Page 48 of Heart of the Shadow King

My lips quirk. I’m not convinced Theodre has any depths to him. Even when my gods-gift was sensitive to the feelings of others, I never detected anything beyond pettiness, frustration, and flashes of temper. “Don’t worry about my brother,” I say. “He’s a nuisance, but I’ll make certain he keeps out of the way.”

Another grunt. “Show me what you’ve learned.”

Six days have given me time to adjust to Maylin’s abrupt ways, so this change of topic does not throw me off balance. I turn and face her, shivering a little under the frosty intensity of her blue eyes. I hold out my arm and roll back my sleeve, revealing the prickle of crystals encrusting my skin. It’s still strange to see, to look at that arm, at that hardness, and know it is a part of me. But I’ve learned much under Maylin. I’ve learned the emptiness inside me—the absence where all those feelings once whorled, causing me storms of pain—that space, that hole, is the source of all new possibilities. It's a relief not to feel the pain of others. After so many years of battery and blasting, so many years of struggling to know which feelings were mine and which belonged to someone else, so many years of carrying weight that wasn’t mine to bear . . . I need not feel anything. Not with a cold, crystalline crust to protect me.

This is freedom. Freedom I never knew I wanted. Freedom I’m beginning to crave.

Maylin takes my arm in her withered hands, turning it this way and that to inspect the crystals. “Good, good,” she says softly. Her eyes flick to meet mine. “But you’re still holding on too hard. Your brother. You’re worried for him.”

“No,” I protest. “He’s an annoyance. Nothing more.”

The witch narrows her eyes. “Always trying to carry the feelings of others. Their worries, their fears, their petty regrets. You must let go. Let it all go! None of it belongs to you. It only gets in the way.”

I drop my lashes. The crystals along my arm sink back into my flesh, a shivering sensation like melting ice. I shudder and cradle my arm against my chest. “I told you, I don’t feel the feelings of others,” I whisper. “Not anymore.”

“That doesn’t mean you’ve ceased trying to carry them.” The witch shrugs. “It’s an instinct. One you must learn to suppress if you’re to have any hope of success. That empathy of yours will not defeat the dragon.”

I blow a blustering breath through my lips.

“Out with it,” Maylin snaps. “I feel the resentment stirring through you. Might as well say it as not: you don’t believe me. Even now you doubt everything I’ve told you.”

“It’s just . . .” My words trail off. I turn my gaze up to the crystals surrounding me, taking in their contours, feeling their subtle vibrations. “You’ve taught me incredible things, Maylin, and I am grateful. But I don’t understand how you expect me to defeat a dragon.”

“I expect you to put the dragon intova-jor.”

All the air seems to leave my lungs. In a flash, I’m back before the altar to the Dark, surrounded by a deep, chanting drone. The blindness was so deep in that place, but a pulsing red aura filled my senses, creating a kind of sight, revealing the worshippers all partially turned to stone. And Queen Roh. Giving her blood to feed the crystals. To feed the magic as it rippled over the throng.

“Vor told me aboutva-jor,”I say softly. “It’s black magic.”

“It is a trolde religious practice,” Maylin replies. “Only without a gods-gift, they cannot perform it to its full potential.”

I push to my feet and back away from Maylin. She tips her head to one side, blinking blandly up at me. “It’s evil.”

“Is it?” Another blink. “How so exactly?”

“Turning people to stone?” I indicate my arm, warm and alive once more. “It’s one thing to put a crust over the flesh. Butva-joris complete enstonement: mind, body, and spirit. It’s not a covering, not a shield. It’s everything.”

The witch shrugs. “And? Stone is the natural state of troldefolk.”

“People are meant to feel! To live and breathe and hurt and know.”

“Such a human perspective. Though I suppose I shouldn’t expect any different.” Maylin climbs slowly, achingly to her feet. “Trolde are ever seeking to return to stone. It is their ultimate purpose. But”—she holds up a hand to stop my protests—“we are not here to debate trolde theology. The point is,va-jorcan be used against the dragon. If she can be rendered stone, her wicked dreams will cease, her stirrings still. She will feel no more pain, no more rage. And she will not rise.”

“It would kill her.”

“Yes. Before she wakes anddestroysthis entire world. What are you failing to grasp here, girl?” She steps forward and raps my forehead with the end of her stick. “Time to get your head on straight! It’s all well and good for you to offer that terrifying empathy of yours to cave devils. But let’s not forget youdiedwhile setting them free of their pain. Such will always be your fate when you open yourself up to pain on that scale. You simply aren’t built to contain it.”

She sighs then and turns from me, tottering to stand between two of the great stones. Her view extends over the garden out to the city itself. She leans heavily on her stick. I’m struck again by how small she is. What must it have been like for her, brought here all alone to accomplish an impossible feat? Yet she strove with everything she had to make herself stronger, to make herself more. All to fail in the end.

But she hasn’t failed. Not yet.

Not while she still has me.

“There you go again.” Maylin turns, fixing a glare upon me. “You say you can no longer feel the feelings of others. Yet even now you’re trying to feel mine for me. Don’t think I haven’t noticed! I’ve been at this far longer than you realize.” She lifts one hand from her stick, pointing a withered finger at me. “It’s not enough. You cannot be this compassionate, pathetic creature. The dragon must die. Do you understand? She must die, and you are the only one who can kill her.Listen to me, child.”

She totters toward me, eyes blazing bright gold. Little crystals erupt from her cheekbones and jaw, transforming her face into something grim and unyielding. “Vor doesn’t need a simpering, wide-eyed doll. He needs a warrior. A woman who can harden herself. Who can become a pillar of strength to uphold this entire world. So, you must make yourself stone. Not just this outer body—your heart and soul as well.”

I draw back, raising my arms defensively. I scarcely notice the crystals hardening across my skin, protruding from my fingers, my elbows, my shoulders.

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