Page 43 of Bound to the Fae Assassin

Quickly, now, she told the ivy. Fast as you can move.

Blackthorn drew in a breath beside her.

She opened her eyes but kept them trained on the bright flames of verdant green magic that danced in her palms.

The rustling grew behind her, like a harsh wind shaking the leaves of the ivy.

A moment later, an ocean of green leaves shivered past her, little roots setting down, new leaves unfurling and deepening in color faster than her eye could follow.

The vines climbed up the statue’s legs, wrapping around his torso and the sword he held, covering that hideous grin, covering him so completely that he might have been just a dead tree in the woods.

“Finish it,” Blackthorn whispered to her, sending a chill down her spine.

She’d never felt power like this at her fingertips before. It was intoxicating.

Farrow let it surge through her and closed her open hand into a fist. She watched as the ivy responded in kind, constricting the target until the wood beneath began to groan. She tightened her fist and the vines closed even more.

She thought of all the people in her life that had ever stood in her way. All the people that told her she could never be strong, never have real power, that she would always be nothing more than a poor baker’s daughter, never make a real mark on the world, that she existed only to serve…

She let out a scream as she pushed more power into the plants. Not asking, not suggesting.

Commanding.

There was a sound like a thunderclap as the wooden target shattered into a million splinters.

She relaxed her grip and almost fell to her knees as the magic left her. Beside her, Blackthorn let out an excited whoop.

The tingling was gone, but the vines kept growing, moving at a terrifying pace as it covered the other statues, looking for a new target to destroy.

She tried to reach out to it as she had before.

Stop.

It kept coming and she felt panic flare in the back of her mind.

“Feet shoulder width apart,” Blackthorn reminded her. “Palms up.”

She did as she was told, and commanded the ivy more harshly this time.

This time, the shivering movement stopped, and she was left with an odd, empty feeling.

Thank you, she said. You were incredible.

But she did not feel the return surge of warmth like she normally did.

Was this the price of commanding?

She certainly couldn’t argue with the result, but it felt less satisfying.

“Everything okay?” Blackthorn asked.

She nodded slowly.

“That was amazing, but I think I prefer to collaborate.”

“You’ll find a balance over time,” he told her. “Everyone figures it out on their own. We can come back here anytime you like to practice.”

Anytime? Is he planning on sticking around?

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