Chapter 7
Heart lurching, I spring upright in bed so quickly that I nearly roll off the mattress.
Tiernan’s already standing at the other side of the bed.
His hand hovers over his shoulder as though he intends to draw his sword.
As if he’s forgotten that we were both asleep a moment ago.
The magelights brighten enough for me to register the panic widening Tiernan’s eyes.
Luckily, Taig hasn’t moved, his breathing remains serene and even.
“I felt Carys’s presence,” I sign.
Brows lifted, Tiernan sinks back down onto the bed. “She’s alive?”
Uneasiness threads through me. I’m not sure.
“She feels … different,” I admit. “Wounded. I didn’t see her, but I heard her.
She said she’s alive.” Last time I’d dropped into her subconscious, she’d felt more solid, easier to hold on to; I’d been able to communicate with her, even touch her as though she was there in the flesh.
This time, she sounded too far away and muddled.
Like she was at the top of a mountain shouting down to me.
Despite dreamwalking to her, despite her saying that she’s alive, I cannot ignore the knowledge that the veil between the dream realm and the realm of the dead is thin.
“Her voice sounded less clear than Ellynne’s and Aneirin’s had,” I mention. “Theirs played in my mind like a memory—Carys’s voice sounded distant. More like I just couldn’t fully tap into the dreamscape.”
The pensive look on Tiernan’s face deepens along with the creases between his eyes. “Maybe it’s her state of mind.”
“Maybe we should keep this to ourselves then, until I’m more certain. I’ll keep trying to reach her when I can.”
Tiernan nods in agreement.
Sunlight begins to peek through the curtains.
I groan, rubbing my face. The dark circles under Tiernan’s eyes reflect how I feel.
Neither of us speaks for a while, then Tiernan says, “I’ll go make us some tea.
” He reaches across the bed to give my leg an affectionate squeeze before he hurries out of the room.
Sweat rolls down my neck as the walls covered in hanging herbs seem to close in on me. The announcement from last night still curdles my stomach every time I think about it. Military coup. Carys allegedly dead.
A tap on my shoulder startles me out of my thoughts, and I drop the meadowsweet herbs that I was supposed to be bundling with twine. My gaze shifts to the white-haired woman standing at the counter beside me. Deeper lines carve into her forehead and bracket her downturned lips.
“Focus,” she chides. She has an accent that I’ve not had to lipread before, so I have to concentrate on her words more than usual.
“My apologies,” I say as I wrap the twine around the stems of the herbs, careful not to destroy the fragile white flowers. The room is small enough to fit about four people and is used strictly for drying herbs that reduce inflammation.
Oksana takes the meadowsweet bunch from me and says, “Let’s try shielding again.
” She sets the bundle on the wooden surface of the counter and waves her hand over it.
Immediately, a small, shimmery dome encircles it.
“You must focus your energy on your target. Whether it be yourself, someone else, or an object.” With another wave of her hand, she dismisses her power.
I frown. Maybe my magic doesn’t work the same way yours does, I want to say.
She’s a Lightweaver and I’m a Shadow Wielder.
Her magic is innately good and mine is …
not. An invisible hand squeezes my heart.
Sometimes I wish I could go back to before I knew I had these powers.
As much as I want to learn to wield them for good—to help bring other Undesirables to the Verge—learning to summon my shadows is difficult.
The older woman waves a pale hand corded with blueish veins. “Try again.”
Incorporating today’s lesson into this occasional job was Oksana’s idea.
Something to keep me from overthinking. So far, it doesn’t seem to be working.
I heave a sigh. Oksana has the patience of an immortal, which is appreciated.
But it also means that she would be fine standing here until night falls if that’s what it would take for me to summon even a fraction of my powers.
Her eyes narrow. “What is hindering you, child?”
What isn’t? I run my finger under the hem of my right sleeve.
“Did you or did you not cast a shield over yourself and Tiernan Kilkenny when you were Outside?”
“I did.”
“And what happened? What did you see?”
I swallow. “The attacker’s sword bounced off my shadows when she tried to strike.”
“And what did you feel at that moment?”
I close my eyes as the pungent odor of blood pierces my awareness.
The image of Tiernan on the ground, a dagger hilt-deep in his abdomen, a gash in his thigh profusely bleeding fills my mind.
It didn’t matter to me in that moment that we had a Healer with us or that he, as a Mimic, could’ve healed himself.
All I could fathom at the time was losing him.
