Page 34 of An Honored Vow

I stepped forward. The power under my skin hissed like a red-hot poker being pulled from a flame, knowing it was about to brand.

I stood over Syrra. Her long waves brushed against my knee. “You’re certain?”

The scars along her arms twitched. “As sure as my arrow flies.”

Myrrah huffed a laugh but rolled her chair back against the wall. As far away from the magic as possible.

I glanced at the others. “The rest of you should stand back too.”

No one spoke as they made their way to the back wall, covering the seam of grain with their half-curious, half-worried faces.

Only when everyone was as far from me as possible did I lift my hand. It hovered over Syrra’s chest as I let the power dammed inside me overflow. I touched Syrra’s forehead, and the magic rushed forward.

It was different than Gwyn’s transformation. Perhaps because I was not panicked, I could control the speed of the magic as it poured out of me in ribbons of gold light. Riven gasped as the light twisted around Syrra’s arms, as deft and tangible as his shadows had been.

The light trailed up the length of Syrra’s body and then down. It tapped her scars wherever her skin met the air, searching like a mouse for a hole to crawl into.

But it didn’t find one.

I held my breath, waiting for the light to sink into Syrra, gripping her the way my magic had with Gwyn, but it didn’t come. Instead the gold ribbons began to fade at the end as they retreated back into my palm. The sensation sent a shiver down my spine. My body became a waterfall for magic with no place to go.

The magic felt cooler on its return, unspent and sad.

Syrra opened her eyes. They were as dark as ever.

Darythir clucked her tongue as Rheih inspected Syrra’s brown irises. She tugged on her lids until Syrra swatted her hand away.

“Keera’s suspicions were correct.” The Mage turned back around, the tug of curiosity pulling at her lips. “Only a Halfling can receive her gifts.”

I shook my head. “Only a Halfling can receive my curse.”

Elaran scoffed and leaned back on her chair so her body was draped over it like silk. “Unfair of you to call it a curse while you stand there with more gifts than any other Fae, living or dead.” The room went still. Elaran smiled softly at Gwyn. “Do you feel cursed, lovely?”

Gwyn’s body hardened. “Not at all.”

“We don’t even know what her powers are.” My hand clenched.

“Precisely,” Elaran said, her face sharp and pinched. “So you cannot decide for her whether it’s a curse or not.” She flicked her wrist. “Perhaps you shouldn’t decide at all.”

My jaw snapped shut. Elaran smirked and slowly pulled the sharp pin from her bundle of curls. Riven leaped over the back of the chair in front of him and placed himself between me and her before my hand had fully gripped my dagger.

“So reactive,” Elaran purred.

“How else do you expect others to respond to threats?” Riven’s nostrils flared wide as his hand grabbed for his own weapon. The shadow of his hood shifting dangerously close to his eyes.

Gerarda stepped in front Elaran without a hint of fear in her face. She looked bored, the smallest staring up at the largest Elverin in the room. “El was not making a threat.”

“I was actually.” She crossed her arms.

Feron leaned forward on his cane. “I expect this conversation to be civil.”

Gerarda plucked the weapon from Elaran’s hand before she could issue another threat. “Perhaps we should discuss this later. When everyone’s had time to digest what’s transpired.”

Elaran drummed her fingers along her arm. “What is there to digest other than Keera holds victory in her hand and refuses to use it?”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “It is not that simple.”

Elaran’s brows perked upward. “No? Then perhaps you want to keep the magic all for yourself?” She leaned forward, head resting on Gerarda’s shoulder, who fought to keep her body between ours. “Scared that if you give away too much of your magic, there’ll be nothing left for you?”

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