Crucible of Water and Wild

1. Control

CONTROL

ELYRIA

“Let’s go again.”

Elyria planted one end of her fighting staff in the dirt, leaning into it.

She drew the back of her other hand across her brow and wiped away a bead of sweat, then flipped her periwinkle braid over her shoulder, smoothing a few stray strands by her temple.

The air hummed with the sounds of clashing steel and the heavy breaths of training warriors wrapping up their drills for the day.

“I think we can call it here, Lightbreaker.” Kerrigan was sweating too, his typically springy peach-colored curls flattened, damp against the sides of his face.

His wings fluttered agitatedly behind his back.

“We’ve been training long enough. Don’t you want to get back to the manor before Kit eats all the yeast rolls? ”

Elyria grinned. “That eager to admit defeat, are you? I would’ve thought?—”

The sharp tang of magic filled Elyria’s nose, drawing her attention as a fae who was sparring to her right sent a gust of air at his opponent.

An opponent who, in turn, leapt into the air with impressive grace to avoid the blow.

Her iridescent wings shimmered in the sun’s warm glow as she landed behind the stormbender, drawing a knife to his throat before he could even spin to face her.

“Hey,” he protested, dropping his own dagger and holding his hands up in surrender. “I thought we said no flying, Kea.”

“I believe what you said was ‘How about no wings this round?’ and then you leapt at me before I had a chance to answer.” Kea planted a kiss on his cheek before lowering her knife and skipping round to his front.

“Sounds like you only have yourself to blame, Naj,” called Elyria, inclining her head at the couple.

“Story of my life.” Naj shook his head, slipping his arm around Kea’s waist before they skipped off together, leaving Elyria and Kerrigan alone in the training ring.

Elyria was still grinning when she turned back to face her partner. “All right, my friend. Your turn.”

Kerrigan gestured widely to their empty surroundings. “Time to pack it in, isn’t it? Surely you have more important things you could be doing than handing my ass to me.”

Elyria’s grin widened as she tightened her grip on her staff, pointing one end at her sparring partner. “Nothing’s more important to me than that.”

Sighing, Kerrigan moved one foot back, shifting his weight into a fighting stance. “Fine, then. But no holding back this time. No rules—wings, magic, whatever. I won’t be going easy on you anymore.”

Elyria barked a laugh. “Oh, is that what you’ve been doing? Please, by all means, then. Go hard.”

Kerrigan’s grin was feral as he leapt forward, his sword held aloft. Elyria drew her staff up just in time to meet the flat of his blade, deflecting it with a thwack as the reverberation of his blow echoed up her arm.

There was no time to recover. Kerrigan meant what he’d said—his strikes came fast, strong, testing.

Elyria danced between them, parrying, feinting, attempting to find the gaps in his defenses.

But the man hadn’t climbed through the ranks of the king’s army for no reason.

He was good. She was better, but he was good.

And he was clearly ready to be done with this.

Elyria just barely twisted out of the way as fire burst from his hand, whipping toward her like a flaming rope.

Heat singed the air between them, forcing her back.

Elyria reacted instinctively, tapping into the wild magic that sang under her skin.

The ground trembled, thorny vines erupting from the soil, twisting toward Kerrigan’s legs.

One snagged the hem of his pants as he launched into the air, wings flaring.

“Close, but not quite,” he taunted, sending another flicker of fire toward Elyria. Using her staff as leverage, she launched herself across the ring to Kerrigan’s other side, distantly aware of a crowd gathering along the edges to watch.

Inwardly, Elyria smiled. She always did love performing.

“Coming up?” Kerrigan said, pivoting in midair to keep Elyria in front of him.

Elyria made a show of looking at her bare shoulders, her wings still neatly masked from view, as was her preference. “No thanks,” she said, lacing her voice with faux sweetness. “I think I’d rather you come back down.”

Palm open, she swept her hand up toward her face, the vines that had broken through the cracked dirt of the training ring surging upward and snagging Kerrigan’s boot. Clenching her fist, she drew her arm down in a short thrust?—

And down came Kerrigan as well.

Dust bloomed from the spot where he crashed to the ground, sputtering a string of curses. He’d barely gotten himself untangled when she dashed forward, staff gripped with two hands, swinging for his midsection.

Their weapons clashed in a spray of sparks.

The sanity-scouring sound of metal against metal rang in Elyria’s finely pointed ears as the two warriors pushed at one another, neither willing to relent an inch.

Murmurs sounded from the spectators still lining the ring around them.

Kerrigan’s expression shifted—no longer teasing, no longer warm.

Determined. A thin rope of flame slithered out from his palm, winding up the hilt of his sword, then the blade itself.

Elyria’s eyes widened as it twined around both his weapon and hers.

The metal staff in her hands began glowing, heat radiating through the rod until she had to release it with a hiss.

