Page 93 of Embers of Ruin

I’m so tired of resisting everything in my life.

When Onyx brought me to this palace, I hated the Shadow King with every part of me.

Now…

Now I’m not so sure what I feel.

And that terrifies me far more than hate ever did.

CHAPTER 21

Several days pass before I realize I’ve stopped counting them. The palace settles into a routine I never agreed to, but fall into easily. Mornings belong to Mazelle. Afternoons belong to Thorin. Evenings, when I’m lucky, belong to me. And sometimes, I spend time with Onyx, laughing and mocking everyone in the palace.

Training has become... tolerable. Mentally, at least. Mazelle no longer has to remind me to breathe before reaching for my magic, and Thorin has stopped looking at me like I’m one poorly timed thought away from leveling half the palace. Which I would find offensive, but… he’s an amazing teacher. I can’t deny him that compliment.

Physically… Well. Mazelle still throws me onto my back with humiliating consistency. Apparently "try not to get stabbed" is less of a suggestion and more of a lifestyle. I haven’t beaten her once. Not to say that I won’t, because one day I will land her flat on her ass. I’ve managed to land two decent hits. She called one of them acceptable and I’m choosing to treat that as a compliment.

The Sacred Gardens have changed, too. Not much—just enough that I’ve noticed the faint hum in the air that doesn’t feel like dark magic. Like rot. Most of the vines remain gray, the flowerbeds brittle beneath the endless cloud cover, but each day another stubborn patch of green appears where my magic lingers. Tiny things. Things like moss between cracked stones, or a single climbing vine reclaiming one side of an archway. It’s enough change that I find myself looking for them before training begins because the use of my favorite phrase, “dead garden” is technically only ninety percent accurate now.

“You're distracted.” Mazelle’s voice snaps me back to the training circle.

“I was thinking.”

“I noticed. Maybe you should try paying attention. That would serve you better in this moment.”

“You know, I do like to think, occasionally. It’s healthy.”

“Goddess Divine help us, she’s using her wits in acceptable ways now.” Mazelle smiles at me as she says it.

She actually smiles. Did I hit my head too hard earlier? Gods. I almost enjoy arguing with her now. I won’t ever tell her that. She’d become unbearable.

Mazelle circles me slowly, sword resting against one shoulder.

“Again.”

“Mazelle, you’ve knocked me flat four times. Can we call it a victory and move on?”

“Seven.” Her smile is gone, replaced by the stern expression she wears better than anyone I’ve ever met.

“Well, I wasn’t counting.”

“You did not need to. I was.” She points the tip of her sword toward me. “Up. Resume your stance.”

I sigh dramatically as I push myself to my feet. “Of course you were.”

She fixes me with a look that probably sends seasoned soldiers scrambling—but I stopped being intimidated weeks ago.

I plant my feet, raise my practice sword, and settle into the stance Mazelle drilled into me until my muscles could find it without thinking.

“Your form is better,” she says, and I blink.

“Was that... praise?”

“No. It was an observation of your progress. You were horrible a few weeks ago. Now you’re decent.”

“I’ll take what I can get.”

She doesn’t argue and that feels like another compliment. Sometimes it’s the small wins.