Page 48 of Embers of Ruin

It doesn’t work.

“Reach further,” Mazelle says, and I tell her that's astonishing advice, truly, however my magic doesn’t work like that. If I have nothing left to replenish, there’s nothing left.

Cadrin snorts somewhere behind me, likely enjoying watching me fail. Mazelle does not seem to find any of this entertaining, and mentions multiple times that her time has better use elsewhere.

I close my eyes and try anyway, because sulking at a dead tree accomplishes more than sulking at a king, and because some stubborn, humiliating part of me wants to prove I don't need Thorin standing an arm's length away, watching me with that uncomfortable stillness of his, to make any of this work. The pulse of life that I put inside the tree is there, faint and distant, like it's retreated somewhere I can't quite follow. But I reach anyway.

“I’m reaching as far as I can, Mazelle,” I grit out, shooting daggers her way. Her eyes narrow as she smirks, and I find myself wondering how convincingly I could explain her becoming an unintentional recipient of my magic’s backlash. The thought is tempting, but I don’t entertain it for long.

My magic stirs, uncertain, and gutters before it ever really catches, and I'm left standing there with my palms against cold bark and nothing to show for it besides a headache blooming behind my eyes.

“Again,” Mazelle says. “You need to be stronger, Lady Tarethyn. So we’re going to train until you are.”

Gods above. They're all the same.

* * *

I catch sight of Thorin near the end of the second hour, standing at the far edge of the garden dressed in black as usual, watching. I don’t think he’s watching me specifically—perhaps watching the tree. It's difficult to tell, at that distance, what exactly a king finds worth his attention. He doesn't come closer, nor does he attempt to gain my attention. But I feel his eyes on me anyway, and it makes my skin burn.

He says something to Mazelle when she crosses to him, too quiet for me to hear, though I notice she nods and glances back at me once before returning to her post. Thorin doesn't leave immediately, his attention settling on me instead. Even from across the garden, I feel the weight of it. His eyes follow every movement I make, dropping to my hands before slowly traveling back to my face. When our gazes meet, I catch a flash of silver in his eyes.

I shift as a shiver runs down my spine involuntarily. For a moment, neither of us looks away. I should. I know I should, but something about the way he's watching me holds me there, transfixed. Everything seems to fall away until there is only the distance between us and those silver-flecked eyes fixed on mine. Then he turns. His black cloak shifts behind him as he disappears around the corner, leaving me staring after him long after he's gone.

I tell myself I don't care. Unfortunately, I’m a very poor liar, even to myself. Cadrin takes up a position beside me, saying nothing at first. I continue trying to coax the tree back to the world of the living until he finally breaks the silence.

“He watched you for a while,” Cadrin says, searching my face for a reaction. His grin is sly, eyes brightening with excitement. I honestly hate Cadrin, and his shit-starting tendencies. Where is Riven? He doesn’t irritate me nearly as much.

I keep my attention on the brittle branches, refusing to give him the satisfaction of one.

“Then I hope I pleased His Majesty,” I reply, keeping my expression carefully blank. Dwelling on the man I have spent my life despising feels dangerously close to admitting he occupies far more of my thoughts than he should.

Our training lasts for hours and I have managed to coax the tree into acknowledging my power, but I can’t bring it back. By the time Mazelle releases me, my hands are trembling, my head is pounding, and the tree remains exactly as dead as it was three hours ago—no bursts of green, no cold snap throwing me backward, no arm catching me before I hit the ground. No protection at all. Mazelle is more than happy to watch me burn myself out and fall on my ass; in fact, I’m sure she’s been enjoying it.

When I’m escorted back to my room by the ever talkative Cadrin and ice cold Mazelle, Onyx is waiting outside my door. I stop short enough that Mazelle nearly walks into me. He looks the same as always, except for the way his dark eyes find mine and hold. I can sense the formal distance from yesterday, making my stomach churn in disappointment.

“Lady Tarethyn,” he says, dipping his head. “Captain,” I say back, mostly to watch him flinch. He does, and I smile inside. It works. Good.

Mazelle looks between us and decides, wisely, that this isn't a conversation requiring her presence, and takes her leave with a small bow and a smirk that's somehow more sarcastic than anything Cadrin has said all morning. Smart choice, because I’m not in the mood to deal with her sarcasm today. Onyx waits until she leaves before asking if we can talk.

I lead him into my chambers, gesturing for him to sit on the settee. We both stare at it for a minute, remembering what happened the last time we sat beside each other on it.

“Sit, Onyx. Please don’t make this awkward.” He raises an eyebrow before walking over to the settee and taking a seat, his massive frame taking up most of the sitting space.

He exhales, and looks unsure of what he wants to say, which is a first for him. It's such an unfamiliar expression on him that some of my anger falters despite my best efforts to keep it upright. “I owe you an apology,” he says.

I blink, shaking my head. “No, you don’t. You haven’t done anything except annoy me to the continent’s end.”

“I shouldn't have kissed you.” The words come out low and rough, and they cut even though they shouldn’t, because that’s never been mine and Onyx’s dynamic. But it is now, and I feel the shift.

“You came to my room to apologize for kissing me? As if I didn’t kiss you back?” I ask flatly. I know he wants to mend things with the king. But ruining our friendship in the process—that isn’t something I think I can handle right now.

“You were upset. Grieving, maybe, or close enough to it. I should have been the one thinking clearly, and I wasn't, and then Thorin walked in, and now—” He stops himself, jaw tight. “It wasn't fair to you.”

“Fair to me.” I laugh, and it comes out sharper than I mean it to.

“Onyx, I kissed you. In case you've forgotten that detail while writing your apology speech.”

“I’ve never been good at apologies... or speeches.” Our eyes lock for a moment and we look away, both afraid of where this could go again.