I hesitate. “You used to have more control than anyone I’ve ever met. You could draw on emotions like paint. Like each one was a color. You shaped an entire world with them.”
She turns the candle between her hands. “And I lost it all.”
“Not lost.” I’m trying to be gentle and not give more information than she’s ready for. Gods, it feels like walking a tightrope with no net. “You buried it. To survive.”
Every time I give her even the barest answer, I feel like the world is about to implode.
Her eyes meet mine. “I keep seeing flashes. A courtyard. Silver trees? A girl laughing. A man—” she pauses, gaze flicking away, “ —with eyes like yours.”
I swallow hard. She remembers more than I thought. “Do you think he mattered to you?”
“I think that when I look at you, it hurts the same way rememberinghimdoes.”
Becauseheisme.
The silence between us stretches taut. I want to tell her everything — that she is Ember, that I have loved her across lifetimes and wars. But the words catch in my throat. It isn’t time yet. I know it in my bones.
Instead, I reach across the table and let my fingers brush hers. “Then maybe you’re starting to remember what love feels like.”
Another morning, Ash is sleeping, curled up in a tangle of blankets with Calida. All I can see is her snout and it makes me smile. I watch them for a long time, feeling something uncoiling in my chest. A fragile, cautious hope.
When she stirs, stretching, the light around her pulses again. I don’t think anyone but Betsy and myself can see it. It’s not chaotic this time. Gentle. Steady.
“Morning,” she murmurs.
“Morning,” I reply. “How do you feel?”
She offers me a small smile. “Like the world is still heavy. But just maybe I’m strong enough to lift it?”
I laugh, quiet. She never fails to amaze me. “You always were.”
Outside, I see the rainbows of her joy dancing against the glass. I reach out, tracing one with my fingertip.
“You’re changing the world.”
She lifts her head. “Is that bad?”
“No. It’s everything I’ve been waiting for.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
The clearing looks weird, but I can’t put my finger on it.
It isn’t the wild cathedral of magick it is when the stars are out and Flint’s quiet faith is the only thing keeping me steady. Today it’s smaller, almost ordinary. Dew-soaked grass, a crooked oak, Betsy standing with her hands on her hips, and an expression that says all she will tolerate is exactly none of my shit.
Calida lounges on a rock, tail flicking, andeyes gleaming with the smug amusement of someone who knows how this is going to go.
“This,” Betsy declares, thrusting a mug of coffee at me, “is a day for humility, darling. You nearly set your poor boyfriend’s eyebrows on fire last night. Let’s not repeat that.”
“He’s not my?—”
She arches a brow. “Not yourwhat, pumpkin? Not your emotional support six-foot wall of muscle?”
“Betsy!”I groan, taking the coffee. The steam curls up around my face, warm and comforting. I can still feel the ghost of what happened two nights ago —the flicker of lights beneath my skin, the tremble of power that wasn’t just mine. It’s been humming at the back of my mind ever since, a song I can’t stop hearing.
Betsy claps her hands. “All right! Lesson one: emotion is a river. You can’t stop it from flowing, but you can choose which way it carries you.”
I squint at her. “That’s not in any of the self-help books we sell.”
