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But I didn’t want to wake it. I didn’t want to lose control, like Arran had implied I might.
But Arran knew my answer without me speaking it.
“Try to ease it awake.”
I could feel the ember inside of me, the glow soft and steady like moonlight. I told myself to reach for it. I told myself to make it flash, like it did when the power was waking. But every time I tried, something visceral held me back. I recoiled from that core, from myself. I couldn’t wake it.
I couldn’t—or wouldn’t.
I stayed stubbornly on that patch of grass, the ledge looming to my right, and nothing happened. For over an hour.
Arran didn’t offer words of encouragement. But neither did he reprimand. He simply stood there—steadfast.
Finally, I threw up my hands, landed them on my waist, and glared. Straight at Arran. As if any of this was his fault.
He took one step closer. His eyes were… wary.
I didn’t like that at all.
“Let me… I want to try something.” He spoke like he would to a spooked animal that he was afraid of bolting. I wished the comparison didn’t feel so appropriate.
“What?” I bit out.
I waited for Arran to take the bait. To respond to my sass. But he’d shifted into some different mode, a sort of calm that I’d seen when he commanded others, but never me. I didn’t particularly care for it.
I didn’t want to be another soldier he trained. I wanted…oh fucking Ancestors. I don’t know what I want.
Arran just stepped closer. “When the assassin attacked, in your bedroom… I was able to
touch him, to feel whether he was an elemental or terrestrial, to get a sense of his magic.”
I remembered everything about that night. “Can’t anyone do that?”
Another step. “Not exactly. I can recognize another terrestrial and determine whether they are flora or fauna gifted. I would know an elemental because they are not terrestrial, their magic wouldn’t speak to mine. But I wouldn’t be able to discern anything more.”
He was near enough to touch me, but he didn’t. A chill swept down my spine.
“So what do you want to do?”
“I want to see if I can recognize yours.”
His hands were at his sides now, fingers flexing. Waiting for an invitation. For permission.
“You touch me constantly.”
Thatearned me a baleful look. “This is different. You have toletme see your magic, feel it.”
I remembered the body of the assassin, clothed in black, prone on the floor. From one of my knives. “The assassin wasn’t exactly consenting.”
“They were dead. Not much they could do to protect themselves.”
The wind was picking up. I shivered again, pulling my cloak tighter around me. Because of the cold, I told myself. “We already know I’m an elemental.”
“But commanding the void is not an elemental power.”
The space between us had never felt heavier. Even in those months where we hated each other—hated each other, and wanted each other desperately—the space between us had always felt like an invitation.
If only an invitation to darkness.
