Chapter 23
Lucina
My eyes are shut, cut off from the lively forest around me, the soft morning light bleeding through my closed lids.
As I dive inward, down to the place I’ve grown less fearful of over the last two weeks, the chirping of birds fades.
Despite my growing comfortability with the descent, I still shiver when I reach the dark bottom.
Ever since my outburst the night Callan unveiled Ceres’s secrets, I’ve dedicated at least a full hour of my day to taming my father’s magic.
I realized I was avoiding it because I didn’t want it to belong to me, and all it took was one close call for me to realize that was never really an option.
It would never be an option. So, if I am to house a beast, I’d like to at least control its actions.
Pushing past the golden swirl of Sol magic, I unveil the darkness beneath it—a pitch-black void of seemingly nothing.
But I know better.
Letting out a deep breath, I urge it closer. “Come out.”
The void hisses at me, the light behind my closed eyes dimming.
“I’m not afraid of you,” I tell it. “Come out.” Plunging straight into the center, I pull and tug until its frigid bite tunnels into my veins.
Cold air fills my lungs. “I’m not afraid of you,” I repeat, mostly as a reminder, the tips of my fingers tingling with expectant magic.
My shoulders get heavy, but I’ve gotten used to the weight.
I’m stronger now, mentally and physically, with all the training Callan has put me through.
I’m grateful for the chance to build my strength.
I know I’ll need it, but the extra hours in the Yard have also helped repair my relationship with my coven.
We didn’t start from ground zero in the trust department, but there was certainly work to be done.
A rush of power surges forward before I’ve permitted it to, and I jolt at the sensation, smacking it back with more force.
My Sol magic was impatient, like a child running rampant through a sunny field, but my Rogue magic is akin to the monster that lives under the bed.
It enjoys jumping out to scare me, and it likes doing so on its own terms, but I need to be the one to dictate when and how it manifests.
It is my monster—I will unleash it whenever I please, and however I like.
A sharp crack splits the air, and my eyes snap open when a branch from a nearby tree falls, thudding to the ground. Rocks scatter down the creek bed, splashing into the shallow stream.
I grunt in frustration, tightening my hold on its core. “No,” I tell it, inhaling a full breath before trying again.
Resting my hands on my knees, palms up, I let the cold power saturate my skin. There’s resistance there, but I’ve worn it down over the last couple of weeks, stretched it thin, and in the process…gained some trust.
At least that’s what I hope it is.
In exchange for its cooperation, I let it burrow deeper into my skin.
I’ve given it access to veiled parts of my soul and let it see who I am.
I’ve shown it my demons, and it feeds on my darkest thoughts.
Permitting it to explore has allowed me to understand it better, and revealing my secrets has helped it to understand me.
Rogue magic prods at my fingertips from the inside, a silent request to be set free, which is progress in itself. Though I’ve been fooled by it before.
Forcing myself to allow it some trust, I release my hold on it, my head knocking back at the expulsion of built-up pressure.
The forest around me darkens, as if the sun has just gone behind a massive cloud, taking the crisp fall air with it.
Goosebumps litter my skin, and my teeth begin chattering, thick black smoke pluming up the trunks of nearby trees.
Dark magic clings to the bark, turning soft browns to deep charcoal, and the light grey stones along the creek bed fade to black.
When my magic creeps outside the boundary I’ve set for it, I pull back, relieved when it listens to the command and retreats—only an inch or two.
“Good,” I whisper, and it pulses against my skin at the praise. “Very good.”
More.
I shake my head. “No more.”
A low hiss fills my ears, but that’s the extent of its disappointment.
It doesn’t rush up my throat anyway. It doesn’t burst from hands without permission…
I’m far from being able to call it mine, but there is enough respect there that it doesn’t push the boundaries I’ve set—even when it wants to—and that’s progress.
Opening my hands, I drag the steady stream of power back into my skin and pause when the smoke begins to change shape. Shadows shift over nearby rocks, rising through the air like a stream of smoke, and my eyes narrow when a small blackbird materializes in front of me.
As soon as the image sharpens, it tucks its wings and dives down, gracefully perching itself on the top of my knee.
Its beady eyes blink at me, and I tilt my head to the side, staring back.
I’ve never seen a darker shade of black—its feathers so dark they’re almost purple. The nails on its feet are sharper than needles, the tips pinching into my skin but not enough to draw blood.
