Page 29 of By the Flames of Her Fury

But Starke wasn’t like them. He was a good man; perhaps one of the only ones left. If I couldn’t learn to give parts of myself to the people who cared, how would I ever find my way out of those cells?

“I don’t know how to give more,” I finally whispered, hating how small my voice sounded.

Starke’s gaze softened. He reached forward to take my hands in his, and I tried not to flinch. When his thumb rubbed circles into the back of my hand, it took all of my restraint not to yank away. His touch—any touch—felt wrong, like cuffs clamping down. I felt the walls closing in even as I forced myself to stay in control.

Just breathe, Songbird.

My chest loosened, and I let out a small breath.

Starke led me inside. His house was simple but functional. He spent so much of his time on the sea that he hadn’t bothered to accumulate many large possessions. The front door opened into a living space, with beige walls made of clay and no decorations beyond the fireplace mantel, which had an assortment of gadgets—a rusty compass, a wooden model of a ship, and his old captain’s crest. Directly in front of the fireplace was a small leather couch.

We both sat. “Start at the beginning,” he said, giving me an encouraging half-smile. As if it was so easy. So simple. Nothing in my life had ever been easy. But he was right; I had to give him something. I owed him that much for everything he’d done for me.

I took a deep breath and tunneled down deep into the memories I’d done such a good job of burying. It was like opening an old wound that had been sewn shut and cauterized, sharp and stinging as I peeled back the edges.

“The beginning,” I repeated. “Okay. Listen, Starke. I haven’t been entirely truthful with you.”

He snorted. “No kidding.”

“I told you I wasn’t from around here. I come from an empire farther south, which you know. But what you don’t know is that where I’m from, we have…well, everyone has magic.” I winced, realizing how ridiculous that sounded to someone outside of the Veridian Empire.

He raised an eyebrow. “Magic?”

“Like, magical powers.” I rolled my lips. “We can all do different…things. Magical things.” I cleared my throat at the blank expression on his face. “With our powers.”

“Yeah, I got that part.” He chuckled nervously. “What do you mean? What kind of magic?”

“It depends on what province you’re from,” I explained. “There are six, each one with a different power. There’s lightbending, where people can create light with their hands. And shadow wielding, which is similar but with shadows.” I imagined phantom shadows swirling around my hands the way they used to, twisting and dancing with my light magic.

“And there are people called Striders who can transport themselves from one place to another in the blink of an eye. Then there are Alchemists, who cast spells and curses and things. I come from the province of Shifters—people who have an animal form they can turn into. And the last ones are Illusionists.”

A vision of Everett hit me so hard in the chest, I couldn’t breathe. I remembered the first time he used his Illusionist magic on me.

Let me show you a world that doesn’t hurt, Songbird.

“Vera? Are you alright?” Starke asked, breaking away the fog.

“Yeah.” I swallowed. “Illusionists can create images in your mind. Those are the six abilities. Everyone born in the Veridian Empire has one.”

Starke stared at me for a moment, the crease in his forehead deepening with each passing second. I wasn’t sure if he believed me.

“Can you say something?” I asked, unable to take the silence any longer.

“I just…I’m processing.” He scrubbed a hand down his face. “You’re serious? All of this is real, you’re not messing with me?”

“I wouldn’t lie about this, Starke.”

“Okay. You have magic. How have I never seen it before? Can you show me?”

“About that,” I said slowly. “Magic doesn’t exist here. Once I left the Veridian Empire, my magic disappeared.”

“Hmm. Convenient.” His lip twitched up at the corner.

My shoulders fell. I got to my feet, already regretting this conversation. “Look, it’s fine. You don’t have to believe⁠—”

“No, Vera, I do. It was a joke.” He reached for my hand again, but seemed to think better of it. “Come on, tell me the rest. I promise I believe you.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, then sank back into the couch. “Fine.”