Chapter 37 #2
“The second is when we turn immortal, and there is no set time for that. Sometimes, it cruelly takes infants. Other times, it chooses those already riddled with age and sickness.” He tilts his head slightly.
“But there is a third, which is just for Feye’s royal bloodline.
We each develop an expression of mind magic.
My father could preserve a mind from sickness, and my brother could erase thoughts.
It got us out of a lot of trouble as children.
” He smiles fondly, and I wonder if my father ever took away any of my thoughts.
Or my mum’s. “When it manifests, it’s sudden and rather shocking. Have you felt anything like that?”
“No, I don’t think so.” Unless it’s already manifested itself and it’s the power to be batshit.
“I will teach you how to manage it, you just need to let me know as soon as you feel it, okay?”
I nod.
“Have you and Captain been getting along?” He asks, his smile turning a little cheeky.
I shrug. “I’ve only spoken to him once since we arrived.”
“Hmm, so you haven’t kissed?”
“Huh, oh my gosh, no!” My cheeks heat, but I’m not sure if it’s in embarrassment or at the thought of Kaed’s lips on mine.
He chuckles, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. Just an old man asking a question.”
“Do I have to let you know if that happens too?” Not that it will, of course.
He beckons me over to the front of the altar.
“It would be helpful for you to do it in a controlled setting, preferably at the bonding ceremony, should you wish to proceed. There could be many complications, especially for my Captain, should it happen any other way. Now, show me how you can control your magic so far.”
“Okay, but I’m warning you, it’s random.”
“Then let’s see if we can potentially make it, less random. Hold out your hands.”
My reflex reaction is to say, what’s the point?
But something he said earlier, about there being a chance this could end differently, stops me.
The idea that I might be able to finally control something sparks my fight or flight.
Not quite fight but maybe a diet version of it.
Here goes nothing. The familiar prickle of heat stirs in my chest like a little monster coming out of hibernation, and I realise just how much I’ve missed the comfort of knowing there’s something inside me that can protect me. That I’m not completely defenceless.
“I need you to focus,” the King says before his palms slide under mine. They’re rough, not like my dad’s at all. “Close your eyes and think on something that makes you angry. Picture all that anger as a box in your heart. Lock it, seal it. Then, when I say so, open it.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. It isn’t difficult to find things that piss me off.
First of all, Aiden calling me a name that isn’t mine and never would be, then Raph leaving me for dead.
My family lost to the fire I started. Kaed ripping me apart, Theron.
Vale. Maurice. Martha, Cinder mother fucking Cliffs.
I shove all the pain, anger, and confusion into a box and slam it shut. A breath of wind runs through the room.
“Good,” he says softly, “Stay focused. Now feel the energy from that box. Open it slowly. Let it move through your body. Into your lungs, your torso, your feet, and then your hands.”
My breathing is uneven as the heat swells within me.
I open one eye quickly, then snap it shut.
Fuck me, I’m actually doing it. It’s the same familiar tingle, but it’s bigger, and it answers to me.
Sweat trickles down the back of my neck despite the chilly room.
I let it course through my entire body, and I’m more alive than I’ve ever been.
This pure, raw power is so comforting, so freeing. The wind grows stronger around us.
“Ashley—”
But I’m already looking. Colossal black flames blaze across the ceiling, setting the golden altar alight and I can feel the blood draining from my face.
My heart thumps erratically in my chest and the King’s wide eyes meet mine, as heat waves pulse like a mirage around the room.
The mosaics are definitely moving this time; the tiles flip across the walls as little characters scramble from one piece of art to the other, trying to run from the flames.
His hands shake slightly beneath mine, but he doesn’t pull away.
Panic rises in my chest, and I stumble back, breaking contact.
The flames continue to grow, licking at the walls and swirling through the air.
“Do not be afraid,” he shouts over the roaring heatwaves, “Just reel them back in.”
“How?” I gasp.
“In the same way you would call a friend back to you.”
I scream at them in my head. Come back, come back! I can’t watch him burn again. I beg, I plead, until the last of the flames curl in on themselves and fade to nothing.
“Interesting.” He says, looking around the room that is now engulfed in pitch-black mosaics. White writing is tiled around the room.
I saw four from the pure bloodlines bonded with two from the chosen one.
And when they were bonded and fused, we were released,
The Basin was broken by the blood, the sacrifice, the life and strength of the black flame.
The Chasm opened; the protectors of the earth took back what is theirs.
Yes, the heir of the holy black fire will rise, and she will return us to where we belong.
“The Creed.” He whispers.
I don’t know how long we stand there in silence.
Reading and re-reading the words until I can recite them backwards.
After all the ducking and diving, the tripping over my own feet just to avoid reading The Creed etched into the doors of a trophy cabinet next to my room.
It found me. Perhaps this is fate’s way of telling me to get a move on.
And as much as I hate to say it, my uncle is right.
He’s fucking right. How long will I play the victim?
How long will I run, hide? If there is a way I can survive this, then why wouldn’t I at least attempt to make the most out of whatever life looks like?
Their freedom means mine. It doesn’t just mean going home; it means making a home.
Living a life of control. Just like I controlled those flames.
And though the thought of them still brings a sharp pain to my chest. I did it.
Maybe bravery is just feeling sick and doing it anyway.
I imagine myself in my clean flat. Finally holding down a job.
No rum, no escaping. Not being seen as dangerous, angry, or aggressive.
The fae of Sheyole scattered around the earth, living their lives, free.
Eventually, I break the silence. “What do I have to do?”