CHAPTER 40

CHAPTER 40

AUREN

Yesterday, as everyone filled mein on all the political moves that’ve been happening since Ranhold, I realized just how sheltered I’ve been. How much they’ve tried to shield from me. But now that those shields are down, they included me in all the talks. Several times, one of them would look over to me and ask my thoughts on the matter. I startled the first couple times, caught myself frowning in confusion another.

I’ve been a silent witness to hundreds of political meetings over the years, but the key word is silent. I was never invited to voice an opinion, never allowed to ask questions. I was just the caged pet meant to be gawked at.

We all spoke for hours, and admittedly, I was out of my element. I’m not used to being asked for my judgment on things like this. But that’s just another reason why Slade and his Wrath are different. They all work together. Even when they argue, Slade isn’t pulling rank and meting out punishment. He opens every discussion, hears everyone’s say in the matter, from his Wrath to his mender—to even my guard. He listens to everyone, taking it all into account.

Midas would never have done that.

And despite such difficult topics, Slade seemed relieved after. Like this was a weight he’s been pulling behind him, secreted away from view as he silently shouldered the responsibility. But now that it’s all out in the open, he seems more self-assured and ready.

But me? My mind has been turned to mush, like porridge that’s had an overabundance of oats added. It’s a sticky slop with too many grains of thought congealed together in my head.

My sleep is fitful that night. I’m not sure when we finally all go to bed, but by the time we do, I wake up in desultory pieces, as fragments of dreams cut through my consciousness. I’m overloaded with brand new information coming at me from all directions.

I dream of the rotted prisoner. Of Ryatt screaming in my face to leave his home. Of Elore, only I see her from Slade’s account, of when he made that rip in the world, of her screaming until her voice no longer worked. I dream of Queen Kaila holding me hostage with ropes of collected whispers. I dream of my gold bursting out of me and encasing all of Drollard.

When my eyes drag open after that last dream, I decide not to close them again.

I’m done.

Not with sleep—but with me. With this heavy undertow, where I’m trying to move one way but I actually keep dragging myself back. And I’m not just holding myself back either, I’m also holding back a king who needs to protect his kingdom.

I know what I have to do.

So, I carefully get out of bed, even though we only just got into it a few hours ago. I quietly dress and then go to the door, checking on Slade’s sleeping form before I slip out. From the hook beside the banked fire in the living room, I grab my coat and shrug it on before stepping into my boots. The house is quiet and still and cold, but I’m shrouded in a nervous warmth.

The normally creaky front door of the Grotto doesn’t make a sound as I open it and slip out. Ahead, the cave yawns open with the barest hint of dawn cresting against the landscape. I walk toward the muted light, tucking my hands beneath my arms as I leave the protection of the cavern.

The air is placid and raw, the kind of cold that sticks to your breath and makes your lungs feel like ice. I turn my back on the silent village and aim up the slope, my steps sure, my mind determined.

Because I’m going to master my power.

If Slade could learn to do it when he was eight, then I can do it now. I have to.

So I drag my ass up the freezing hill, with my body encased in the shade of the mountain to my right. I go past the Perch, past the Mole, cursing under my breath as my boots sink into the snow and my legs burn. I forgot how long the walk was to get up here. But finally, I pull myself into the cave that’s polluted with the splashes of gold I left behind.

My eyes adjust to the dim lighting, to the solidified gold that’s pooled in the center of the rocky floor. When I move closer though, a shadow that I’d mistaken for one of the rock formations shifts. I jump back in surprise, a yelp popping out of my lips.

I stare wide-eyed at the timberwing that unfolds its wings, lifting its head to look at me.

“Great Divine, you scared me,” I say shakily, hand covering my now racing heart.

The giant beast raises its nose, like it’s scenting me.

I’m going to go out on a shaky limb and say that’s not a good sign.

It watches me entirely too closely from its spot on the gilded ground, while I debate what the hell to do.

“The last time I was conscious around a timberwing, it wanted to eat my face off, so I need you to go.”

A pair of glowing eyes blink.

The thing is bigger than a horse, with massive wings held against its dappled body, taloned feet tucked beneath it. If it was surprised by my appearance, it certainly doesn’t show it, nor is it threatened by me. And why would it be? It’s got a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth.

I take my hand away from my chest long enough to flick at it. “Go on. Shoo.”

I honestly didn’t really think that was going to work, so I’m not surprised when it just continues to sit there. A sigh comes out of me, and I cross my arms. “Look, I just had to walk a very long way to get here. Through the snow. Uphill. So I’m not leaving. I need this space to practice my magic because I can’t be in a populated kingdom without getting a hold of my power until I’m sure I won’t gild a whole castle. Again.”

The beast yawns.

“Oh, you’re bored?” I drawl, fisting my hands at my hips. “Fine, then. If you get gilded while I’m practicing, don’t come crying to me about it. It’ll be entirely your fault.”

It licks its lips and tucks its head back beneath its wing, like it’s bored of me and wants to return to its nap.

“Stubborn beast,” I mutter under my breath.

It makes a noise deep in its chest, causing me to jump a little. Because yes, I’m still very scared of it, but I’m scared of a wasted trip uphill even more. At least, so long as this thing doesn’t start coming at me with its teeth. Then I’ll take the hill.

“Okay, I’m just going to start, then,” I call as I walk to the other end of the cave.

It doesn’t stir.

Letting out a breath, I warily keep it in my sights as I walk further away, careful to keep plenty of distance between us. I reach a spot on the floor where there’s a puddle of solid gold, and just behind it, a wall with some more gold splattered onto it.

