Page 33 of An Honored Vow

Her worried gaze shifted from Gwyn to me.

I flattened my hands onto the table. “Damien will attack the Fae first. As soon as his forces spot anyone using their powers, Damien will attack them with every ship, soldier, and weapon he has. The Fae warriors who remain have trained for centuries; their control over their powers is habit. And they have centuries more experience to knowexactlywhat they are signing up for. But the Halflings you want me to turn into Fae?” I took my time to look around the table. “They are not warriors. They will be vulnerable and many, if not all, will die taking Elverath back for the rest of you.”

Darythir waved her hand.

“You are certain your gifts only extend to Halflings?” Feron interpreted.

My belly hardened. “Unlike Damien, I do not make it a habit of experimenting on others with magic I do not understand.”

“Then you do not know.” The age in Darythir’s cheeks made her frown even more pronounced. Her dark eyes narrowed at me as she leaned forward on the table.

Syrra stood. Her sudden movement made everyone in the room flinch with surprise. She ignored the reactions, only looking at me. “I volunteer to take this test.”

I froze. “Absolutely not.”

“Keera, you cannot paddle in both directions.” Syrra straightened to her full height, her half braid falling from her shoulder. “I agree with you—this war should not be won by filling our front lines with turned Halflings. There are seasoned warriors among the Elves who would gladly take that burden. Let me be the first to claim it.”

I shook my head. “What if it doesn’t work?”

“I have been content as an Elf.” Syrra hid her hands behind her back. “I do not see why that would change.”

“What if the magic is tainted?” I raised a brow and glanced at Riven. “What if my gift does turn you, even though it shouldn’t, because we were greedy enough to push our blessings? What if the magic lashes and festers inside you because you were never meant to exist and you carry the pain of that every day?” Riven shifted behind her chair, keeping his head low underneath his cloak, but I kept going. “Could you live with pain like that? Knowing there would be no guarantee you would have a second form to spare you?”

The room went quiet. Darythir’s brows furrowed at my words, but it was Riven’s place to tell her what I meant.

Riven placed a hand on Syrra’s arm. “Keera is right to ask the question, and you would be right to consider it.”

Whatever gifts I did possess, I knew I didn’t understand them. And though I was not raised in a time or land lush with magic, I knew enough to know that it could always react in unexpected ways.

Some not for the better.

Syrra did not cower. Her neck flexed and her gaze trailed down me like the sharp point of a blade. “Then I shall bear it with gratitude that it was I who volunteered and the burden is not carried by another.”

I rubbed the skin along my palm. My magic itched, yearning to be unleashed once more. I stood strong even as the sensation crept down my body until my bones vibrated.

Syrra had answered her question like any warrior would, but now it was my turn. Would I be able to live with the knowledge that my hands had bestowed that pain on another? Not just another, but a friend.

Darythir leaned back in her chair, eyes shifting between me and Syrra. She would not allow the council to assume there were any restraints on my gift until proven otherwise.

There was no path forward without experimenting on someone.

And if not Syrra, who? She had been the one who had spent her life training as a protector of her realm, her people. Her sister, her lover, her child. Syrra more than anyone knew what the cost a decision like this could be, and she had volunteered anyway.

The itching along my palm intensified to a slow, undeniable burn.

“Fine.” My answer cut through the tension in the room like one of Gerarda’s throwing knives. I nodded to the chair. “You should sit.”

Syrra’s back tensed and somehow her feet sunk lower into the live grain of the floor.

Gwyn caught on to my annoyance and cleared her throat. “Sitting would be best. I lost consciousness for a moment when I turned.”

Syrra narrowed her eyes at Gwyn, but the girl did not waver. She lifted her chin, and her amber eyes glinted with a faint glow.

Syrra nodded once.

“This will be most comfortable,” Feron said with a slow wave of his hand. The grain of the wood behind him split open, revealing pink skies and the cool dusk air with it. Two thick branches slithered through, vines curling down them like intertwining snakes until a soft hammock of green hung between them.

Syrra sat along the edge and lay back. Her feet still planted on the floor.

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