Chapter 13 #2
Sweat drips down my forehead.
“Your muscles are already stronger than when you first got here. Just think what you’ll be capable of a few weeks from now,” Ryjax says, and I wish I shared his belief in me.
But I don’t.
I grit my teeth, and he sighs.
“So your ability to control the shadows came after your twenty-first birthday?” I ask, wanting to know more about what he said before.
“I was twenty-two when I realized I wasn’t just a Luminarie.”
Twenty-two, and if I’m remembering correctly, the prince was born the same year as Lucia. She was two years older than me, which would make him twenty-three now.
My eyes leave the fire ball briefly, and as always, he’s watching me closely. The fire falls to the ground, singeing the edge of the rug before dying out. I wipe the sweat from my face, and then my eyes find his again.
“Be careful with that.”
“It’d be a lot easier to be careful if we could do this outside.” I flop down on the bed beside him, in the same fashion as earlier when Ishla was here.
He lets out another long sigh, and I peek up at him. He doesn’t say anything.
“So you realized you could command the shadows when you were twenty-two,” I repeat. “How long after that did you come across a wraithwolf?” I ask the question that’s been burning inside me for days.
“I was wondering when you’d bring that up again.” He looks to the ceiling, his face focused before releasing an annoyed laugh. A reaction that doesn’t make sense, and I know I’m missing something.
Those who command the same element will experience a mind link, allowing them to communicate telepathically, even across great distances.
Which means he can speak with the wraithwolf, even when they aren’t in the same room, and something tells me that’s exactly what he’s doing.
“What did it say?” I ask, and when the edge of his mouth tugs up, I know that I’m right.
“You’re an observant one, aren’t you?”
“You’re easy to observe,” I tell him casually. The corner of his mouth tilts up even more.
“Are you saying you like to look at me, Nova?” And there it is again. That nickname, the one he so rarely calls me, the one I want to hear him call me again.
“Beats staring at the walls.”
He chuckles, and it’s far too pleasant a sound.
“Now tell me, what did your wraithwolf say?”
“He said he likes you. Even more so when you’re yelling at me.”
My grin widens. “He must like me a lot then. Can I meet him someday? I’ve never seen a wraithwolf before.”
He hesitates, but then he says, “That can be arranged.”
My heart races at the thought.
“What’s it like? Having him inside your head? Is he always there?”
“He’s there when I allow him to be. But he keeps his pathway always open, which I’ve begged him not to do.
It’s a bit unsettling hearing his inner monologue about the animal he’s feasting upon, but I can close things on my end.
For the most part though, his thoughts are a welcomed distraction, and oftentimes, I prefer viewing the world through his eyes. ”
Fascinating.
“How did he find you? Or how did you find each other?”
“He found me on the beach. The one I took you to,” he says, his brow furrowing as if reliving a painful memory. “Or at least, that’s where he first felt me. I had a…difficult day, my ability to wield shadows had recently surfaced, and my father…”
He stops, and I worry he’ll never tell me. I worry he’ll shut me out and forbid me this glimpse into his life. A glimpse that, for some reason, I desperately want.
“Let’s just say he was a bit displeased. So I was venting my frustrations to the sea, and I—” He looks to the ceiling again, shaking his head, and I want to do the same because I know there’s more to it than that.
“What’s he saying now?” I ask, more than confident his wolf interrupted him.
“Ajja wants me to tell it more accurately.” He pulls his bottom lip into his teeth.
“I was yelling at the sea, and somehow, he could hear me. He was across the continent, but the pathway between us had opened, if only just barely, allowing us to start hearing each other’s thoughts, and a few weeks later, he found me. ”
“Was that strange? Hearing him in your head for the first time?”
“I guess you could say strange would describe it.” He scratches at the stubble lining his jaw. “I nearly fell off my horse the first time I heard him.”
“And you both accepted the Etherbond?” I ask.
“We did.”
“Isn’t that reckless? Dangerous? Your lives are linked now. If something were to happen to him—” The words pour out of me, but I clamp my mouth shut when I realize my tone sounds far more concerned than it should.
My stomach drops when I notice how he’s looking at me, like he’s just as surprised by my outburst as I am.
Finally, he speaks, “Nothing will happen to Ajja. He’s the leader of his pack, the youngest to have ever secured the position, and he’s survived things I couldn’t even dream of making it through.
If anything, he has more to lose than I do.
The average lifespan of a wraithwolf is nearly a century.
Bonding to me means he won’t live as long as he should. But he chose me anyway.”
“Why?” I angle my head.
What interest could a wraithwolf have with a prince? What does Ajja have to gain? From what I’ve read, beasts choosing to accept the bond are rare. Most Essentari never bond since our lives tend to be much shorter and our interests far more vain.
“I ask him that nearly every day.” He releases a breath that almost sounds painful. “But I’m grateful. He helps me in more ways than I care to explain.” He eyes me, and I hold up my hands, already knowing that asking him to elaborate won’t do me any good. “He’ll help me be a better king.”
“And that’s something you want? To be a good king?
” I silently curse myself for asking because his answer won’t matter.
I’m sure we have very different definitions of what a good and bad king look like.
And his father, who I’m sure he holds in high regard, is the very definition I would use for a bad king.
Telfi believed with her whole heart that the people of our world could be saved.
She believed there was a way to cleanse the soil.
She believed in the right locations, more wells could be dug, allowing us access to clean water.
She believed in her theories so desperately that she wrote to the court weekly, suggesting ways to save the planet and its people.
Every letter went unanswered because the royals, the Elites, they don’t care. And from the weeks I’ve spent living in the palace, I can see why.
