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“Well, brew me fresh coffee then.”
“I will when you admit why you’re mad.”
My eyes snapped open. “Fine! You want to know why I’m mad? Because I shouldn’t have to do this,” I said, surprised at the anger and bitterness in my voice. “Because it’s my day off—because I should be engaged and planning my fucking wedding, because Jules should be alive. Because I should be home at Cresthaven. Because I should be powerful. Because it was my destiny. Because I was supposed to be a fucking mage.” My shoulders heaved as all my emotions rose to the surface and washed through me.
Both of us were silent, watching each other. When my breathing slowed to a normal pace, Rhyan nodded, uneasiness in his expression.
“I know,” he said softly. “But we’ve got to let that go. All of it. Not because any of it’s okay. Because it’s holding you back, carrying all of that. Take a deep breath. Inhale…exhale. We can’t control every instance of our life or what happens to us. What you can control is how you react. And no matter how much you complain or how much you pretend you can’t do this—”
“I’m not pretending.”
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just interrupt me. You are pretending. You’ve already proven to me you can do it. When it comes to you, Lyr, I have zero doubts—about you or your strength. You’ve got this.”
I squeezed my eyes shut again and inhaled and exhaled in sync with Rhyan. I felt his breath against my cheek and his aura wrapping around me, cocooning me.
“I’m tired, too,” he said. “I returned from Elyria in the middle of the night. I want to sit down. I want to relax. I want to drink some Godsdamned coffee with you. Let’s get this done. No more playing. I want you to see yourself in your mind. See yourself running. Running fast. See your feet. Imagine your boots, see the leather, see their color, visualize their laces. See your boots hitting the ground again and again and again. See the dirt shifting beneath you, the dust rattling behind. See your feet running so fast they become a blur. You’re moving through the track. You feel the wind in your hair, against your cheeks. You keep running. You feel strong. You feel ready.”
“I see it,” I said. I saw every image he planted in my mind. As I visualized, I became aware of my legs and how tired they were, how I’d barely recovered from my last stomach cramp.
“Are you slowing down?” he asked.
“I didn’t mean to,” I said, unsure how he knew I’d suddenly seen myself do exactly that. I felt his hands, warm on my shoulders. Had my body language changed with my visualization? Or my breathing? Or did he just know me that well?
“You got in your head again. You’re trying to find every reason why this can’t work. Right?”
I nodded, standing straighter.
“That’s the old you,” he said. “Not you now. Remember the reasons it can work. You’ve gotten this far. You’re going farther. See yourself picking up speed again. It’s just your mind. You don’t have to be tired in your imagination, your body isn’t real there, it’s whatever you want it to be. Remember, your body is being still now, it’s getting a break. Resting. So why in Lumeria would you see it getting tired in your head when you can imagine it running faster than ever? Come on,” he urged. “Let’s get your dagger. Let’s finish this.”
I visualized the curve of the track in my mind, the arena jutting up around me. I saw the fucking pole being left in the dust as I tore across the ground and the hilt of my dagger gleaming in the sun. I grabbed it, held it above my head as I yelled out in victory, and imagined Rhyan screaming that it was four minutes. I opened my eyes, staring into his.
“I saw it,” I said, determination sweeping through me.
“One more run. You’ve got this. No rope can hold you. No cage can trap you.”
My chest was heaving. It was time to end this, to prove I could do it. “I’m ready.”
His thumbs rubbed against my shoulders as his expression hardened. “Tear the fucking rope apart,” Rhyan yelled, releasing me to get into position.
He called time, and we were off. He quickly sped ahead of me—something that had left me feeling annoyed every single time he’d done it before. But this time, I remembered what he’d told me. His father had made him run bound, made him prove himself without magic. If Rhyan could do it, so could I. In fact, I had just done it—in my mind. I closed my eyes, remembering the image, seeing myself run faster and faster, not tired, not weak. Rhyan was right. If I could imagine anything, why not imagine myself succeeding, improving, faster and stronger than ever? I was ready to do this one more time.
I sped up, rounding the curve of the track. I’d done it before. I could do it again.
“Two minutes!” he screamed when he reached for his dagger. I was still yards away from mine. “Come on, partner! Are you fucking done yet?”
Tears burned behind my eyes. My legs felt like lead, my stomach was on fire. But I couldn’t imagine running one more time. It was too painful, too humiliating.
I could do this. I had done this. I was going to do it again. I pumped my arms and closed my eyes, seeing myself at the finish line just like I’d visualized. I only allowed myself to see where I wanted to go. I wasn’t slowing down, I wasn’t out of energy. It didn’t matter how many times I’d done this earlier—all that mattered was right now, this time, this moment.
In my mind, I saw it all perfectly. I was at the end of the finish line, the hilt of the dagger in my hands. Rhyan was bringing me a cup of coffee, and then I was sinking into a steaming hot bath. Gods, a bath was going to feel so fucking good after all of this. And then Rhyan—I pushed that thought away, pumping my arms, giving my body, my run, my muscles, and my mind every last bit of power I had left.
“Three minutes, fifty seconds!” Rhyan roared. “Lyr, you did it!”
I collapsed on the finish line, clutching my dagger to my chest, completely out of breath, sweat everywhere, and the hugest grin in Lumeria on my face.
Rhyan stood above me, an unfamiliar look of pure excitement and pride on his eyes. His smile was wider than I’d ever seen it, matching my own. I’d never seen him look so victorious and joyful. And relieved. Gods, he looked beautiful. Even though for once, he was sweating, too. He was tired, exhaustion written all over his face. There were bags under his eyes, his scar had reddened, and his hair, bronzed gold in the sun, was curling from his sweat. I wanted to jump to my feet to hug him and thank him.
But his expression of pure pride and joy quickly vanished. The lines of his face hardened as he pursed his lips together. I could see the mask of cold Rhyan, distant Rhyan, locking itself into place. The closeness and warmth I’d felt just looking at his eyes disappeared like a wall had been erected between us.
