Not yet.
My magic crackles, and Iclench my fingers.
I close my eyes and try to wash away the monsters that linger from the prison. I’m no longer physically there, but that doesn’t mean I’ve left. The nightmares it planted claw at the inside of my mind.
What’s real?
What’s a picture being painted in the darkness?
Thump.
Silence.
Thump.
After a century of counting every beat, the echo still makes me shudder.
At least the emptiness is gone now. Where my magic was once suppressed, it flows freely, offering what little comfort can be found in the crackle that stirs in my veins.
I take a deep breath and focus on my magic. So potent, so raw, I can taste it with every swallow.
I allowed Hazel to have her moment in front of her brother’s court, saturating the room in darkness. But it doesn’t mean I couldn’t have gone toe-to-toe with her. Especially when my magic begs almost as loudly as the monsters in my head, desperate to get out.
Like they did when my angry, golden claws wrapped around the throats of those Fae and snuffed out their lives. It should have been enough. But all I want is more.
All in due time.
A door clicks open, and I lift off the wall as Selia slips into the hallway. Her light-brown hair is more golden than I remember. Highlights catch the light streaming from the orbs overhead. Her eyes meet mine, then quickly drift anywhere else.
“Rebels in Alyssium?” I hitch an eyebrow, following her down the hallway when she tries to avoid me.
“I have nothing to say to you about your people.”
“They were your people, too, once. Although you seem to have forgotten that.” I slip my hands in my pockets.
“My loyalty is to Lyrichia.” Her shoulders roll back.
She’s taller than I remember. Colder than I remember.
The prison played so many tricks on me that it’s easy to forget what is altered memory and what is real.
“If that’s the case, then your loyalty is fickle.”
Selia stops abruptly, spinning to face me. Her finger jabs into the center of my chest as she lifts her chin. “You have no right to judge what I am or am not anymore, Wilder. This is your fault.”
“Are you insinuating thatIlocked myself in a cell for a century?” I hitch an eyebrow.
“We both know this began long before that.” Her shoulders sink, the slightest hint of the female I remember. “I tried to warn you what was brewing, but you never listened.”
Her brown hair dulls the farther we move down the hallway. The farther we get from Malachi. Even so, her anger brings out the brightness in her eyes. Irritation thickens with every exhale as the gray storm around her brews. The hallway darkens, filling with the scent of rain.
I’m sure she intends for it to fortify this wedge between us. But her display of rage is nothing but comforting after so long without it.
“Why can’t you just let this go?” Her gaze sharpens as she backs up a step.
“And let our people die?”
“They’ll die anyway. The Well is too strong. You’ve been gone a long time.”
