Chapter 25
The sun hangs low as I follow Kaelzar across the field. My steps falter as we crest the hill, the landscape unfolding before us.
I know this place.
Just a week ago, my magic had scoured it bare, reducing vibrant life to a wasteland. The memories claw at me: trees twisted into husks, grass crumbling to ash, animals screaming as decay swept through. My grip tightens on the whip and my gaze drops to my feet.
Kaelzar stops ahead, his back straight as he turns to face me. His expression is calm, almost expectant.
“Look around, Raylane,” he says.
Reluctantly, I lift my eyes.
The field is not as I left it.
What once was a lifeless expanse now shimmers with the tender green of new growth. Delicate flowers in shades of fiery-red, yellow, blue, and violet sway gently in the breeze, their petals catching the sunlight like tiny jewels.
Bees buzz among the blooms, small birds dart between patches of grass, and a rabbit hops cautiously near a cluster of ferns, its ears twitching.
I stare at the fragile wildflowers bending in the breeze. My fingers still clench around the whip.
It shouldn’t be this easy. It shouldn’t just…regrow. My magic killed this place. It should be a graveyard. And yet, green spills across the field, delicate and relentless.
“How?” I whisper, barely trusting my voice. “How can it just come back?”
Kaelzar watches me. “Because life always does.” He steps beside me, his hands resting loosely at his sides as he surveys the field with quiet satisfaction. “Your magic scorched this place, yes. But look at what came after.”
I frown, my fingers absently tracing the engraved handle of the whip. “But I destroyed so much. How can that be... good?”
Kaelzar gestures toward a patch of dense greenery reclaiming the land. “It was overrun with weeds,” he says. “Invasive species choking out anything smaller or weaker. Trees so large they blocked the sun, starving the ground beneath them.”
His voice softens, but it carries a weight that roots me in place. “Now, the smaller things, just as deserving, just as beautiful, have a chance to grow.”
The guilt I carry doesn’t vanish, but it shifts, tempered by a blooming hope.
“And you can do it again.” Kaelzar’s steady gaze meets mine.
“You can burn away what’s corrupt, what’s harmful, so that others can thrive.
Your magic doesn’t just destroy. It clears the way for life.
” His eyes flicker to the whip in my hands.
“And now, you’ll learn to control it. To use it for what you believe in. ”
I nod, uncertain but willing. “How?”
Kaelzar motions to the ground. “Start by using what you already know. Strike that weed.”
I swallow hard, adjusting my stance. The polished handle feels cool against my palm.
Kaelzar watches me, his presence pressing at the edges of my focus as I step toward the patch of weeds.
A cluster of tall, wiry plants with serrated leaves stands among the wildflowers. I study them carefully, noting how close they are to the delicate blooms. Any misstep could destroy more than I intend.
“Just a little magic,” Kaelzar says, his voice calm but firm. “Focus it. Let it travel down the whip. Precise, controlled. Only the weed.”
I nod, though my throat tightens with doubt. Swinging the whip, I feel the leather snap against the air with a satisfying crack, but no magic flows.
The weed stands untouched, mocking me.
My magic stirs, a restless thing, writhing beneath my skin. I breathe in, slow and steady, letting it gather, then crack the whip.
Power surges. Too much.
The ground blackens at the edge of my strike. The flowers beside it tremble, the air thickening with the sickly scent of decay. I stagger back, my gut twisting with horrific images of what my magic can do again.
Kaelzar moves fast, stepping between me and the flowers. He doesn’t say anything at first. Just studies the damage.
“That,” he finally says, pointing at my mistake, “is what you’re afraid of. And until you stop flinching from it, it’s never going to work.”
The words sting, but my gaze flicks to the flowers still standing near the blackened soil. What if I lose control again? What if the decay spreads beyond my intent, unraveling everything in its path? My breath falters. I can’t risk it.
The whip dips toward the ground as I lower my hands, the tightening in my chest making it impossible to argue.
Kaelzar’s voice cuts through the storm of my thoughts. “Not today, then. You’re still holding back.”
“I’m not—” I start, but the lie catches in my throat.
“You are,” he says. “You’re afraid of it. Afraid of yourself. That’s why it won’t work.”
My jaw clenches, but I refuse to meet his eyes.
He watches me for a beat longer, then turns away. “We’ll try again tomorrow.”
I want to argue. To prove him wrong. But all I do is follow him in silence.
On the second day, I try again.
