Page 165 of A Thread of Breath and Bone

Trysten stands, smoothing his forest-green shirt as his expression hardens into something lethal and focused. “Fuck it,” he grumbles, but there is a spark in his eyes I’ve never seen before. “She is a headache I want to have. If she needs a distraction, I’ll be the one who haunts her every waking hour.” He shoots me a wicked grin before disappearing into the crowd, his stride full of a new, predatory purpose.

I stand, the heavy liquor fanning the fire already burning in my blood. The bar is too loud, too crowded, and the Bond is pulling me like a tide toward the beach. With every step it tightens, a living thing in my chest demanding I go to her.

She is mine.

I want to remind her that while the world is falling apart, we are the only thing that is permanent. I push through the doors, my thoughts drowning in the need to feel her beneath me, to have her in my arms where she belongs.

Chapter 61

Raea

Two weeks. That’s how long I’ve been trying to shape anything other than a dagger. I can shape two daggers, one in each hand. They’re perfect. Strong. Lethal. Capable of cutting through anything. They pulse, emitting their own light. Finn is proud of me. So are the other Elven warriors he’s brought to train with me.

But I’m not proud of myself.

Daggers won’t win a war. I need more. I need to awaken the damn universe within me and learn how to wield it properly. I look across the clearing to see Ryker doing hand-to-hand combat with Vaeric, a blade made of ice against Vaeric’s steel blade.

After he learned about my shaping abilities, he tried it himself, and by the end of the day had crafted an elegant sword of ice. We thought it might shatter, but it’s as strong as the Fae steel and Elven blades. So far, the only thing it can’t hold against is my starlight daggers. They cut right through the ice as easy as swiping the blade through water.

“Try a spear,” Finn says, the exasperation leaking into his voice. He’s leaning against a wooden platform.

I close my eyes and summon the image of a spear—long, elegant, and balanced. But as the light solidifies, it stutters. The tip is blunt and rounded, more like a walking stick than a weapon, and the shaft is so thin it vibrates in the wind. When I try to grip it, the starlight turns brittle and snaps, dissolving into harmless sparks that sting my palms.

Nobody else can touch the weapons I make. We learned that the hard way when one of the Elven warriors reached for my dagger to inspect it and burned his hand to the point that his flesh melted. He was whisked away to a healer. He’s been recovering since. Now, everyone stays far from any of my creations.

Finn sighs, dragging his palms down his face.

I hold out my hand, displaying a perfectly shaped book. Finn puts his hands on his hips and stares at me. We’ve been over this. I can shape small things. Books, a plate, a pen…it’s the weapons I can’t get right.

I tried to create a Hallo gun and had been mostly successful. It wasn’t capable of shooting anything, so it was useless, but it looked cool. I’ve even tried staring at a broad sword while I created one in my palm, paying attention to the details, and for a second, I thought I had been successful. That was until the entire hilt broke off and fell to the ground, burning a hole in the grass and sinking into the mud beneath.

Ciara yelps from across the field, pulling my attention. She’s been excelling. Hell, all of them have. Everyone—except me. Ciara has been training with the other Elyndorai, learning how to fly, how to fight midair, how to fly in formation. She’s a natural. I can’t help but think she was born for the sky. Maybe that’s why she was always wanting to cliff jump. It was the closest thing she could get to soaring.

Kamden and Tate are both in the obstacle course racing against each other. Kamden is insanely tough, brute strength, Riven had said one day. Tate is fast. He likes to tease his opponents, bouncing away before they can even get close enough to touch him.

Kellan has been working sun up to sun down with the Elven warriors brought here. Like at home, he’s amazing with a long sword. The warriors enjoy sparring with him. I’ve noticed he’s been accepted among them. One day, they even offered to take him to a party. He was going to decline but I pushed him to go. He needs to get out more.

I jump when Finn touches my shoulder. “Sorry,” he breathes out a laugh. “C’mon, we’re going on a little fieldtrip.”

I don’t have time to argue before a gateway opens for us.

"I'll see you later. I love you!”

Ryker’s head snaps to me and Vaeric takes advantage, knocking him on his ass before chewing him out about not getting distracted.

“Be safe,” he grunts before attacking.

I smile, shaking my head before following Finn through the gateway. He slows his steps to match mine once we’re through.

“Where are we?” I ask, looking around and failing to keep the awe out of my voice.

I step through the gateway and the air changes instantly—cool, crisp, and heavy with the scent of damp earth and blooming jasmine. Pale trunks, wide enough to house entire families, tower into a canopy that blurs into the clouds. The winding manor ahead is woven into the forest. Stone bridges arc over a turquoise lake that glows with its own inner light, while a merman breaches the surface in bursts of spray to catch laughing children. It is a sanctuary that makes the Fae palace look cold and ridiculous.

At the edge of the lake, there’s a centaur. I’ve read about them. The upper half of their bodies are the shape of a man, the lower half, a horse. Something buzzes by my head, leaving a trail of glittering dust in its wake.

“A pixie,” Finn supplies. “Welcome to my home.”

My jaw drops. “This is your home?”