I think this is the wall. The wall where I basically launched myself at Slade. My cheeks heat as I remember the animalistic way we clashed.

Bright side, at least the timberwing wasn’t there for that.

I carefully lower myself to the ground, crossing my legs beneath me. I stare at the frozen gold, its color dulled in the hazy dawn light, and I look at my slightly distorted reflection. With the way the gold solidified, it makes my face look sharper, eyes almost glowing as much as the timberwing’s, and my expression looks more...fae.

For a second, I’m a little caught off guard, because it’s as if I’m looking at that other side of myself. At the Auren who was more beast than person, at the fae who burst free for vengeance and blood.

Or maybe it’s just a trick of the eye.

I stare at the reflection, palms on my knees, searching for a gleam in my eye, a malevolent spark, anything to recognize that part of me that unleashed.

“My magic isn’t working right,” I say aloud, looking right into my eyes. “It hasn’t been ever since I woke up. And I’m pretty sure that’s because of that night in Ranhold.”

My reflection watches, and I’m probably just feeding into this, but I swear, I see myself smirk.

“But this is my power,” I say, fortifying my words. “It’s mine to control.”

I think my reflection might be daring me to prove it’s true.

I scrape off my glove, letting the leather fall to the ground beside me. Turning my hand in front of me, I look at my palm, at the shape of my fingers, the lines on my fingertips.

Behind me, the dawn is brightening ever so slightly, birthing a new day, and I hope it awakens my magic. Yet when I press my hand against the floor of the cave, nothing happens. No gold drips from my fingertips, no slick liquid metal coats my palm.

“Come on,” I murmur beneath my breath, keeping my skin pressed against the cold rock floor. It’s funny how I would’ve given anything to have been able to touch during the day without gilding anything. But now, I need to do everything I can to get my gold-touch back.

It’s time to stop blocking my power.

I press my palm hard against the rock, my fingertips digging into it like I want to claw my way through, but still, nothing happens. A breath of frustration tears past my lips with jagged edges that cut through the quiet. From the corner of my eye, I see the timberwing pick up its head, and I freeze in place.

When it doesn’t leap up and decide to eat me, I give it a heedful once-over. It stares right back at me, unblinking, and as I stare back at it, a chill travels down my spine. My eyes drop back to my gilded reflection, then back to the timberwing, and a jolting recognition shoves its way in my head. It suddenly reminds me of the beast, the one that clawed its way through my barriers and burst free.

Slade said I’m not a monster. He said the beast is the fae side of me. Now, I don’t know much about being a fae, and I know next to nothing about beasts, but there’s one thing I do know.

Beasts can be tamed.

“That’s it,” I hear myself say, and the timberwing cocks its head at me. The fae in me has no problem whatsoever with controlling the magic, because it’s inherent. My problem is that I’ve always fought or hidden my magic—and my fae nature.

I never embraced it. Never embraced myself.

Maybe I always had this ability to control gold, to call to it even after the sun went down. Maybe I just never found my voice to summon it before.

But I have a voice now.

Looking back down, I press my hand against the rock, the cold biting through my skin. “This is my power,” I say beneath my breath. “It’s not gone. It’s not broken. It’s just changed. I’ve changed.”

I close my eyes and let out a deep breath. I shove away all other thoughts, focusing entirely on searching for that side of myself that burned and scraped, the part that simmered and inflamed. I delve deep, fully expecting for this not to work right away, but it’s as if this part of me was there all along.

Just waiting.

Like a savage predator poised in the shadows of my soul, it lies eager and alert. Glowing eyes alight on me, wings of burning gold tucked against its body like flames. It looks at me, and I look at it, but it’s a bit like going through a tunnel. I’m not sure where its sight begins and mine ends, how long the stretch lasts between the bright pupil, or if the two are even separate at all.

I feel my lips curling, relief filling me. Because the beast—the fae—in me isn’t something to be feared. It’s me. It always has been. I feel that now.

And my power, it’s not some uncontrollable force, nor has it dried up. It’s there, like an eternal fire of gilded flames burning in the center of my soul. I feel my magic just as I feel the beat of my heart. It’s in my veins, coursing through my limbs, simmering beneath my skin. All I need to do is reach out and take control of it.

When I open my eyes again, a sense of calm has washed over me, because this time, I know what to do. It’s instinct.

I stoke the flames of the beast’s wings, and the gold drips down through me. I don’t try to pull or panic, I don’t try to force it or inundate myself with doubts.

I simply call to it with my newfound voice, and it answers.

The smile widens on my face when I feel the familiar warmth beneath my skin. A second later, my palm goes slick. I let out a whoop when the gold streams out of my hand and starts to gild the floor, merging with the frozen puddle before me.

I look up at the timberwing with a triumphant smile. “I did it!”

The beast blinks at me, and I don’t even mind that it doesn’t look impressed, because I’m too excited that I finally managed to use my magic on command while fully conscious and in control.

I immediately celebrate by yanking off my other glove. I press my palms against my leggings, my shirt, my socks and boots, elated, ecstatic, feeling like for the first time ever, I can celebrate my own magic.

When I’m gilding my gloves, a clap sounds behind me, and I whirl around in surprise. Slade’s there, leaning against the wall of the cave, looking offensively sexy. No person should be able to look that effortlessly good in the light of dawn.

But I’m sure glad he does.

He’s wearing unlaced boots caught over low-slung pants and a wrinkled shirt with its sleeves shoved up his forearms. He’s not even wearing a coat, like he rushed out before pulling one on.

He stops clapping, his hands slipping into his pockets, while the grin on his face and gleam in his eye make my stomach flip. “Well done, Goldfinch. I knew you could do it.”