Page 167 of Gift from the Wing

“The memory I want you to watch is at the front of my mind. You probably saw bits of this when our souls connected, but if it was like anything I experienced, it was more blips in time rather than full stories.”

“Yeah, I saw it all, what felt like every moment of your life, but only snippets,” she agrees, and I nod.

“Watch this one, little warrior.”

Closing my eyes, I let her take us away.

“Go away,” I shout.

Every step I take has my walls shaking. Both the physical ones that confine me to my room and the ones that are crumbling in my mind.

“Open the door, son, please,” my dad Sean calls.

“No. Unless you’re here to tell me I can come with you all, I’m not leaving this room.”

“That decision will be made depending on how the next few minutes go.”

His easygoing voice halts my stomping, and I stare at the door in disbelief. I don’t believe there’s ever been a day he’s lied to me, or ever gotten mad. I think his gift as a Plantist makes him more levelheaded. Always having to make sure you keep the realm’s plants alive, never allowing them to die or go extinct gives you an appreciation for patience.

Something I severely lack even on my best days despite trying to prove to everyone else otherwise.

Today, though, my fuse is even shorter than normal.

Slinging my door open, I glare at my dad in newfound anger. It’s bullshit they’re not letting me go with them to rescue Caspian. It’s even bigger bullshit Aunt Rory gave in to Corentin so easily under the stipulation he stayed by my mom.

I can kick ass far harder than he can.

“That anger, son, is going to destroy a forest one day. Then where will the animals and vegetation live?”

I swear if my element were fire, there’d be smoke coming out of my nose.

“Are you going to let me go or not?” I grit the question out between clenched teeth.

“Come with me.”

Silently, we march—my dad walks normally—down the hall of the east wing. Every step has the picture frames vibrating and me sneering with every laugh that falls from his lips.

Exiting the wing, my other three dads are sitting in a circle in the grass, surrounding my mom. They’re all quiet and pay us no attention as we walk up.

“Sit with me, Tillme,” Mom says softly, patting the grass beside her.

Huffing, I do as she asks and drop down with the force of an earthquake. The ground may even shake a little and my mom blows out a steady breath.

“I’m sorry for upsettingyou so badly,” she says quietly.

Guilt tries to force its way through my rage, but I swallow it down. She’s always so understanding, so gentle, sweet, but right now, I’m angry at her, and I don’t find any of this fair.

“I don’t understand why Corentin gets to go and I don’t. We’ve had the same amount of training, preparation. We’ve been on the same number of small-scale missions. He’s no more or less prepared than I am.”

“I never said any of that to be the case of why I said you couldn’t go, Tillman. My decision was solely based on the way you react to things, son. This is a high-stakes mission. One that could mean life or death, and in those situations, you cannot lose your cool or it could mean losing someone you love.”

“Then what can I do to prove to you I can do that? I’ll do anything,” I beg.

“Just sit with me, Tillme. Sit and listen to me. Close your eyes and focus on my words. Can we try that first?” she asks so low, I have to strain to hear.

Darkness presses in as I do what she asked and I close my eyes, but I still sense everything around me and inside my mind. The steady buzz of the earth, the rustling leaves, the thoughts of my dads surrounding us, although I try to ignore them. Each one is whispering reassurances and relaxing words to me, trying to calm my mind, but really, it’s just too much. Between the low tones, the outside noises, and the anger buzzing in my ears, it’s overwhelming.

“Breathe, son. It’s just us. We’re all here with you. Breath with me,” my dad Ian says quietly.

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