Chapter 29
Serafina
I awoke in my bed a few weeks ago, and now my third trial is only days away. I haven’t seen the prince since we were in the throne room, since they dragged me away and threw me in the dungeon.
That’s the last thing I remember from that night, being tossed in a cell and hearing Nyxa’s voice slowly fade. But somehow, that’s not where I found myself when my eyes opened, when the pain in my forehead subsided, and I could finally think straight again.
I know Ryjax had something to do with it. I know he did something to get me out, to keep his wretched father from killing me that night. But I don’t have a clue what it was. And I haven’t been able to ask him because not once have I seen him. Not once has he come to my room.
And it’s killing me.
It’s killing me that he’s choosing to stay away. It’s killing me because I know he thinks he’s doing what’s best for me, and I have no way of telling him that he’s being an absolute idiot.
I’m worried about him.
Every day, I worry. And every night, I lie awake, wishing and hoping and praying that he’ll be brave enough to face me, to let me in.
But every morning, I awake feeling disappointed with the most frustrating ache in my chest. And this morning is no different.
Flinging the quilt to the ground, I stand, more determined than ever to call upon my flames and bend them to my will.
I’m stronger now. My muscles have adjusted to the power I wield. My eyes no longer prick with tears at the pain commanding the flames used to bring.
I’m an Essentari.
Now my only wish is that the element I’m able to wield could somehow help save this dying planet of ours. But what good could fire bring?
Fire breeds destruction. Fire eradicates what lives. Fire consumes the things that require air to breathe.
Fire doesn’t heal.
Fire doesn’t help.
And I wish it could because what’s the point of having this power if no good can ever come from it?
“It will keep you alive,” Nyxa says, her soothing tone once again calming my erratic thoughts. “Fire may not heal, but it cleanses. Fire allows for new life to grow, to exist, to thrive. Do not belittle the element we wield.”
“You’re right,” I say, annoyed at myself for allowing negative thoughts to weave into my mind.
I’ve just been so…lonely. So…frustrated lately that I swear I could combust.
“He will come when he’s ready,” she says.
But what if he never is? What if I never see him again? But I know I will, because he’s the only way I’ll be able to make it back to my village in time for the final trial. With it now only days away, we’d need to use light to travel.
He will come.
I will see him again.
The only problem is…I don’t know what I’ll say to him when I finally do.
* * *
“Have you seen him at all?” I ask Ishla for what feels like the millionth time. She continues to scurry around my room, picking up loose pieces of clothing and flinging them into a bin.
I catch sight of the scar on her forehead, a painful reminder of when she almost died.
After she was attacked, after she tried to protect me, she spent over a week in the healer’s wing of the palace. The day she finally came to my room, I could hardly contain myself. I flung my arms around her and wept.
I wept because she’s alive.
And I’ll never not be grateful for that.
I used to say that Char was my only friend, but that’s not true anymore, and it’s nice knowing that. That I have more people in my life that I love and care about.
“I have not,” she says at last. It’s the same response as always, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s a lie, if she’s been ordered not to say.
Pushing those thoughts aside, wanting to believe she would tell me if she could, my thoughts drift to other things.
My final trial is in two days.
“What was yours like?” I ask, and she glances in my direction with a raised brow. “Your final trial?”
She stops moving.
“I…” she starts, but doesn’t continue, and I curse myself for even asking. Clearly, it’s not something she wishes to speak about and with how horrendous the final trials seem to be, I can understand why.
“Never mind, it was silly for me to ask. I just…I wish I knew what to expect.”
“And I wish I could tell you,” she finally says, her green eyes searching mine. “But I can’t.” Her voice breaks, and I curse myself again for bringing painful memories to the surface.
“I’m so sorry, Ishla. Please, forgive me,” I tell her quickly, wanting to wipe the despair from her face and see her resume what she would claim to be a peaceful task.
“You don’t understand,” she says, her words quiet, whispered. She looks around, as if there’s someone else in the room with us. I sit up straight as pins prickle down my spine. “I can’t tell you because I don’t know. I never made it past the first.”
My mouth falls open then closes. She continues to stare at me, as if she’s trying to make me understand. But I don’t. I don’t understand at all.
“I should not have said that. Please forget I said that.” She flees the room before I can beg her not to.
How is that possible?
Ishla never passed the first trial?
Then, how the hell is she still alive?