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Nameless One.
I fold the letter, running my fingers over the edge. A blank page lies on the tray. An old pen is next to it.
I haven’t written back to Bonar, unsure of what I would say to the man who I’ve only met twice in the same day but who saved me from a certain death. Who promised me safety when he owed me nothing. Who watches over me even if we’re a desert apart.
He has only asked one thing of me. Write back. I know I should. I should tell him I’m fine. That I’m safe here. Yet I can’t bring myself to do it. That smiling man was something I had, for no matter how brief a moment, before Ajaia, before the attack, before I landed in the rebels’ house.
I should be afraid, gravitating toward any opportunity that would let me leave this rebels’ house, but these people tended to my wounds and offered me food and shelter. Even if I’m nothing but an enemy to them. Beyond their protective circle is my father’s wrath, and I’m not ready to face it.
Battling with dread that fills my stomach, I push myself out of the chair and limp into the bathroom. I splash water on my face, trying to wash the lingering thoughts away, craving a way to erase the feelings they stir up. I meet my gaze in the tarnished mirror, searching for an answer in the depth of the emeralds gazing back at me. It’s been well over a month since my mother has groomed me for my betrothal, and the girl looking back at me is no longer the same. She has lived through battles. She has survived things she never should have, and fire burns in her eyes.
I sag against the sink, unable to meet that girl’s demanding gaze. The world outside the palace walls was always a mystery I wanted to solve. To be something more than just a silly princess, a possession of another governor of Usmad. But I have nothing to offer her. Nothing to show for the time I’ve spent away.
A spark of energy tingles my fingers.
What…
If it wasn’t the only thing in this old room, I wouldn’t have felt it, but no matter how faint, there is still some energy in the seed.
I limp back into the room and chug the cooled tea down. Back in the bathroom, I fill the glass with the sand from a storage bucket, nestling the seed between the crystals. It might be an empty effort, but if my father could perform miracles, maybe I can too.
I close my eyes, taking one deep breath after another. A tingle of light pulses somewhere ahead, the same way it did back in the palace gardens. With no energy swirling to blind my untrained binding of life energy, I can also see the pits of darkness inside of me. I press my eyes harder, searching for the source. It’s no surprise when I find them in my sprained ankle, the bullet wound still tugging on my muscles, and the crust on my cheek where I’ve split my skin on the cobblestones.
My energy flutters with each beat of my heart. Ethera, we call it, and if I can feel it, I should be able to bind it to my will, but when I tug on it, it swirls through my veins of its own accord, reluctant to follow the marked course.
My breath becomes ragged, but no matter how hard I pull, it refuses my command.
“Come on.” I groan, and start again.
Sweat beads along my brow when some of the ethera finally splinters toward my ankle. My energy fills the darkness, patching the gaping hole with light. When there is not even a speck of shadow left, I open my eyes and test my ankle. I roll it this way and that, and even walk across the bathroom floor one way and the other, but not even a shadow of pain hinders my steps.
With a giddy smile, I close my eyes again and work my energy to patch the throbbing muscles in my arm. I leave the wound on my face untouched, lest Inara, with her perceptive looks, notices anything. They might be rebels against my father’s regime, but binders must still be an unwelcome presence.
The desire to crawl into my bed and sleep for days presses on my temples with the beginning of a headache, but I reach for the seed. Ethera swells at my fingertips but refuses to leave the confines of my body. I groan, press harder, but it’s like pulling on an elastic band. Just as I think it might give in, it bounces back into my veins.
I sigh and rub my temples. A prickle of pain pools behind my eyes, but I’m not yet ready to give up. Resting my fingers on the sand, I tug on the swirling energy again until my muscles tremble with the effort. A single drop of ethera finally trickles down from my fingers and joins the seed’s speck of light.
I slump against the tiled wall of the bathroom, wondering if my father struggled to build his gardens as much as I do now or if there is a secret to the binding I’ll never learn. Exhaustion rolls over me in waves, and I’m ready to stumble back to my bed when a gravely voice calls my name.
15
Iopen my eyes, my heart thundering in my chest.
“Valdus?” I croak.
“Oh, you are…I thought…I’ll just leave your food and go,” he stammers to finish his sentence.
“Wait.”
I glance at myself in the mirror. The dark circles under my eyes are the only sign that I’ve drained my ethera, but I’ve been tired since I came here, and I doubt Valdus will notice. I walk back into the room and find him looking as out of place as he must feel. He glances toward the window and clears his throat.
“Did you think I’ve run away?” I ask with a smile tugging on my lips. When he rolls his shoulders back and doesn’t meet my eye, the amusement drains from my voice. “You did, didn’t you?”
He pinches the bridge of his nose in that clear sign of annoyance, and it spurs me even more.
“How do you think I would have done that? Walked through a wall?”
