Chapter 23
UNBALANCED
TWENTY-THREE
“The bond has definitely surprised me. My research and intuition keep pointing me back to something created for when the Spiritborn awoke. But what is it and its purpose? And how many more surprises will arise?”
—VALEN’S JOURNAL
AMARA
Thane has only been gone for a day. A single, stupid day. And yet—something feels off. Not like the creeping dread I felt before the attack on my village. Not the way my skin prickled right before the Kethraki struck.
Just . . . empty.
It annoys the hell out of me. Because he’s left before. He’s gone on missions, traveled to the capital, disappeared into strategy meetings. And every other time, I was fine.
So why does his absence feel like a missing limb now?
I train. I fight. I burn through magics until my hands shake—anything to distract myself.
In the morning, Valen works me through elemental control, making me push harder, hold longer.
By midday, I’m sparring against Jarek, his relentless strikes keeping me moving.
In the evening, Lyra drags me to a training circle with the soldiers, making me fight as part of a team. Later, we drink ale together—Lyra, the squad, and the rest of our friends.
I should be focused. I should be improving. Instead—I’m distracted.
My blades are a second too slow. My fire flickers instead of igniting cleanly. My stance is off, my balance slipping.
The moment I hesitate in combat training, the moment Jarek nearly knocks me off my feet, Valen’s voice cuts clean—naming what I already know.
“Your mind is elsewhere,” he says.
Obviously.
I wipe sweat from my brow, shaking my head. “I’m fine,” I lie.
Valen inclines his head. “Then why are you training like a distracted child?”
Jarek grins beside me, stretching his arms. “I don’t know, Valen. Maybe she’s just lost her edge.”
I scowl. “I haven’t lost anything.”
But I have.
Focus. Control. The ability to keep my mind from straying somewhere it doesn’t belong. Somewhere—to someone.
After training, I sit on the barracks steps, trying to ignore the ache settling into my muscles. Lyra drops down beside me, offering me a canteen of water.
“Rough day?” she asks, too casual.
I grunt, taking a long drink. “It was fine.”
She snorts. “Sure. And I’m a demure, quiet noblewoman who faints at the sight of blood.”
I glare. “Ly—”
“You miss him.”
The words land like a blade—quiet, unflinching, and right between the ribs.
I stiffen.
She grins. “You do.”
I don’t deny it. But I don’t admit it either.
Lyra leans back, stretching, smirking. “Hmm . . . because you’ve been off all day. And let’s be honest, Mara—Thane has left before. And you’ve never been this distracted.” She watches me. “It’s okay to miss him, you know.”
I open my mouth, but I don’t have an argument. Because she’s right. Because this is different. I scowl at her.
The smell of the drifting fire smoke from wielders training catches in my throat like something I can’t swallow down. I run a hand through my sweat-damp hair, exhaling sharply.
“It’s not like that.”
Lyra inclines her head towards me. “Then tell me what it is.”
I grit my teeth. “I don’t know. It’s different.”
And that’s the worst part. Because I do know what changed. The bond. Feeling it. Letting it in. Gods, I just didn’t think it would do this.
My mind keeps straying to the way he looked at me before he left—the way he hesitated, like he wanted to say something more.
It’s like I’ve been holding my breath since he left—and now I don’t know how to exhale.
The bond didn’t just tether us. It branded me. And now every step he takes away, I feel like something’s being torn loose.
I hate it.
I hate that I miss him. I hate that Lyra is right. And I hate that this bond is real.
I don’t want to need him like this.
The barracks are quiet, most of the soldiers either asleep or still unwinding from training.
The scent of worn leather, steel, and burning torches lingers in the warm night air.
Lyra is sitting cross-legged on her bunk below me, sharpening one of her daggers, the steady scrape of metal against stone filling the space between us.
I should be resting. But instead, I lie in my bunk, staring at the ceiling, my arms crossed over my stomach, my thoughts refusing to let me go.
“You’re still thinking about him.”
I exhale sharply. “Shut up, Lyra.”
She grins. I can hear her flipping the dagger in her palm. “I’d love to. But you’re practically screaming it. I can feel it.”
I roll onto my side, looking down at her. “I don’t even know what I’m thinking.”
She tilts her head, finally looking up at me. “Then say it out loud.”
I hesitate. My throat tightens. Because if I say it, then it’s real. I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment.
“I’m scared,” I whisper.
Her expression shifts, softens just slightly. “Of what?”
I wet my lips, my fingers gripping the blanket beneath me.
