Page 121 of What Blooms from Death

She shook her head.

Though she obviously tried to mask it, I’d seen the fear that flashed in her eyes at the question, and I realized…she was afraid of her own power.

Reasonable enough, given what that power had done on the night of her eighteenth birthday. And I could only guess at what sort of chaos she’d endured before that.

But it still bothered me, for some reason, that her caretakers had opted to bind her powers rather than embrace them. Maybe she’d had her share of controlling keepers, too—they were simply nicer than the ones I’d grown up with.

I didn’t say any of this out loud. But, as I watched her possess the knife and effortlessly pull it up into the air again, directing it toward the bench where our other weapons rested, I found myself wondering what sort of queen she might ultimately become, and where the true edge of her power lay.

“So, they all channel different strands of your magic?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said, considering each of the bracelets in turn before focusing on one woven from an assortment of colorful threads, tugging it away from her wrist for me to see. “This is the one that reacts whenever I have visions of the past. And if I can see the past, I wonder…”

“If I can see the opposite—the future?”

“It would be incredibly useful, wouldn’t it?”

“It would. Unfortunately, I’ve never experienced anything like that before.”

“And I’m still not particularly good at seeing the past,” she admitted—but her expression remained determined. “Maybe something simple, though. Maybe the knife again? I’ve seen glimpses of past things I’ve cut with it whenever I grasp it. So perhaps if you touch it…”

After a moment of deliberation, I walked to the bench and cautiously reached for the object in question. I wasn’t entirelysure Iwantedto see any part of what the future held for us—so it was almost a relief when nothing happened, regardless of how hard I squeezed the weapon.

“Nothing?”

I shrugged. “Afraid not.”

She looked defeated for half an instant before moving on. “Well, maybe we should work on perfecting what we’ve already had some success at.” With this, she pointed toward the knife and pulled it back into her command with a quick bit of concentration and a flourish of her wrist. “Take away my hold on it if you can,” she challenged.

I stepped forward to meet her.

Again and again, we practiced—her shadows sliding into the blade, taking control of it; my light following, attempting to draw the darkness back out, to break its hold.

The crowd above continued to watch, silently but intently, holding their breath as if waiting for something to go wrong. Nova occasionally threw them a haughty glance, but otherwise remained focused on the task at hand.

And, slowly, but surely, we began to see progress. She grew more confident, more swift in her movements. I nearly pulled her hold loose more than once—though she always managed to get control back. It felt like a representation of the time we’d spent together in this realm, in a way; a constant push and pull, the occasional breathless exchange of power and trust followed by frustration.

A long time passed before she showed signs of needing to stop—a hesitation, a sharp intake of air as her expression grew pained. Concern gripped me for an instant. The distraction proved costly; a slip of concentration from both of us, and the blade shot toward me, slicing my forearm as it came.

Nova let out a gasp. “Ah—sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s nothing.” I wrapped a hand around my arm to staunch the flow of blood while the crowd above grew restless, their whispers getting louder and louder.

Nova didn’t spare them another glance, but a muscle in her jaw twitched with what might have been a mixture of worry and irritation. “We should go inside and clean this up.”

“You want to get me away from my admirers and into a more private room, hm?”

“Keep talking,” she said, eyes narrowing, “and I will give you a matching scar on your other arm.”

I smiled at her threat, and her tone softened a bit as she added, “Actually, I just want to return your favor from the other day.” She ran a hand along her shoulder, which had made a full recovery since the incident in Erebos.

I hadn’t done much to aid in that recovery, aside from sending a weak bit of warm, soothing energy into the wound—not really a favor.

She was insistent, though. She walked to the pile of our clothing, slipping her own cloak back on before picking up my shirt and coat and tossing them to me. “You should probably cover up, anyway, before youradmirershurt themselves trying to get down here to treat your injuries.”

Chuckling, I pulled the loose shirt over my head, gingerly rolling up the sleeves, trying to avoid smearing it with blood. As soon as that was settled, Nova took hold of my hand and dragged me inside.

“You dragging me away like this looks very scandalous to my admirers, I’d imagine,” I said.

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