Chapter forty-four #2
“If we have a big enough stock, yes. We manufacture them in the garrisons, where the magic is woven into them in advance by a group of elite weapons masters. And if freaking Jeremy doesn’t bind our powers.”
“Do you know how to get by that? Because what good is my fire if he can bind our powers?”
“I’m not sure he can bind your powers.”
“He already did.”
“When you didn’t know you had them and couldn’t use them.”
“I’m feeling the passing of time today.”
“I know, but it’s not the same here. That’s hard to understand when you haven’t experienced it firsthand.
We stay the course. We train. We make sure you’re ready when we step foot outside Elysium.
You’re not ready.” I’m not. He’s right, but what if I’m never ready?
Eventually, my destiny will force us to leave Elysium, whether I’m ready or not, one way or the other.
And I doubt destiny will be gentle about it.
The minute I enter the octagon where Silas waits for me, he curls his fingers at me in “bring it” fashion. I laugh and rift to stand in front of him, feeling myself again and ready for battle. “You’re not afraid of Micah?”
“Scared shitless,” he says, “but he told me he was wrong about going easy on you. He told me to let loose.”
“The day I beat your ass is going to be embarrassing for you, isn’t it?”
“Embarrassing and scary as fuck,” he says, “but necessary, so let’s go.”
And so, it begins.
Hours later, I manage to rift to my bedroom. I’m standing with my back to the door when a knock sounds only moments later. “Ember.”
I don’t know how Micah knows I’m there, but I whisper. “Yes?”
“Can I come in?”
“Only if you rift. I like the door too much right now.”
He appears in front of me, and I start to slide down the door, only to have him catch me and carry me to the bed. He feeds me the serum, and I curl up on the bed. “I know I need to shower—I’m disgusting—but can you magic me?”
A moment later, I’m in a robe, smelling like flowers, and I pull my knees to my chest. Micah pulls a blanket over me. “Who won the battle?”
“Neither of us. That’s the problem. Unless I boil him, I can’t beat him.”
“Don’t boil Silas. I’ll give you some tips in the morning.”
“I’d like that.”
He settles behind me and wraps his arm around me, and it’s everything and more. “I don’t think this is a good way to remain objective,” I murmur.
“It’s not,” he says. “Now get some rest.”
My lashes lower, and the warmth of his body seeps into mine, a lullaby that sings me into a deep sleep.
The next morning, Micah has coffee and food waiting on me, and the tension of the day before has faded.
After eating, we head to the octagon, skipping my fire lesson today in lieu of combat, but Gabriella joins us anyway.
The two of them teach me techniques to use against an agile enemy.
We break for lunch, and Micah and I head to the library.
When it’s time to meet Silas, Micah and Gabriella aren’t the only ones along for the show.
Zeke is back, and he’s ready for battle.
When the evening ends, I’m an exhilarated mess.
I’ve learned. I’ve improved. And I’m a little less miserable than the past two nights.
Micah rifts us back to my bedroom, and once again, I fall asleep in his arms.
For the next two weeks, I practice my fire skills each morning, which amounts to boiling water and nothing more, and combat training in the evening with both Silas and Zeke, as Braylon remains at the garrison.
Zeke is happy to step up as the patient teacher, his every move calculated while Silas is a wild beast who comes at me like he’s crazed every single time.
Little by little, I learn to use my magic. I learn my special abilities—strength, speed, and magic. I can feel myself progress and transform into a new version of the old me.
I’m still bruised and beaten up on a daily basis, but I’m starting to become a force. And that’s when Micah takes me back to the forest, where I am certain I will excel.
I fail miserably.
Creature after creature comes at me, and I either don’t want to kill them or end up needing rescue. We’re one month in, and some rhino-looking beast all but takes my head off. Micah kills it, and he is not happy. “Use your magic. Use your damn fire.”
“I’m trying, but I couldn’t use it in the woods anyway. I’d burn it up.”
“That’s called precision, Ember. Precision matters.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?” he demands. “You’re afraid, and you have to use that fear to engage your powers, not suppress them. We don’t have time for this. Just as we’re plotting and planning, so is Jeremy.”
That evening, Micah doesn’t attend my training, and when I return to my room in the best physical condition I’ve ever been in post-battle, there’s a vial of soto on my nightstand.
It becomes brutally clear that Micah has decided he’s gotten too close to me to be objective or effective in my training.
For a week, the only time I’m with Micah is when we head into the forest, and I manage to win my battles every other day. It’s not good enough, and Micah says as much. “This is how we all die, Ember. Where is the fire within you? Where?”
“Maybe it only exists once I choose a side.”
“Bullshit. You’re still afraid.”
That night, the man, the angel, comes to me in the night, deep inside my slumber, with such vivid detail it feels as if he’s really with me.
His wings sit against his broad shoulders, a part of him that swoops high and wide, and his feathers are a vivid red, each outlined with perfect eyeliner black.
And when he looks at me, for the first time, I can see his eyes.
They are the blue of a Crystal Seer, but this feels wrong, as if it cannot be the truth, and my mind is playing tricks on me.
He says nothing, and when I jolt to a sitting position, my gaze sweeping the deep shadows of my room, searching for him, I’m relieved to find nothing but candlelight dancing against the walls.
Relief is short-lived, anger bubbling inside me as surely as the cauldron that I have yet to turn to fire, but for the first time ever I can feel the fire.
This man, if that’s what he is at all, wants something from me that I do not want to give him.
I don’t know what, I only know his demand as truth that he will take from me, and the very idea is a curved blade slowly gutting me.
It’s only four in the morning, but I throw away the blankets and illuminate the room, sitting down at the fireplace and once again asking the house for a book that tells me of this winged man.
This time, a book lands in my lap, a page open, as if the house now believes I’m ready for what’s inside.
I quickly study the page in front of me to discover a hard-to-read text that references the red wings of the Seraphim, but what makes me go cold is the word “Archangel.” Micah referenced a war between leaders and Michael, the Archangel of War. Is this Michael?
And why would he ask me where I belong?
It’s then that I notice the note on my pillow. Is it from him, the angel? I snatch it up and read:
Rest today. We’re going to try something new tonight. Meet me on the overlook at dusk. And I mean rest, Ember. You will need every ounce of energy you possess for this new challenge.
That’s it. No signature. No nothing.
I have no idea what this is or why I’m quaking inside with the possibilities.