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Talon placed a gentle kiss against my temple and held me tighter, as if afraid I’d disappear back into the shadows.
In my darkest moment, I’d never felt so seen—so understood.
He kissed away the lingering tears from my bloodshot eyes. “Your mother raised a strong, capable woman, firefly. She knows how much you loved her, and she’d be so incredibly proud of what you accomplished and how hard you fought.” He gripped my chin and lifted my gaze to meet his. “Don’t you dare, for one second, blame yourself for what happened. You had nothing but pure intentions.”
“Is that what you’d call killing those guards? Because I enjoyed every single second of it, Talon. My bones bathed in their screams. I wouldn’t have stopped if—” I swallowed the words before I could utter them, ashamed of how much I liked it. “I’m a murderer. How can you sit here and say my mother would be proud of that?” She wouldn’t have been.
“Because you’re a fighter, Elowyn.” The deep timbre of his voice cut through me like glass, and I straightened. “She knew that better than anyone. Now, I’ll be damned if I’m going to sit here and listen to you throw yourself a pity party when you only did what you had to do to survive.”
“Killing those guards wasn’t for survival. I didn't know I was capable of that until they were dead. Where’d that even come from, anyway? How is it possible to access magic I never knew I had?” The question burned my tongue like acid. I waited for him to reply, my chest swirling with uncertainty. No, it hadn’t been for survival. It was revenge and range.
“It’s not completely unusual for a halfling to wield magic, although it’s typically diluted to a much more basic form.”
I tucked my hands between the nook of my knees, afraid of the darkness that lurked beneath their surface. “So, what I did … that’s not normal, is it?”
“Nothing about you is normal, Elowyn.” Talon went quiet for a moment, deep in consideration when he finally cleared his throat, cupping my face in his hands. “No, your father had an insurmountable well of magic. There was a strong possibility you’d inherit his abilities.” Talon’s thumb brushed along my bare finger, his face pale as he looked at my hand. “Where’s the ring, Elowyn?”
I shrugged. “The last time I remember having it was in Minerva’s cottage. Why, what’s wrong?”
Talon cursed, running his hands through his hair as he stood and paced the length of the room. “She must’ve taken it off when she gave you the palm reading. The duplicitous wretch! I should’ve known.”
“I don’t understand. What does my father’s ring have to do with anything?”
Talon came to a stop between my legs, kneeling to meet me at eye level. “Elowyn, that ring’s sole purpose is to keep powerful, unpredictable magic in check.”
I raised my eyebrows expectantly, waiting for him to continue. Another secret.
“It’d allow someone the ability to access an exonerated amount of magic with no consequence.” His face turned solemn.
“What do you think Minerva plans to do with it?” My heart ached. All I wanted was to grieve, but fate had other plans for me, it seemed.
“It’s not her I’m worried about. And if I’m right, we need to get it back before it falls into the wrong hands. Or worse yet, your ability consumes you.”
“Your future is bright but filled with much darkness, my dear. Hold on to the light so it doesn’t consume you.”
My blood turned cold. Whoever wanted the ring didn’t need it for themselves. They needed me to be without it. There was only one person I could think of who’d want that—who’d benefit from my demise.
King Harkin had killed my mother, robbed me of the chance of knowing my father, and destroyed my sanity—leaving me in scraps for the vultures to feast upon. He wouldn’t get away with that again. I was the rightful heir to Faerway, and I planned to claim my throne. Planned to take back everything that was mine. Even if I died trying.
Talon and I shared a look as we both came to the realization. A silent promise loaded with fury and retribution.
I was no longer sad.
No, I was far worse than that. But that was the thing about pain: no one usually cares until it turns into rage.
“Whatever means necessary, right?” I asked.
“Whatever means necessary.”