I’ve lost enough. My parents. My best friend. I’ve even thought that Taig was dead.
“Fear,” I say shakily as my lungs start to falter. My pulse kicks up. Breathe. I clutch my arm to my chest and count my breaths, completely missing what Oksana says.
She quirks her bushy white brows and repeats herself. “What did you feel the other times you cast shadows?” She stands so still that she could be a statue; meanwhile I can’t stop picking at my sleeve. I clasp my hands together to stop fidgeting.
There was that moment I found out that Osheen had betrayed us. “Anger,” I say after an uncomfortably long pause. “Hopelessness. Sadness … Betrayal.” Tears sting my eyes as a cool sensation runs down my arms and tingles my hands.
“Look,” Oksana says. I turn my gaze away from her lips to my hands where tiny tendrils of black shadows dance on my fingertips.
I hold my hands up, watching the tendrils waver like ink in water. My heart hiccups as I bite back the unease. My hands start to tremble, and I clench them into fists, snuffing out the darkness.
The lines in Oksana’s face deepen again. “Why did you restrain yourself?”
A tremor runs through me. “I grew up with stories of Dark Mages. I fear that if I continue to develop these powers, they’ll corrupt me.”
Her chest rises then deflates with a deep, resigned sigh. “The stories you grew up with were grossly misconstrued. A few Dark Mages ruined the reputation of all Wielders of the dark forces. Maybe it’s time you showed people otherwise.”
If only I could get a simple shield to work.
“In the past, Wielders used amplifiers, at least for training. Amplifiers strengthen powers—so you can imagine how dangerous that can become.”
I think back to when my powers unleashed in the midst of my rage toward Osheen and imagine if that had been amplified. My clothes suddenly feel too tight. Does Oksana want me to use an amplifier?
“Clearly your powers are motivated by your emotions, so let’s use that before we resort to an amplifier.”
My shoulders sag with relief.
“You have so many fears and uncertainties bottled up. We just need you to learn to unleash them.” Oksana shoves her hand into her pocket then slips a coin into my palm. The metal is cool against my skin. “Tell me … if your younger brother was being attacked by Forayers—”
She doesn’t need to say more. A cold sensation builds in my chest and trickles down my arms again.
I close my eyes and focus on my hand, leaving whatever else Oksana says unknown as I try to summon a shield.
When I open my eyes, the coin in my hand is obscured by a small, wavering dome of translucent black.
It’s not as beautiful as Oksana’s light shield but, as she reaches out to touch the coin, it stops her hand from going any further, and she smiles.
“Well done, child. Now let’s work on runes again.”
The throbbing behind my eyes intensifies as I finally arrive at the house assigned to us.
As I turn onto the flower-lined pathway, I spot a familiar face.
Thick plaits hang down to her waist as she leans casually against the whitewashed stone wall.
Her arms are crossed over her chest, her leather vest hanging open to reveal a loose tunic left unlaced at the neck.
Her eyes lock on mine, and my stomach drops.
My steps waver. For being Alys and Dayfyd’s daughter, Ava is nothing like them.
While Alys is benevolent and nurturing, Ava is anger incarnate and all hard edges.
Ava has the same golden brown complexion and hazel eyes as Dayfyd, her hair jet black like Alys’s rather than Dayfyd’s brown coils.
She doesn’t have even a breath of her parents’ serenity.
In every instance that I’ve been in her presence, she’s glared at me as though she intends to banish me with just one look.
Disdain pinches her brows as she pushes off the wall of the house and signs with impressive fluency, “How goes your training with Oksana?”
Surprised by her proficiency with signing, I blink.
She waves her hand in front of my face. “Hello?”
“It’s going fine,” I motion quickly.
“Have you gotten command of your shadows?”
This time I hesitate. I could lie to her, but what good would that do?
“I’ll take your silence as a no.” She flicks a few of her long braids over her shoulder and props her fists on her hips.
“I managed to erect a small shadow shield around a coin this morning.”
Her nose wrinkles in a scowl. For a moment, she just stares at me as though she’s tasted something bitter, then she signs, “Show me.”
Heart hammering, I lift my hand and focus on my palm. I try to think of all the moments I’d used my shadow wielding, just as Oksana had prompted me to not long ago. This time, however, my hands grow clammy, and my head pounds even more than it already had been.
“It’s been two weeks of training, and you still cannot conjure shadows at will. Are you serious about joining the rebellion?”