Chapter 32 Skylar #2
But Axel frowns. “She didn’t touch anything on the island. It was more like she pulled everything in—all the life from the plants around her—and then it sort of… exploded out of her.”
Skylar grimaces, remembering the rubble.
Zryan, however, raises his eyebrows. “Exploded?” He glances at Ezra.
“That’s never happened to me,” he says in his rasping voice.
“And of course,” Skylar mutters bitterly, “there are no other Exhausters around to ask, are there?” The look Ezra gives her now is different—and a flash of something passes between them. Understanding? Sympathy? It could so easily have been her, couldn’t it?
She wouldn’t have done it. The thought comes so easily. But she wonders if it’s true. She would rather die than be the king’s executioner… But what if the choice wasn’t her life but Cam’s? How does she know that this man doesn’t have someone on the outside—someone he’s protecting?
She meets his gaze, and that same knowing smile is back. It’s almost self-deprecating. He must know what everyone thinks of him. And there must be a reason he’s doing this. Maybe he’s hoping that one day, someone will forget to put on the chains—and he’ll be able to break free.
She’ll end this for him, she vows. One way or another, after the duel, she’ll end it for him.
“So—can you do that now?” Zryan asks. “Can you drain the plant—without touching it?”
Skylar offers him a mocking laugh. “You don’t get it, do you?
” She looks at Axel, too. “Neither of you do. I’ve spent my whole life trying not to use it.
Thinking that this”—she gestures to herself—“means a death sentence. I can’t suddenly make it work just because you’ve decided that it’s okay.
” For now, a dark voice in her head whispers. While they need you.
She shakes out her hands. She can feel restless energy, rising to meet her. Never a good sign. She looks at Ezra. “Where does the energy go, once you take it in?”
He gives her a blank stare. “Nowhere.”
“But… Once you’ve absorbed it, then—”
“Then nothing,” he insists. “Once it’s drained, it’s gone.”
“So you don’t… use it?” He gives her a look that answers that question.
Axel holds the plant out to her again, but she refuses to take it. “I can’t control it,” she says. Which is true. Okay, she used it to absorb the wards, but that was instinct, not planned.
“We still don’t know what the witch’s Gift is,” Axel says. “How do we know it’s not something to incapacitate you?”
Something passes over Zryan’s face, and this time, Axel doesn’t miss it, either. “What?” Axel demands. “You know something?”
Zryan hesitates. “No.”
Axel frowns. And Skylar knows why. Is he lying? Surely not. Even if he fancies Astrid—and who wouldn’t, she’s a stunner—surely he still wants Skylar to win? She wonders briefly about asking Axel what emotion he’s sensing from Zryan, but before she can, there is a blur of movement to her right.
The next thing she knows she is slammed up against a wall, Axel’s hand to her throat, the other pinning her arm.
“What are you doing?” Her voice comes out as a gasp through her constricted throat, and his fingers loosen a fraction.
“You were panicked, on the island,” he says calmly. “You were scared for your life.”
She looks him dead in the eye. “Well, I’m not scared of you.
” And it’s true. Fear is one thing she doesn’t feel right now, though she’s not sure why exactly, her heart is reacting to his hand around her throat, why her body has gone still, expectant.
Something in his gaze flickers as it passes over her face, and she wonders what he’s Reading.
She gets her arm free and shoves him away.
Tells her body to get a grip. “Maybe you ought to try harder next time.”
“I’ll remember that,” he says, and his voice is low enough that the base of her neck prickles at the sound.
Their gazes do not leave one another’s. “Why not force me, manipulate me into feeling afraid?”
“Because from now on, Skylar,” he murmurs, “when you feel something around me, I want it to be real.”
The way he says it has her wondering what, exactly, he wants her to feel.
He backs off enough to give her room, and she sees Zryan raising his eyebrows at Axel, who shakes his head—one of their silent conversations.
In answer, Zryan takes a step toward Skylar, and his expression hardens.
Skylar narrows her eyes. “What are you doing?”
“If you need fear—or panic or anger or whatever—to get your power flowing, then let’s you and me have a round.
” Skylar glances at Axel, whose expression stays neutral, then back to Zryan.