Elyria snarled as she leapt backward, her staff hitting the ground with a thud. She stole a glance at her hands, her vision darkening at the edges as she caught sight of the raw, red welts slashed across each palm. Power thrummed in her veins, pulsing, aching to be released, to strike back.

Elyria summoned her wild magic . . .

And something else answered.

From that deep hole inside herself where she kept her worst parts buried, her inner shadow roared.

Black wisps danced across her skin, smoke dissipating into the air, a dark fog spilling over the ground. Elyria’s heartbeat pounded in her ears, drowning out the gasps of the gathered crowd. Her dark power was a serpent unfurling in her chest, something primal, uncontrolled.

She didn’t want to control it.

It must have shown on her face, because when she looked at Kerrigan again, his eyes were wide.

He stumbled back, wings flaring for balance.

A line of fire lit up the ground in front of him, separating them with a wall of flame.

He backed away, hands raised in surrender, words of apology and pacification spewing from his mouth.

She didn’t hear him. Or if she did, she didn’t care. Not as power trilled in her blood, surged through her veins—intoxicating, consuming. He had burned her. He had hurt her.

And the darkness inside her wanted to return the favor.

Elyria moved toward Kerrigan, ribbons of shadow stretching from her fingers, reaching for him, eager and hungry.

Someone yelled out as shadows raced into the fire, consolidating, solidifying, forming something sharp, something that needed to cut, to k?—

A wall of water slammed into Elyria’s chest, knocking her back as the shadows dispersed in an explosion of mist. She skidded across the dirt, breath stolen from her lungs, her vision fracturing.

“That’s enough, Elyria.”

Elyria snarled, the darkness not allowing her to register the smooth voice, almost more familiar than her own. Whirling, she leapt toward whoever it was who dared interfere, dared disturb the dark.

A wave swelled beneath her feet, pushing her off balance. It split, rose, forming long tendrils of water that iced over as they connected, until a frozen cage spun around Elyria, containing her.

She screamed, and vines ripped through the dirt to smash her icy prison. Still, it gave enough time for her new attacker to surge forward and wrap strong brown fingers around both of her wrists, forcing her to cross her arms over her chest.

“I said, that’s enough, my love.”

Golden eyes met her own. Concern swam in them, creasing Evander’s brow, tensing his jaw.

Elyria blinked, the heat of battle still curling in her veins, her shadows restless beneath her skin.

She blinked again.

Then surveyed the scene around her as she sucked in a slow, horrified breath.

Kerrigan was on the ground, blade forgotten by his side, eyes wide, mouth gaping. Water dripped from Elyria’s wrists where Evander still held her in place, his tideweaving magic thick in the air.

Elyria looked at Kerrigan, her tongue tripping over apologies and excuses and explanations as she searched for the words—any words. None came out.

“You’re dismissed, Kerrigan.” Evander’s soft baritone felt like it was still very far away.

“Yes, Lord Ravenswing,” Kerrigan said shakily, rising to his feet and dusting off his breeches. With a final, wary look at Elyria, he scuttled away, the remaining crowd dispersing after him.

“He’ll be fine,” Evander said softly, pulling Elyria close. “Let’s get you home.”

She hesitated. “I—I didn’t mean to?—”

“I know.”

“I almost?—”

“But you didn’t.”

“Did he see?” She bit her lip. “Did everyone?”

“No,” he said quickly, then seemed to reconsider. “They don’t know what they saw. It’ll be fine.”

“It came on so fast.”

“I know,” he said again, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and leading her out of the training yard.

Elyria’s chest heaved as they plodded along the path that would take them back to the manor.

The weight of what had just happened crashed down on her like an anchor, threatening to drag her into the deep with it.

The pull of the dark power in her was getting stronger.

Each time it slipped through a crack in the steel box she had constructed within herself to contain it, it poured out faster, took over her more completely.

It was getting harder and harder to force back into herself.

If she didn’t learn how to contain it, to bury it completely . . .

“I know,” Evander said for the third time, and Elyria blanched at the realization she’d spoken her last thought aloud.

She gazed up at the man she loved, the one who had picked up the pieces of her after every slip, after each time she unwillingly ceded control to the darkness.

Who had comforted her even knowing all the terrible things she’d done under its influence.

Who hadn’t judged her for any of it, had loved her in spite of it.

“You don’t need to carry this alone,” he continued. His voice was so quiet she wasn’t sure she was meant to hear when he added, “That’s why it’s time to finally do this.”

She tensed, even as exhaustion pulled at her mind. Do what? she wanted to ask.

She didn’t get the chance to.

Not as they arrived back at the manor and a handful of frantic attendants ran out to greet the duchess’s son and his companion. And not as Evander was already looking past her, past the house, his eyes fixed on the sun as it dipped below the horizon.