I focus on a single weed in the cluster. My swings are precise, my control sharp, but my magic remains elusive. My fingers ache from gripping too tightly, the handle slick with sweat, but I refuse to loosen my hold, fearing if I let go, even for a second, I might never pick it up again.
Until Kaelzar coaxes me into letting go with the promise of a delicious dinner.
By the third day, I feel the faintest tingle at the edge of my awareness, a ripple of decay teasing at my fingertips but never reaching the whip.
Kaelzar stands nearby, silent and watchful. When I fumbled my grip on the whip, his hand twitched at his side, like he meant to intervene, but instead, he turned away, rolling his shoulders as if shrugging off an unseen weight.
The days blur together, each one spent in the field as I swing the whip over and over, my movements growing steadier even as my magic refuses to cooperate.
Every failure grates, feeding a restless frustration as the pressure inside builds.
I can feel it, Calista’s power swelling through me, stronger each day, as more voices pray to her name.
My arms burn from the endless repetition and my muscles scream each time I lift the whip again. But while I still struggle with the control of my magic, I get quite good with wielding my whip as a weapon.
Eva comes often, usually with a basket of food and a bright smile that seems to ease even my darkest moods. She stays to watch, her easy chatter filling the awkward moments of quiet between Kaelzar and me.
But Peonica’s absence makes me worry, she hasn’t come to visit in days.
Most likely, she’s also busy with taking care of the cursed women, maybe with an influx of new arrivals that need help settling, so I make a mental note to go to Rust Hollow as soon as I have a free moment to make sure she’s okay.
Each day, I arrive at the field and push myself harder, determined to master the whip. But it is only on the sixth day that I feel something shift.
I feel it before I even pick up the whip, a faint clarity in the air. I swing with confidence, the leather cutting through the breeze like a blade. This time, the decay sparks to life. It flows down the length of the whip, subtle but undeniable.
Is it fueled by the irritation that Kaelzar doesn’t remember that today is my twenty-first birthday?
It lingers at the edges of my ribs like an old bruise.
I told him once. Apparently, once wasn’t enough.
He doesn’t owe me anything, but his attention to a detail like this stings in a way I hadn’t expected.
As if I’ve been left standing in a doorway I thought he might step through, only to realize he never intended to. It’s foolish to dwell on it.
I swing.
The moment the whip cracks, a pulse surges down its length, a shiver that prickles up my arm and settles in my teeth. The decay doesn’t just spark, it lurches, flooding forward before I fully grasp what I’ve done.
The tip snaps against a weed, and the serrated leaves wither instantly, their edges curling inward as the stem blackens and collapses. The vibrant wildflowers surrounding it remain untouched.
I freeze, my heart hammering, breath uneven. Across from me, Kaelzar shifts. Not much, just the slow drag of his fingers across his palm. His often impassive gaze flickers with pride.
“I did it!” I exclaim, excitement bubbling in my chest, the weight of failure lifting all at once.
Before I can stop myself, I throw my arms around Kaelzar in a burst of unrestrained joy. He stiffens beneath my touch, his body locking as if I’ve startled something deeply ingrained, some instinct that tells him to pull away.
For a breath, I brace for rejection, for the sharp withdrawal of his presence.
But he doesn’t move.
The hesitation is brief, a flicker of restraint, before something in him shifts. His arms lift, tentative at first, then deliberate. One hand settles lightly at my back. The other lingers just above my waist, as if he’s unsure whether he’s allowed to hold me there.
My cheek brushes against his bare chest, warm beneath the open line of his vest. I become painfully aware of the steady rise and fall of his breath. The scent of him fills my lungs.
He exhales a measured breath as if he doesn’t trust whatever words might come. Slowly, I look up, my arms still around him.
Our eyes meet.
His storm-gray gaze locks onto mine, dark as thunderclouds over deep water. The quiet between us thickens, no longer empty, no longer cold, but something weighted, something alive.
I don’t pull away.
Neither does he.
Then suddenly, the air feels stretched too thin, the hush between us pressing inward, demanding to be broken. A ripple of unease brushes the edges of my senses, faint but insistent.
Kaelzar hears it first. I feel the change in him before I understand why. His body tenses, not in resistance this time, but in withdrawal.
“Ray! Ray!” Eva’s voice shatters the moment like glass.
I startle, blinking as if waking from a dream.
“Ryker is coming!” Eva calls.
I step back just as Eva comes bounding up the hill, waving wildly.