Chapter 11 #2
This version of the truth runs over in my head, and I check it against what I’ve already been told.
Most of it makes sense, or at least tracks alongside what I’ve learned, but it’s a big jump to say that he can use Novandia’s power when, at the same time, he admits that Aslendrix has taken it from him.
Should I believe everything this man tells me?
My head starts to throb, pulsing at my temples as I wrap my mind around what to believe.
The gap between what’s real and not is now paper-thin, threatening to dissolve into the air around me with the slightest breath and leave me forever lost.
Focus.
I push back from the brink of despair, shifting, and turn the questions outward. “You’d teach me how to be more powerful out of the goodness of your heart?”
“We’d train you.” It’s Fenix’s voice now that takes over the story.
“Train me for what?”
“To be at my side. Our parents were both Fifths. It’s only right that—”
What!
“Our parents?” I stand and round to face him as a dormant anger and rage swell in my chest, at another scrap of information he tosses to me, as if it means nothing to him.
There’s a collective flinch from every other member of the little group around us out of the corner of my eyes, reaching for a weapon to defend themselves, perhaps.
Good. Let them be afraid.
Fenix just cocks his head to the side and smiles. “Going to try your little trick again?”
“You just told me our parents are Fifths!” I scream. “Like me.” I tap my chest. “I’m a Fifth.”
“Yes. I was getting a little bored with this being all about Aslendrix and Novandia. It’s really about us—”
“That’s enough, Fen. We don’t want to overwhelm Ever.”
“Overwhelm?” Laughter erupts at the irony. My hands ball at my side, and I survey who’s within my reach. I have no idea what would happen if I grabbed someone here, but I can’t be afraid of my magic, not when there’s nobody else to help.
I am not weak.
The man a few paces from me has his hand on the hilt of a blade. He’d go for a physical weapon rather than use his power, but the woman standing next to him doesn’t. Her feet have shifted, moving her into a ready stance.
The power gathered at the centre of my chest responds, as if it knows I want to draw on it, and starts to rise, eager to be set free. I jump over the log and close the gap between us, shoving my arms out to connect with them.
As soon as we touch, I project my power, insisting it overtake and obey only my command. It does. And I feel it mix and twist with their power, but it feels thick and sluggish in response.
Wind whips around our heels and blusters through the branches, sending leaves and foliage dancing around us, an orange and green storm that distracts everyone. The loose strands of my hair streak over my face, and I shake them back.
“Stop this,” the woman says.
My vision blurs, losing sight of both the Usher and Fenix.
It’s not enough. I need more. But as I focus and draw harder on my magic, eager to see it grow with the mix of new magic, theirs refuses to respond like I’ve felt before.
The wind blows harder, making some of the boughs around us sway and bend, creaking in protest against the sudden onslaught, but there’s no more energy. No more power.
“Did you listen to Micah at all? Did you forget everything he said to you? He wouldn’t have been in that cell if he hadn’t spilt his guts.” Fenix’s voice has dropped back to the one that promises malice and pain.
My concentration drops, and the two I’d grabbed pull away from me, the wind fading to nothing more than a rustle across the ground as soon as our contact is severed.
His words should have ignited my rage, but I wait because they’ve triggered something, a shift in my mind, and I pause.
The fight in the cell was all a blur, and frustratingly, Fenix killing Micah seems to have masked much of what he told me.
My anger stirs, closer to the surface, as I force my memory back, pushing past the betrayal Micah was so adamant I would feel from him.
The stab of pain still hits as I think about what he did, as sure as if Fenix just slipped a blade between my ribs.
As I watch him, I wait for my mind to catch up and fix the pieces together.
Micah was jealous of my power. No, he despised others with power. He said there were others, too, like him. Everything was about power.
“You know, watching you figure this out is amusing, the information taking its time to work into place,” Fenix scoffs and turns away.
“You have power. You’re just like me, yet you’re leading the army? Why the double standard?” I shout after him.
“Nearly.” He flicks his chin in an upward motion, a command, and the people closest to me, who had crowded around while I was busy in my own head, back up a few paces.
My feet shuffle my position as I check for first, the Usher, and then a possible escape route.
But I’d have to go through Fenix or the others, with no clear path or destination.
“Kirrians have power, yes, but others in the world don’t,” Fenix goes on.
“You think it’s fair that we have to hide or play peacekeeper for Kings who want to tear the world apart to get their hands on it?
That Kirrians are relegated to roles of service to others across the continents because they aren’t stronger or more powerful, as decreed by the Orders and Aslendrix?
We are the ones with power. But the Orders have created their own elite society, dictating how we live, what we do, the role we’ll have for the rest of our lives, all because of what power from Aslendrix, the ‘Goddess’ provides, and a big slice of chance: when we are born. ”
He’s serious. It’s not about anyone, any kingdom or threat.
“It’s time the Orders and Kirrians stopped pretending that they serve anyone other than themselves.
” His voice hardens, crystallising himself as the villain in this story for me.
“They say they are keeping the balance, as Aslendrix wishes, but I say that they keep the balance only for those with power. To keep their line strong.”
“And you, a Fifth, want to change that?”
“No. We. We will change that, sister.”