She can feel Ezra’s gaze boring into her back, like he’s waiting to see what she’ll do next.
“You remember how it ended last time, right?” Zryan continues.
“With you knocked out on a cliff. So if you hope to stand a chance this time, you better figure out how to use your power.”
That’s all the warning he gives her before he moves.
She’s thought about it, since the last time they fought. The strength, the speed of him. A warrior’s heart, Mjolnir had said, and that’s what he is. She just has to be a warrior, too.
She dodges out of the way, but once again he is faster.
He aims a kick to her stomach, knocking her backward.
She stumbles, then straightens, swinging around and jabbing with an elbow, which he avoids easily.
It’s a game, she thinks dimly. He’s playing with her.
But his eyes are a darker gray than usual, and it is with a predator’s focus that he studies her.
It makes her wonder if there is a part of him that wants to hurt her right now—for who she is and what she’s taken from him.
A knee comes for her stomach, which she just about manages to avoid.
She can hear the rush of her breath in her ears, the squeak of their boots on the mats.
Can feel the thrum of life nearby, crackling.
She moves with speed, parrying his blows.
And she realizes—she can do this. She feels giddy with it, so much so that she moves to him rather than away, aims a punch to his throat.
But she’s underestimating him. He parries her blow, kicking her legs from under her.
She lands on her back. His foot pins her shoulder as her breath hisses painfully through her teeth.
Dimly, she can hear shoes scuffing, accompanied by low staccato tones.
The sound of witches, speaking Arturean.
She wonders what Astrid thinks, seeing her like this—but for once, Zryan doesn’t clock the witch, instead focusing only on her.
“Get out of it,” he says simply.
She tries to flip herself up, but agony shoots down her arm where Zryan holds her in place. She kicks her legs up, stomach muscles screaming, but he avoids them easily. She aims her free arm upward, trying to grab hold of him, but he circles her wrist with his hand, holding it away from him.
She glares up at him, but he does not falter. If she could reach her pin, she could stab his foot. Without it…
“Use what you’ve got,” Zryan says, like he can sense her thoughts.
“Zryan, are you sure—”
He holds up his other hand to silence Axel, who mutters something she can’t hear.
Zryan leans over her, his expression hard.
She was right—he might not want to kill her, but he definitely wants to hurt her.
Like he tried to hurt the Porter, back at the harbor weeks ago.
He’s part of this, isn’t he? He’s part of the problem, rounding the Blooded up.
He’s been living here with an endless supply of food and Vitalas, while his people live in squalor.
He’s been living as a prince, while an Exhauster lives as a prisoner.
Power surges through her. She doesn’t have to try, it’s just there, jumping to meet her.
And she doesn’t try to stop it, because she can feel his power and, Arach, it is unlike anything else—it is huge and bright and infinite.
She wants it. So she takes it. It comes so easily, so naturally.
She only has to think of it, and she can feel the power, flowing to her.
She sees his shock, the moment he realizes what’s happening. He drops her hand and backs away from her, like distance will help. But she is pulled to her feet, drawn to him. The spark of it, the enormity. It is glorious, and she closes her eyes as it surges in, filling every part of her.
Zryan. Someone is saying his name. It makes her open her eyes.
Zryan has fallen to the floor in front of her.
His face is leached of color, black veins standing out against his usually golden skin.
He is gasping, hands pressed to the floor.
Like he is still fighting, trying to pull his power back to him.
She cocks her head. The tendril between them is still there. With each breath she takes she can feel his life force flickering. She wants to take all of it.
“Zryan!” It is a scream now, tearing from someone. And then she is there, pushing between Skylar and Zryan. Astrid faces Skylar, her blue eyes wide and scared. Someone—Jessa, maybe—calls Astrid’s name, but the witch ignores the pleas. She stares at Skylar instead.
Stop. Please. Skylar doesn’t know if the words are said out loud, or if she can see them on Astrid’s face. She doesn’t want to stop. But she pauses. Because if she wants to get to Zryan, to drain him completely, she has to get through Astrid.
