“So you’ve had some training?”
“A little. Once the rebels started finding their way into the village, we had no choice.” I glance at Wilder, but it’s impossible to read his expression.
All my life, I wondered why Vaelier rebels would bother with a magicless island. Turns out, they were looking for their king.
Wilder breaks my stare first, marking the first time he’s done that.
“Why are we training with weapons?” I ask Greer again, turning my attention back to her.
“There are weapons in battle.”
“Isn’t there also magic in battle?”
“Magic isn’t reliable like it used to be. Especially not on the battlefronts.” Shadows cast over her expression.
She’s talking about fighting near the Well, where it drains so fast that Callum said the Beating is spreading worse than it is here.
“Don’t worry.” She purses her lips. “That won’t be an issue in your case. The king will keep you comfortable in the palace.”
Her comment doesn’t sound anywhere near complimentary.
“Regardless of where you’re fighting, it’s important to learn to wield both magic and metal. They go hand in hand.” She starts circling, spinning the dagger again. “Magic isn’t something conjured from the plants or the rain or the clouds. Does that nurture us? Yes. But the root of all magic is in your blood—beating in your heart and running through your veins. If you want to access your magic, you need to connect with yourself. We could sit and stare at a blade of grass until something miraculously appears, or we can do it my way and force it to wake up.”
“Through fighting?”
“When you were in the prison, what gave you the ability to wake him?” She points the tip of her dagger at Wilder.
“You mean besides my charming personality?” Wilder’s voice at my side makes me jump.
I didn’t hear him approach.
“I will stab you in the heart without even blinking.” Greer’s jaw tightens, and I don’t doubt she means it when her hard gaze sets on him.
He doesn’t move, and neither does she.
“I don’t know how I did it,” I say, trying to cut through the tension.
It’s enough to pull Greer’s attention back to me. “What was happening right before you used your magic? What led up to it?”
“The rebels attacked.” My mouth dries; I’ve tried not to think about it. “My father tried to fight them off, but he couldn’t. He died for me—” My voice catches, and I do my best to steady it. “I almost died myself, so I ran to the one place I thought they wouldn’t follow, the prison. But they did. They wouldn’t stop, even when I reached the cells. Even when Wilder fought them off—” I glance at Wilder, surprised to see him watching me with asolemn expression. “He took a sword to the heart for me, and all I could think was that I couldn’t handle any more death in my name. Any more death at all.”
Greer’s gaze darts between us.
“I had to do something. That’s all I knew. I had to doanythingbecause I couldn’t let him die for me. That’s when my magic appeared.” By the time I finish my story, my voice is nearly a whisper.
Wilder steps back, and that seems to pull Greer out of her trance.
“You drew on your emotion.” She starts pacing again. “You connected with the heart of what you truly wanted. That’s why your magic found you.”
“I guess so.” It didn’t feel like that, but Greer sounds certain.
“The reason some Fae struggle connecting with their magic is that they try to force it to be more than it is. They barrel down and harness it with brute force. The most powerful Fae are much more subtle with their approach. They allow their magic to flow through them without thinking. Without restraint or pressure. Which is where fighting comes in. When you’re fighting, you stop thinking about what youwantto do and simply focus on what youneedto do. Your magic will be there when you are ready if you allow it.”
“And what if I’m not ready in time?”
“Then you’ll die.” Her answer is void of emotion, but I appreciate it.
I’ve been fed so many lies. A little honesty is refreshing.
