Page 74 of Sworn to the Shadow Throne

And I had been introduced to her far too late.

With a monumental effort of will, I pushed the fire back until it retreated into my veins. Remorse crept into the space the fire had occupied until my skin felt too tight, too cold. Not for standing up for myself, but for the long years I’d wasted, stubbornly believing Selmont was worthy of my devotion. I’d told myself that being needed was the same as being valued.

It wasn’t.

The children were worth it—they always would be. They were the only part of it that had ever been real. But the rest of it had left me empty inside.

Being needed had taught me how to disappear without leaving. To soften my edges. To be quiet and calm when they used me. That it was the only way to be valued. I’d believed that if I bled without complaint, if I made myself useful, it would be enough.

That way of thinking had utterly failed me. It had never been enough. Trying to please them while erasing myself was the rot at the center of it all.

Owain had only needed me when he was too sick to ask for my help. And when he wanted me, it was with a terrifying sincerity that asked nothing of my usefulness. He’d seen my isolation and didn’t try to make it into something he could take advantage of. He’d looked at the way they treated me and called it unjust, had called it absurd that I should bear it alone.

He hadn’t asked me to earn my place. He’d simply wanted me as I was, wherever I was.

But I’d chosen the cage I understood over the open door I wanted.

Now I wished I’d realized the truth sooner. Selmont could never truly be my home. I’d told Owain that the wards weren’t meant to keep us in…but they’d imprisoned me for years.

When I settled down for the evening, that strange sensation pulled at my heart again, like a thread drawn tight that tugged from somewhere far away. Except it was back to feeling like a shared pain that took my breath away.

I pressed my hand to my chest and waited for it to pass, breathing through the ache. It was so familiar now that I couldn’t make myself believe any of the explanations I’d come up with so far.

I’m so sorry, Owain.

Days blurred together after that. Fewer villagers came, and those who did watched my hands more than my face. Each healing left me weaker than it should have, as if my magic resented every drop I spent on Selmont.

Sounds became too loud. Food nauseating. My emotions would flare with a sudden and overwhelming surge without warning. I became little more than a shaking, volatile mess whose only aim was to get through the day.

I told myself it was grief that I would get over. Exhaustion. Even blamed my moon time for it. But something in my magic recoiled from those explanations. Something told me it was more.

At some point, Elbort visited again, his arm red and swollen from him picking at the infection I’d predicted would happen. Usually, I took payment after the healing was completed, but no more. I watched him walk away and greeted him only when he came back with a nicely wrapped ham.

Naturally, he did everything he could to make the situation unpleasant. He hissed and cursed while I cut into the lesion, his breath sour with the ale he’d had earlier in the day.

“We’re so lucky to have you,” he sneered, his eyes narrowed as he watched my hands wielding the knife.

“You are,” I said.

He went on as if I hadn’t spoken at all. “Got ourselves a fancy witch. Fancy enough for a lord to use and toss aside.”

I imagined sending threads of magic into his body until they found the space between muscle and bone where his mind’s control lay. I imagined snapping the spots in his shoulders and lower back that would paralyze all four limbs at once. Sending threads to cut his vocal cords so I wouldn’t have to hear him scream.

No blade. No blood on the floor. Just Elbort’s sneer collapsing into confusion until he realized he’d only been alive all these years because I’d allowed him to be.

It would be so easy.

But wrong…

My morals had always been flexible out of necessity. Now they felt more like a door I was holding shut with both hands while the wild and menacing version of me paced on the other side, waiting for her chance to rain justice on the world.

My grip on his arm tightened. He yelped, and I didn’t care. The pus spilled thick and foul-smelling across his arm.

When he left, he spat on the frost-hardened dirt and paused just long enough to say, “We’ll be keeping an eye on those wards—and our womenfolk.”

He meant to make me feel monstrous, but all that told me was that the people of Selmont had finally realized I was a genuine threat. I’d always been one. They were simply late to the realization.

“I don’t care if you’re bleeding out—don’t come back until you can treat me with respect.”