Page 103 of A Courage of the Chosen

“Make sure to keep your feet steady when you strike. Strong like the roots of a tree, okay?” He corrects her stance, and untucks her thumb from the center of her palm.

The next punch lands. But not perfectly.

Determination sharpens her features. And when she bares her teeth, staring blankly ahead as she punches again and again, I know it’s not Callahan she sees as she throws every ounce of her strength into him.

Each of her hits land. Some of them perfectly on target, and others missing their mark, while Callahan guides her through it, more of her emotions surfacing.

When tears gather in her eyes and begin streaking down her cheeks, I step forward, only to be halted by Eòghann.

“Watch,” he says.

Erin’s tears don’t stop as Callahan continues to talk her through the movements. And the fear, the hurt, the horror that’s clouded her soft brown eyes since she arrived . . . slowly starts to lift.

Suddenly, I’m not in the training ring at the palace. I’m in a clearing littered by boulders, next to a slow-moving stream in the forest. It’s not Erin punching her feelings out into Callahan’s hands. It’s sword against sword, magic against magic, and a woman much older, who’s grieving and scared and feeling utterly alone.

Callahan is a lot kinder to Erin than he ever was to me in those early days, but he does the same thing. He creates a space for her to feel everything she needs to feel. He doesn’t judge. He doesn’t comfort her. He simply lets Erin unleash herself, and picks up the pieces when she’s spent.

Her hands drop, and her breath saws out in harsh pants. Callahan grips her by the shoulders and waits for Erin to meet his gaze.

“Never again,” he says, nearly too quiet for us to hear.

Something unspoken passes between them, and then Erin throws herself into Callahan’s arms, where she cries and cries and cries while he holds her. It wasn’t me that she needed when the tears eventually came.

It was Callahan.

And I fall for him a little harder.

◆◆◆

I still haven’t heard a thing from Tavish, and his continued silence is making the knots in my stomach tighten as I wonder what the hell he’s up to.

The training yard has long since emptied. Callahan took Erin away, carrying her off as she clung to him to go and find some ice cream, and I sparred with Rach and Reyne until they both decided they’d had enough for the day.

I wanted to continue, and practice using my magic.

“Don’t push too hard,” Reyne warned before she’d left.

Now, the sun is fading, and the breeze and rain are my only company.

I’ve not wielded at all in the last seven days. Not since my butterfly was fragmented by shadows that seemingly came from that dark and cold place that lives inside me.

Watching Erin face everything she was carrying inspired me. If she can be that brave, then I can delve into whatever this thing is corrupting my magic.

Glancing around to make sure I’m totally alone, I steady myself and summon balls of light into my waiting hands. The orbs hover there, my veins humming with static, and a life force that’s etched along every fiber of my being.

Let go, the darker tune in my heart purrs, and lures me in with each beat.

I chew on my lip and close my eyes.

Icy depths grow and swell, rising from deep within like a void.

Both bonds lie still and quiet where they exist next to my magic. Independent of one another, but carrying equal presence in my psyche. I lock them down, making sure no one can feel what I’m about to do.

Goosebumps pepper along my skin as more of this new energy swims to the surface. My inner demons savor it, welcoming the tiny fraction of freedom I’ve granted.

If I’m being honest with myself, the reason I keep them so tightly bound is because they terrify me. I’ve spent so much of this year wallowing in my anger and my hatred, that it’s grown into this violent, ugly thing that I can barely control anymore.

I was always taught that repressing how you felt didn’t ever achieve anything good. Granny insisted on us over-communicating, because our problems when shared, didn’t feel as big. It’s only with hindsight that I see the irony in her approach. She kept a whole other identity from me and Mom. Despite the way I was raised, there are some things that are better left alone in the sullen corners of my soul.