Page 18 of Tides of Shadows

I felt each drop strike my skin. I felt it washing away my pain and anger, felt it soothing me. I felt it also upon the others. I knew how the water slid over them, over dancers, over lords and ladies, how their silks drank it in, how their fine hair fell to ruin. The whole crowd, the whole garden, lay within my reach.

And then I saw him.

Dricus stood apart. He watched me. In his green eyes there was a glimmer of wonder, no scorn, no mockery, only keen interest.

I closed my eyes for a moment. When I opened them, I fixed my will upon him. I felt the drops trace his face, gather at his cheekbones, run down his neck, over his body.

My heart quickened. It was too intimate, too bare. I broke it off at once, ashamed of my own thoughts.

I turned on my heel and made for the chambers. I had had enough excitement for one night.

At first light I went to the training room. I needed to vent the previous night somehow, the memory of Magnus Dorthal’s rough hands still lingering on my skin.

I was alone, without Kael and Brenn. The hush of the room was like a balm to my frayed thoughts.

I chose knives. Plain, swift, demanding perfect heed. Throw after throw unknotted my limbs, let my anger flow into iron biting wood.

Before swinging again, the door creaked open. Dricus entered. He moved in a slow arc, like a hunting cat testing the ground. He moved fluidly despite his muscular build.

“I heard you furnished young Dorthal with a new nose,” he said.

I covered my face with my hand. The heat of shame washed over me.

“You heard already? It has not been half a day.”

“In White City, gossip runs faster than water.” He took a step nearer. “Speaking of which…” His eyes went through me. “When will you cease hiding?”

I hesitated for a heartbeat, my arm stopping in midair. Finally, I threw it, and the steel struck the heart of the target.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

Dricus went to the table, took another knife, and threw it. The blade sank beside mine with such force the wood shuddered. My body tensed.

“Enough of pretenses, little siren,” he said, his voice lowered. “When did your power show itself?”

My shoulders sagged. I weighed the decisions in my head. How long could I hide?

Dricus stepped closer. He loomed over me, close enough that I felt the heat of him before I lifted my head. When our gazes met, his green eyes were piercing into m.

He leaned in and whispered to my ear, “I felt you yesterday. When the rain fell.”

My breath stilled.

“When?” he asked again.

I had no strength left for masks, not with Dricus, who bore power himself.

“Four years past. Upon my seventeenth birthday.”

He stepped back, as if satisfied that he got his answer.

“Your Family must be pleased.”

I gave a short, bitter breath.

“I cannot say. More worried than proud, perhaps. It came in the same year as my brother Alaric’s illness.” Speaking of his name made my voice shake. “Slowly it set upon his body. His strength waned, as if life fled him by inches. Once he ran the halls of Thalrock at my side, now each step is a struggle against an unseen foe. His legs betray him, his muscles fail. Proud, fearless Alaric sits more often by the fireplace than joins me at the yard. His mind remains sharp, but his body is a prison.”

“I am sorry,” Dricus said softly. “I know what it’s like to lose one dear.”