Finn’s mouth pursed as he studied Joy, while Reagan raised one brow.
“That’s impressive,” Reagan said.
“Her access signature is clean and remarkably high,” Hildegard added.
“Explain to us what this means,” I asked.
Finn answered, matter-of-fact, “On average, a person in a rested state can wield one and a half times their weight. Joy can wield eight times hers. It’s…quite high.”
I pivoted towards Joy, silently asking if she had any questions. Her brows remained creased, her eyes edged with scepticism, as though even if she did, she wouldn’t ask them.
I sighed. “How much can you wield?” I asked Reagan, recalling the memory of him dealing with a group of Strzygas, trying to visualize what those amounts meant.
“My average is higher than most,” he said. “I was trained to access more, twelve times my weight on average. But she doesn’t have any training.”
“Finn?” I prompted.
“Three times my weight,” he said swiftly.
Above average, yes, but modest compared to Joy’s reading.
“As I said, this is the first exam,” Hildegard added. “We’ll repeat it in two days. Joy, you shouldn’t use your ring for the coming weeks either.”
Finn shot Reagan a glance, unspoken communication passing between them. The latter’s gaze moved to my sister.
“Joy,” Reagan said, “I have a present for you.”
Chapter 7
Jane
Caius’s hands closed around my throat as I lay on the ground. He laughed, the sound ricocheting off the beams above. I found myself wondering, distantly, whether my crying would make me more entertaining for him.
His boots crashed into my side and pain bloomed there, vicious and throbbing, urging me to recoil. Darkness welled in the edges of my vision and my fingers loosened, unfurling one by one.
Weak. Pathetic. Humiliated.
Green and gold burst across my eyes, letters coming in and out of sight. Goldsworth.
Air tore back into my lungs as I opened my eyes, my shoulders stiff as the bedchamber came into focus.
Joy snored, sunk deep into sleep. I looked down at my hand, at my bare finger, and loosened a heavy sigh.
I had a reprieve from my nightmares in the past few nights, while my ring hadn’t left my finger.
The back of my nightgown clung to me as I slipped from the bed, padding to the chair for my robe, and eased into the corridor.
The hallway candles guttered in and out as I passed, casting a honeyed glow over the space.
The unspent energy under my skin wouldn’t let me rest. My body felt wound too tight.
It was not only because of the nightmare. My concern for my father’s condition and Joy’s burgeoning power was reaching new highs. All of it compounded a mounting tension that was bound to drive me out of my mind.
There was nothing I could do for them.
Joy had power. She could wield eight times her weight, whatever that meant. Had she always been capable of that?
Her physicians had said she was prone to feeling overwhelmed. Noise, touch, change. I still heard the tone they used when they saiddisorder.Father’s expression had turned wary that day, tight around the eyes. Even as a child, I’d felt the urge to argue, as if their words were insults that she couldn’t defend herself from. I’d said she only felt too much, but she wasn’t a brat, just sensitive. He’d let me speak for him, and for a long time I thought he’d agreed.