Their lives are not impacted by the drought or the famine or the trials. In the bubble the Imperial City exists within, life is prosperous and beautiful, so who would possibly want to be bothered to try to fix things?
At the rate the world is dying, it’s safe to say that our generation will survive—not thrive, but survive—and maybe the next few after that. But eventually, all life on this planet will succumb to the disease that’s plaguing it, but by then, the current royals will be dead.
So why should they care?
“I do,” he says, those two words sounding so genuine that I want nothing more than to believe them, but I don’t. And I don’t want to talk about this any longer.
“What do you think happened to the dragons?” I ask instead, annoyed that he gets to experience the Etherbond when I never will, but also because I can’t find anything about them in the books he’s brought me.
Every child is told stories of the ancient dragons when their parents try to lull them to sleep. How they protected our world, protected the Ether, and helped ensure harmony existed among the elements.
They were the strongest beasts granted a gift from the core, and sometimes I wonder if there’s a reason the dragons disappeared around the same time the Ether began to poison our land.
Over a century ago, the dragons became extinct.
Over a century ago, the trials began.
Could that really be a coincidence?
But none of those stories have ever included what led to their demise.
“I wish I could tell you,” he says. “But I don’t know much about the dragons, only what my great-, great-, great-, great-grandfather had written in his journals.”
His great-, great-…the Pyro King.
“Did he bond with one?” I ask, feeling more than desperate to get my hands on those journals. To read every word written about the creatures I’ll never get to meet.
“He didn’t. From what he wrote, it seems like none of the dragons were willing to form the bond with him.”
Interesting.
Although maybe not so interesting. Dragons were said to have lived for centuries, so bonding with the king would have shortened their lifespan by quite a bit.
But still, I want to know more about them.
“Any chance I can read those journals?” I ask with eyes that are far too wide.
He glances down at me. “I might know where one still is.”
I smile at that. “I can’t imagine ever having someone else’s voice inside my head.”
“Well, start imagining it. Just because you won’t be able to bond with a dragon doesn’t mean you won’t form mental pathways with other Pyroflame. Fire connects you, and as you strengthen your bond to the element, you’ll be able to communicate mentally with others who possess the same ability.”
“Do you? Communicate with other light and shadow wielders?”
“No. I tend to keep that particular shield firmly in place, cutting off their ability to sense me.”
“Why?” I ask, and I also want to ask how, but I’ll save that question for another time. Until it’s something I actually need to learn because I haven’t sensed any other fire wielders, and I’m pretty sure that means they haven’t been able to sense me, either. I’m not strong enough, at least not yet.
“I am the prince, Serafina. And when that pathway is fully opened, sometimes others can take more than you’re willing to give. And there are certain things I must keep private. Certain matters that others can never know about.”
I don’t dare ask what because what would be the point? Other than to once again hear him say I can’t tell you. Ryjax likes his secrets. A little too much if you ask me.
“What’s the weather like today?” I ask instead because if I can’t feel it, I want to at least know about it.
“Are you…making small talk?” He raises his brows.
“Of course not,” I scoff. “I just…miss it. I’ve never spent so many hours, so many days inside. I miss the sun. And so does my skin.”
I hold up my arms to prove my point. They seem chalkier. Less tan and clearly hating that they’ve been denied their favorite thing.
“I’m sorry, Serafina.”
“I don’t need you to be sorry. What I need is for you to describe the weather. Describe the garden to me. The garden where Ishla picked berries from this morning.” I close my eyes, and I can hear him chuckle.
“And what exactly is it you’re doing?”
“Visualizing. Now, go ahead.”
He’s silent for a moment, and I feel foolish for even asking, but then the bed creaks, moves with the motion of him, and I can’t be positive with my eyes closed, but I think he’s lying next to me. And when he finally speaks, and I hear the smooth rumble of his voice, I know that he is.
“The gardens are vibrant,” he begins slowly, as if preparing to paint the scene with every word, every flick of his tongue and movement of his lips.
“The early morning rain has settled into the earth, dampening the soil. But the sun is out, sitting high above the clouds, its heat brushing the surface, the kind of warmth that wraps around you, sinking into your skin.”
I can almost feel it, the warmth he speaks of, the warmth I crave, and my fingers twitch, yearning to touch the world he describes.
“There are flowers blooming everywhere,” he continues, his tone steady, almost melodic.
“Bright reds, soft yellows, deep purples. Their petals still glistening with droplets of rain. The wind is light, a gentle breeze, just enough to make the leaves rustle, but the trees hold firm, bordering both sides of the stone path. Unwavering. Unyielding.”
His voice lowers a fraction, and I’m aware of every breath he takes, every swallow, and small movement, and suddenly, my throat feels dry.
“There’s a fountain in the center. You can hear it over everything. The water falls in a steady rhythm, never stopping, never faltering. It’s a sound I could listen to for hours. It’s peaceful there, but it also feels alive.”
I let out a soft hum, letting the image settle over me. “I wish I could see it,” I whisper, the words slipping out before I can stop them. “Feel it.”
He’s silent again, and I open my eyes, turning my head to look at him.
He’s closer than I thought he’d be, propped on one elbow. His gaze feels heavy. Heavy and far more serious than I expected.
“After dark, when the guards are few, and the castle is asleep.”
“What?” I sit up, unable to process his words with my face so close to his.
“I’ll come for you then, and I’ll show you the gardens.”
“Promise me,” I say, my voice barely audible. “Promise you mean it.”
His jaw tightens, and for a moment, I think he won’t. I think he’ll deny me this thing I want, this thing I need. But then he nods—just once—and says, “I promise.”
My chest heaves.
My pulse quickens.
Because tonight…I get to go outside.