She can’t tear herself away from those eyes, the utter fear there. Fear not for herself but for the man at her feet. And in that moment, nausea swells—for being the cause of Astrid’s fear.
The thread connecting her to Zryan falters.
She lets go, gasping as she does so, the power she has already taken throbbing within her. She stumbles backward. Sees Astrid turn from her, bend to check on Zryan. The room is silent. Even Axel stands still as death, waiting.
“He’s breathing,” Astrid murmurs. As if guided by her voice, Zryan takes a shuddering breath. His eyes lift, but Skylar backs away. It’s inside her, all his energy. It’s sparking along her skin, hot and static, and she knows if she stays here, it’s going to explode.
She doesn’t look at any of them as she runs from the training room, sobbing breaths tearing through her.
The sickness intensifies within her—not from the power she’s taken, but from the feeling that it wasn’t enough.
Astrid’s scream echoes in her ears, and no matter how fast she pushes herself across the grounds, she can’t outrun that sound.
She stops at the cliff. Sweat runs down her spine while flame licks her insides.
It’s still there, burning within her, urging her to do something with it.
She screams, the sound swallowed by the sea.
She puts her hands into her hair and pulls, her knees hitting the ground as she wrestles with her magic.
It’s too strong. She feels some of it pulse from her, detonating like a bomb.
She opens her eyes to see rock cascading to the shoreline below.
She tries to breathe, to fight the rest of the power. She doesn’t know what will happen if she lets it all out. At her sides, her fingers tremble.
She nearly killed him. She would have killed him, if it wasn’t for Astrid.
“Skylar.”
She looks over her shoulder, and Axel’s steps slow at whatever he sees on her face. She wonders if her eyes are black, if black veins show on her skin.
“Is he okay?” Her voice is hoarse, like she’s been smoking too much fumca.
“He’s fine. Nothing an hour’s sleep won’t cure.”
She shakes her hands out, trying to shake away the energy. “This is what I keep telling you. This is why I can’t use it—do you see that?”
He moves closer to her—and a stupid part of her is relieved that he’s not afraid of her. “Yes, Skylar, I—”
“Fuck, I need to go back, I need to apologize or—”
He places both his hands on her shoulders, like he knows she needs something to weigh her down.
“Don’t apologize for power, Skylar.” His voice is a soft caress, smooth and dark, like liquid chocolate. “It’s the reason you’re going to survive.”
His green eyes are burning hot, like her insides.
He has a beautiful face. She’s never truly let herself appreciate that before.
Sharp cheekbones, chiseled jaw, wide inviting mouth.
She wonders, for the first time, what that bottom lip would taste like.
As if sensing her thoughts, his gaze drops to her own mouth, and when he looks back up, his pupils are blacker.
His fingers tighten briefly on her shoulders, then he lets go, takes a step back. This is the man who hated her, she tells herself. The man hunting rebels, serving the royals. She can’t let herself forget that. She won’t let herself forget it.
“I got you something,” Axel says, his voice a little gruff. “For the Masked Ball tomorrow.”
She scowls. “Right. The ball.” But it’s a relief, to think about something else other than what just happened.
He raises his eyebrows. “Not looking forward to it?”
“Not in the outfit I’ve been given, no.”
The only reason she’s consenting to go at all is because it seems like the perfect opportunity to find out more about the conscripts.
To see if someone knows what it means, that word.
Champion. After all, there will be plenty of nobles there, she’ll be in a mask—and people’s tongues will be loose with drink.
“Well, maybe I can help with that.” Axel reaches into his pocket and produces a mask.
Fiery bronze and gold, with small wings out to each side.
Dragon wings. It is living flame, like Kaida’s egg.
The fire theme isn’t exactly new, given what the king had made for her, but this…
this is something else. She takes it, tracing one finger along the tiny scales.
“Thank you.” Her voice is a whisper, and it’s not quite steady.
“Don’t thank me. Instead, remember why you are worthy of a fire dragon.
Remember the fire within you.” He steps toward her once more, forcing her to tilt her head back to look at him.
And though she hates herself for it, something in her jumps, from the way he holds her gaze.
“Because once you own that part of you, Skylar, there is nobody who can stand in your way.”