It’s honestly quite…beautiful. Not the magic itself but the way it manifests. The way something so evil could be packed into the body of something so…innocent.
Leaning closer to get a better look, there’s a knowing glint in its dark eyes as I study it.
“You aren’t so bad, are you?”
“Cin?”
I slam the door shut on my magic, a silence sweeping through the forest a second before its usual sounds return. The chirping of the birds, the rush of the stream beside me, and…Callan’s boots against the rocks.
“Hey.” I push to my feet, blinking a few times in the hopes that it will wash away any lingering gold in my eyes, but judging by the way his shoulders tense when I look up at him, some of it remains. My gaze falls to my boots. “Sorry.”
“How did it go?” Callan asks, the toe of his boots stepping into my vision.
The Hearths made me my own pair—the kind every Ajax wears.
I also got a slightly more feminine version of their uniforms: thick black pants to account for the changing seasons, a sleek long sleeve that feels like air on my skin, and a matching jacket and weapons vest. It’s been a hard transition, but clad in their clothes, I certainly feel a part of the coven.
“Good,” I reply, lifting my head when I feel the last morsel of magic sink to the base of my spine—taking the gold in my eyes with it. “It listens, albeit reluctantly, but enough that I’m not worried about losing control of it.”
Callan’s relief is palpable, the crease between his brows flattening out as he smiles back at me. “Good.”
He’s dressed too, with all his weapons in place, dark brown hair still damp at the ends. He smells like a forest of cedar trees right after the rain, and the scent calms me to my very core, washing away any ounce of self-doubt or fear.
“Are you ready?”
All of it comes rushing back.
“Chaos?”
“Yes,” I choke out, clearing my throat and trying again in the hopes that it will sound more convincing. “Yes.”
Not bad.
Callan brushes a strand of hair out of my eyes, then lifts my face to his. “I’ll be with you, remember? You’ll be able to talk to me.”
I nod, relief blurring the hard edges of fear.
Along with the rigorous training and preparation for our mission, Callan and I have expanded on Tobias Lowry’s translations of Vaelith in nature using the journal I found a few weeks back and essentially created our own language.
We practice every night, snuffing then reigniting stars in a sequence of flashing lights that form words.
With only two weeks, our dictionary is limited, but I’ll be able to talk to him while I’m in Streatham… using the stars.
I force a smile. “I still think we should have translated a few curse words.”
Callan laughs, and he seems grateful for the subject change. “I told you, using stars to curse feels sacrilegious."
Waving off his reasoning, I take the hand Callan offers and follow his steps through the creek bed, wondering if the Matrons would agree.
Nature is sacred, and by manipulating it, I suppose that can be seen as defiling it.
Twisting fate or intervening in matters of the Chiaros.
Except Sol and Rogue magic are god-given.
One is a gift, one is a curse, and I’m the ill-fated chosen who got both.
A true anomaly.
Pirn is quiet as Callan, and I make our way through the trees, passing rows of identical cabins and vacant dirt paths. Everyone must already be at the Banyan, gathering to see us off.
I take in the empty camp around me. Handmade rocking chairs on every porch, the odd wildflower growing through patches of bright green grass, and the first of burnt orange leaves in the trees around us.
I wonder what Pirn will look like when fall is in full bloom.
I wonder if it snows as much here as it did in Draycott. I always did love the snow.
I wonder if I’ll get to see it. The change of the seasons, the growth of new crops, the advancements of Mender medicine, and more batches of Hearth-made Moonshine…A girl can dream.
Breathing deeply, I soak in the air, and Callan’s fingers tighten around mine. I certainly don’t want it to be goodbye, but it very well could be.
By the time we make it to the Banyan, every seat is filled.
Closest to the trunk, standing behind a tall podium, is Delia, silver robes bristling in the gentle breeze.
Her light brown hair falls down her shoulders in soft waves, and she looks…
exhausted. But despite her weary smile, her head is still held high, and her shoulders stay proudly pushed back.
Beside her, Laverna doesn’t look much better.
Where Delia looks worn, Laverna looks nervous.
I track her anxious stare across the space to where Devon stands amongst the rest of our coven.
They’ve lined up facing the crowd, armed and ready as they’ll ever be, their attention twisting in our direction as Callan and I approach.