“Of this bond. Of what it means.” I take a breath. “Ly, I felt it for the first time yesterday—twice. Now there’s this dull emptiness inside me since he left. Like someone carved a piece out of me and forgot to put it back.” I pause, pressing a hand to my chest. “It’s such an odd feeling.”
Lyra doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then, “And that terrifies you. Especially now that you can feel it too.”
I exhale sharply, rubbing my hands over my face. “Of course it terrifies me, Lyra.”
My voice is even. Too even. Because if I let it crack, even for a second, I might not be able to hold everything together.
Lyra doesn’t react. She just waits.
I swallow, my fingers tightening in the fabric of my blanket.
“Feeling it makes it all so much more real. Like there’s so much more at stake, if that’s even possible.
” I pause. My chest tightens. “I didn’t expect it to feel so .
. . intimate. So permanent.” I press a hand to my chest, where the ache still hums faintly.
“It’s not just a connection. It’s a thread I can’t untangle—even if I wanted to. ”
Lyra offers a small, knowing smile. “And now you understand what he’s been carrying this whole time.”
I nod, just once. Then press a hand to my chest—where I felt him.
“It’s not just knowing he’s there.” I breathe deep, trying to stay steady. “It’s more. More than I wanted. More than I was ready for.” I shake my head, jaw tight. “It’s him, Ly. Not just a feeling. It’s him. All of him—his emotions, his mood, his presence, his magics—all there.”
She doesn’t say anything. And I hate that. Because now I have to keep going.
I shift, restless, my voice lower now.
“Whatever this is between us—it barely started.” I glance down at my hands. “I didn’t even have time to figure out how I felt—before it became something else. Something bigger.”
I laugh once. Harsh. Not because it’s funny.
“The Spiritborn. The war. The fucking bond.” I run a hand through my hair, yanking a little at the roots. “I barely had time to breathe. And now I’m supposed to carry this too?”
Lyra hums, stretching out her legs. “You say you’re scared, but it sounds more like resentment.” Lyra stands up and peaks up over my bunk. “Mara, you’ve already stopped fighting it. Now you’re just afraid to admit you want it.”
The words slip out before I can stop them. “There was never a choice.”
My voice is too final. Too certain.
Lyra doesn’t blink.
I exhale sharply, pressing a hand to my chest. The place I felt it. Felt him.
“It’s real, Lyra. And permanent. I don’t think either of us can undo it—even if we wanted to. I kept telling myself I never had a choice. That everything was happening to me. But now . . . I think the truth is worse.”
I pause, chewing my lip.
“Because maybe I do. Maybe I still do. And I just don’t know what to do with it.”
I drag a hand through my hair. Try to breathe.
Lyra’s quiet for several moments and I think maybe she fell asleep. Or she’s about to give it to me in the way only Lyra can.
“You’re not scared of the bond, Mara. You’re scared that he meant every word. That he wants you. Because that means choosing him back—and gods forbid you open your chest wide enough to be chosen.”
Lyra leans back against the headboard of her bed, flipping her dagger in one hand. “So what are you going to do with that, then?”
I blink, thrown by the simplicity of the question.
I press my fingers into the blanket beneath me. Let the weight of it all settle. Then—quietly—
“I guess I’ll figure out what that means.”
Lyra nods once, which is all she needed to do.
The sky is gray and the air cuts cooler than it should for this time of year. The training grounds are alive with motion—soldiers stretching, sparring, shouting.
I throw myself into drills with Jarek and Lyra. My footing slips. My timing’s off. When I try to conjure flame, it sputters in my palm before dying out.
Valen’s all-knowing gaze bores into my back. When it happens again—when the heat falters for the third time—his voice cuts through the noise.
“Enough.”
I stiffen. Turn to face him, chest heaving, arms aching. “I can keep going.”
He studies me. “No, you can’t.”
I scowl. “I’m fine.”
“You’re distracted.” His tone is calm, but there’s iron underneath.
“I’m—”
“You are training to wield power no one in the history of this world has ever held,” he says, stepping closer. “And right now, you’re not wielding anything. You’re flinching. You’re a bleeding distraction.”
His silver-blue eyes lock onto mine. “Decide, Amara. Is whatever’s happening between you and Thane worth risking everything?”
My stomach clenches. Because this isn’t about feelings—it’s about control.
And the fact that I don’t have any.
Valen eyes narrow. “You’re scared.”
I exhale hard, throat tight. “And what if I am?”
Valen watches me, gaze steady. “Then let’s use it.”
He gestures toward the space around me. “You feel how erratic your magics become? That’s not power. That’s fear. Now ground yourself. Pay attention.”