Page 35 of An Honored Vow

My anger broiled. How did Elaran not see that was the least of my worries? If Damien’s army was not preparing for war, I would gladly do whatever I needed to be rid of my magic. From the moment my mother placed me in that godforsaken tree, all magic had done was hand me decisions of ruin.

Feron stood with his arm extended to the door. “We should discuss this after breakfast.”

I ignored him. “Perhaps it’s you who wants it all for herself?” I lifted my hand. The palm was pulsing with golden light. “Don’t hide behind the fate of the war when all you want is a taste.”

Elaran stepped forward, grabbing my dagger from its sheath. Riven slid his weapon out, but Elaran merely cut a slit through her woven sleeve, exposing her tan skin. “Do it then.”

My heart thrummed in my chest, pulsing so heavily it echoed in my skull, drowning out the explosion of voices in the room. The intoxicating warmth of that new magic flooded through me, coaxing me into unleashing it out of spite. To give in to the momentary goodness of that relief.

No.

I swallowed. My days of succumbing to my whims were over. I did not want to do this, so I wouldn’t. No matter how much Elaran or my magic pulled me into it.

I opened my mouth to say just that when a thick branch wrapped around my waist and Elaran’s too. We were both flung backward, hurtled to opposite sides of the room.

For the first time, I could see true anger on Feron’s ancient face. His long twists swayed behind him as he stepped into the middle of the room, his cane knocking against the floor the only sound anyone made at all.

“Enough.” His disgust was heavy on his tongue. “I will not have such chaos present at this council.” He turned to me. “I agree with Keera.”

Elaran huffed a disappointed laugh.

“For now,” Feron added. “Until we discern the extent of Gwyn’s gifts and their reliability, it is best that Keera does not turn anyone else.”

My shoulders eased against Riven’s chest.

Feron’s eyes glowed violet, unfocusing for the briefest moment. Then his brow flickered and his focus returned to the room. “It seems we have a more pressing matter.”

The wall split open just as Feron finished his words, revealing a short Halfling with stitched ears and a fastener along his cloak.

A courier.

Feron held out his hand. The Halfling was holding a letter.

“It’s not for you.” The Halfling boy bowed his head apologetically to Feron. “It’s for her.”

He turned to me with an outstretched hand. I flipped the envelope to find the red seal of crossed sheaves of wheat. The sigil of the House of Harvest.

I ripped the envelope open and pulled out a finely dyed piece of parchment.

Lord Kilmor cordially invites you to celebrate the inauguration of the new king.

Riven peered over my shoulder. “The ball?”

But I wasn’t reading the rest of the invitation. I barely noticed the date.

All I saw was the delicate scrawl across the top. It was the same writing that filled my notebooks with frantic messages back and forth for months.

It’s time.

Dynara was ready to bring the courtesans home.

CHAPTERFOURTEEN

“THIS IS USELESS!” Gwyn kicked a patch of grass with her boot. The amber glow around her fingertips faded as she stomped the ground, cursing under her breath.

Feron sat on a rock he had pulled from the ground two hours before. He had gotten Gwyn to try every gift he could think of, but her magic hadn’t responded to any of it.

Riven pushed my shoulders down to massage my neck. Even though Gwyn insisted she felt no pain when her fingers glowed, every attempt twisted my insides into knots.

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