Page 36 of An Honored Vow

What if she never got control of her magic? What if it festered inside of her until it tore at her mind and body, fracturing her like Riven’s had? She might not feel pain now, but neither had Riven for the first few years of his life, not until his gift had blossomed and he transformed that first time.

I swallowed. Part of me didn’t want Gwyn to discover her powers. I wanted her to stay in that in-between state where she was safe, even if it was for a little while. The other crueler part of me wanted her magic to explode out of her at its peak so I could glimpse the worst to come.

Catastrophizing was torture. I’d seen too much, done too much in my life, to imagine the worst for Gwyn.

I pulled at the collar of my tunic, letting the air cool the sweat from my skin.

“Perhaps the wind is your element.” Feron looked at me.

My jaw cocked to the side. Gwyn had started the day trying that gift. But his patient stare got the best of me.

“Stand on your mark,” I told Gwyn, pointing at the grass she’d kicked.

She sighed but took her place. I walked her through the exercise, holding my breath as her fingers came to life and waited for a gust or a tiny breeze to blow across my face.

But nothing came.

Gwyn shrieked in rage. A flock of birds nearby scattered like leaves in the wind Gwyn couldn’t conjure.

She kicked the back of Feron’s rock. “Fuck!”

Gwyn fell to the ground.

Fyrel ran to her side. “Maybe we should try again tomorrow.”

“No,” Gwyn snapped. “I can do this. Ineedto do this!”

I pulled off her boot. “You need to stay still. You have a broken toe.” I pressed my fingers around the rest of her foot, feeling for swelling and breaks along the ankle just as Rheih had taught me. “Look away,” I ordered, readying to snap her knuckle back into place.

Gwyn crossed her arms and didn’t break my gaze.

I shook my head.

Snap.

She groaned but refused to move. I called my healing gift forward and let it ease her pain as the bones fused back together. I didn’t call it back until Gwyn’s breathing had settled and her jaw relaxed.

I lifted her foot, checking my work. The scar along her ankle caught the light just like my names did on the rare occasions I let sunlight touch them. The tether that had bound Gwyn to the palace for most of her life hadn’t disappeared but settled into a fine silver line.

It had burned into her skin like a brand the day her mother died. And even though the magic was broken, she would carry the relic with her for the rest of her days. No matter how far she got from the kingdom, no matter who won the war I’d started, she would carry that past with her everywhere.

My magic prickled under my skin. But there were things magic couldn’t fix.

Gwyn sat up, tucking her chin onto her knees.

“You don’t need to be this hard on yourself.” I patted her leg.

Her amber eyes flashed. “Yes, I do. I need to be ready.”

I stilled. “Ready for what?”

Gwyn picked at the grass, unable to meet my eyes. “To fight.” Her jaw pulsed, and I knew she didn’t mean fight on the battlefield.

She only had one target in mind.

Her fingers traced the outline of her tether without looking. How many times had she done that in the palace, dreaming of her freedom? Now that she had it, all she could think about was going back and gutting Damien like he had her.

Panic pulled at my ribs until it hurt to breathe. No matter what happened, I would rather die than let Gwyn go after Damien on her own.

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