be very interested.”
I sat there for a long moment, processing.
Then I looked Cordelle dead in the eye.
“Let’s find out.”
He nodded.
“But don’t tell anyone.”
The door swung open, and my squadmates filtered in, their boots scuffing against the floor.
Riven was the first to approach, her brows furrowed in concern. “How are you?”
I stretched, testing the lingering soreness in my muscles. “Better. Cordelle’s been keeping me company.”
She glanced at him, then nodded. “Good.”
The others didn’t hover, but I could tell they were watching—not in an overbearing way, but in that quiet, unspoken way soldiers did when one of their own had been through the ringer.
As they took turns using the washroom, I caught Naia watching me.
I held her gaze, waiting, and after a moment, she sighed and strode over.
“Cordelle, leave us.”
Cordelle glanced between us before standing, smoothing his hands down his tunic. He gave me a slight nod before retreating to his own bunk.
Naia crossed her arms, her sharp blue eyes unreadable as she stared at me.
“You’re struggling with that dragon of yours.”
I smirked, leaning back against my headboard. “Don’t gloat.”
Naia scoffed, but there wasn’t as much bite in it as usual. She tapped her fingers against her forearm, as if debating what to say next.
Then she exhaled.
“I should hate you, you know.”
I raised a brow. “But you don’t?”
Naia sat at the edge of my bed, dropping her voice so the others wouldn’t overhear. “I don’t know what to do with you, Rebec. Your father is the reason my brother is dead.”
I flinched at the bluntness of it, but I didn’t look away.
She shook her head, eyes dark with something uncertain, conflicted. “I wanted to see you fail. I wanted to see you suffer. Because that would have been justice.” She let out a long breath, rubbing a hand over her face. “But you don’t quit.”
I swallowed, suddenly feeling too seen.
“I keep expecting you to break,” she admitted. “And you don’t.”
I looked down at my hands, at the faint tremor still lingering in my fingers from the Storm magic earlier.
“I don’t have the luxury of breaking,” I muttered.
Naia studied me, her brows pulling together.
“What does Cyran want from you?” she finally asked.
I let out a humorless laugh and gestured to my white hair.
“He never wanted me,” I said quietly. “Not as a daughter, not as family. He just saw an opportunity.”
Naia’s jaw clenched. “That bastard.”
I huffed. “He’s worse than you know.”
She didn’t argue.
She didn’t press.
For the first time since we’d met, she didn’t look at me like an enemy.
“Get some rest. You and the others who haven’t gotten their dragon to bond with them, get to try again in the morning.”