Chapter Twenty Seven #3
Mila crunched her teeth together, drew in a breath that swirled with sea salt and fresh wind and rage, and willed the arcane to blow him into the water.
The desire entered her thoughts, she drove willpower to it, and nothing altered.
Not the wind, the spray, or the chug of the Rosenvatten across the sea top.
Draven lifted his brow.
“No?”
Throwing her hands in the air, she cried, “Obviously not! Don’t you see? There’s nothing.” Mila spun, willing the rope to unwind, a mug of water to appear, a dinner table to spread itself with food, and any other luxuries.
As expected, nothing happened.
Undeterred, Draven asked, “What do you feel inside?”
“Nothing.”
“At all?”
Pausing, she withdrew her attention to within.
She felt as she felt before. Like Mila. Human, in a sense.
Body and blood and sinew and bone, but not much else.
The stirring arcane that awoke when Draven appeared had settled into something like normal.
Certainly, she didn’t feel wyvern arcane rising now.
Mila pressed a fist to her chest and met Draven’s assessing stare.
“There is no force compelling the arcane to action, nor response to my pleas, my desires, my hope. I can demand, and I have demanded, again and again and again. Stinna wore me down with attempts. Stulla taught me every possible way to access arcane that has ever worked for my aunts, but none of it worked for me.”
“Good.”
She whirled. “What?”
Draven nodded once. “We know what didn’t work when you were with the Queens, but now that you are with the Father King, the arcane may be different.”
“It isn’t.”
“Have we tried everything?”
Mila’s heart sank into her stomach. The thought of all those lessons, the patterns, the routines, made her want to weep. She’d spent years attempting to be whatever they wanted her to be. Decades, in fact. In the end, her failures continued to compound without a smidgen of success behind it.
Yet . . . how could she refuse? Pedr’s life lay on the line.
She lifted her chin.
“What else would you have me try?”
After a long pause, a doting smile appeared. Draven shook his head, hair shaking gently side to side. “Nothing, dear Mila.”
“Nothing?”
“Have you ever tried doing nothing and just . . . listening?”
Her lips parted, closed. Brow crashing, she leaned against the mizzenmast. “Ah . . . I don’t . . . know? I’ve never tried not fixing myself.”
“What if there is nothing to fix?”
She blinked.
“I’m sorry . . . what do you mean?”
Draven swept a hand toward her. “There is nothing broken inside you, Mila. Every human and arcane being on Elestra is vastly different, are they not? Why shouldn’t the children of the sirens and wyverns have their own strengths and weaknesses? The arcane is in you, we know that.”
She pressed a hand to her stomach. What he said . . . so unexpected . . . and impossible. There is nothing broken inside of you, Mila, couldn’t be correct in any world, any life.
Right?
When she didn’t speak, he asked, “You have felt the arcane within you, correct?”
She nodded.
“If the arcane is in you, and you are the arcane—which we know both are true—then we can trust that your abilities and strengths will be revealed.”
“I can’t face Onskar without using the arcane, Draven. He’ll obliterate me on the spot.”
“Will he?”
Her immediate reply faltered. Well, of course Onskar would destroy her. If she stood against him . . . the string of assumptions trailed into ether, tying her into knots. She had no idea what to say, or think. She stared at Draven’s surprisingly even expression.
“I . . . that is . . . ”
“You are Onskar’s equal, remember? You can harm each other, but he cannot kill you.”
“You said he obliterates souls.”
“Per his report.”
“That might be one of his lies?”
“It might be. Remember, we don’t know if he can obliterate your soul. Equality might matter.”
Her jaw sprang open. “You’d take that risk?”
“Personally? No. I wouldn’t allow you to go into a position with that possible outcome. But the decision is yours, not mine. Besides, I don’t think we’ll need to worry about the risk. You will figure out the arcane in time. I have full faith in your canny mind.”
“I don’t.”
“Perhaps,” he suggested gently, “that is part of the problem.”
Mila let the sea sounds circle in her thoughts. They spun, whirling and twirling, providing a place for her deepest fears and thoughts to go for examination with brutal honesty.
Did she believe in herself?
Sort of.
“Draven, I may not be enough for this,” she finally stated.
Like a poison, expressing the words was horrendous, but necessary.
She felt immediately better afterward, and had only just begun.
“If I could use the arcane, Mother would have applied me to the task. Stinna would not have been so furious with me, nor frustrated. All of my aunts wouldn’t have been so protective of me without a reason. ”
“I don’t believe that.”
“I do. At least . . . I did. Until . . . now. Until you said something to make me doubt it.”
Draven only gave her a quiet smile. He tapped his temple. “The problem is here.” Then his chest. “Not here.”
“I’ll try,” she promised.
“That is all anybody can ask.”