Chapter 29

29

T wo weeks. That's all the king gave me.

They fly by in a blur as Gnorr, Zadyn, and Jace throw an overload of information my way in preparation for the big day. I pray some of it sticks.

Jace and I incorporate more flying lessons into our training, which means more close, wet encounters that threaten to break the promise I made to myself to stay uninvolved. He seems to be in agreement, his focus making him colder and more strategic in our time together.

We work on deflecting and shadow walking, which, to no surprise, proves to be an excruciating challenge. I grasp the idea behind it easily enough, summoning the shadows at will. But I'm only able to jump from one end of a large clearing to another.

"That's good," Jace calls from across the expanse. He jogs over to me and passes me a canteen of water. I chug greedily.

"Remind me why we can't just take a boat to this island?" I glance up, sweating in the morning sun.

"The journey could take two weeks. And crossing the Erastin Ocean comes with its own set of challenges. Shadows would be the most efficient way to get there."

"But you're coming, right?" I ask.

He nods, taking back the canteen. "Of course."

"Then I need to practice shadowing with you."

"You can barely shadow from one end of the forest to the other on your own. You'll deplete your magic if you bite off more than you can chew before you're ready," he cautions, taking a swig of water.

"I'm nowhere near depleted. I can feel my magic. I'm tired, but I'm not on the verge of collapse."

He sighs deeply. "I'm not in the mood to argue."

Things have felt strained between us since the day Sorscha saw us heading back to the stables together. Both of us are trying so hard to behave. To keep things strictly professional. Platonic. Student-teacher.

Because that dynamic has always worked out well , a voice inside of me quips.

I push the thought away and straighten, hands on my leather-clad hips. "Then don't. Let me have my way and we'll both be much happier for it." I give him a wide, toothy grin. He rolls his eyes and opens his arms.

"Oh," I say in surprise. "Do I just—" I awkwardly slip under his arms, trying to leave as much space between our bodies as possible.

"We have to be touching, yes," he bristles.

I heave a sigh of annoyance, gingerly stepping into him.

"For gods' sakes, witch," he hisses impatiently, grabbing me by the arms and hauling me against him. I turn my head to the side, trying not to be crushed to his chest, trying not to inhale that campfire scent that will be my undoing. He takes my arms and wraps them around his waist.

Wonderful .

"Have at it," he says above my head, clearly perturbed. I try to summon the shadows, but they move slowly, curling around our ankles and rising like smoke.

"Today, preferably," he grumbles against me.

"I'm trying," I snap, gritting my teeth. In answer, the shadows spread faster, engulfing us toe to top. It takes more concentration to extend them around two people. I envision where I want to go.

Familiar darkness swallows us, a black hole with no light. Furious wind tornadoes around us as I clutch Jace to me tightly. We cling to each other, our bodies fused together as the smoke retracts, revealing the small white stone temple at the edge of the gardens. We stand, bracing each other on the steps leading up to the towering door.

I extricate myself from Jace and laugh. "I did it!"

"Beginner's luck." The proud, crooked smile that grows on this face belies his dismissive tone.

"What are you doing?" he asks as I push open the door and step inside the stone structure.

"Taking a break." My voice softly echoes off the cavernous high ceilings. "I've never been in here. It's beautiful."

The floor-to-ceiling marble houses nine alcoves altogether. They line the walls, lit by floor lanterns embedded in the stone. Each alcove contains a carved marble statue amid a shrine of fresh flowers, with symbols etched into the reflective walls below. Velvet-cushioned kneelers line the walls behind double rows of candles, glowing in their glass revivers.

On the far back wall are two shrines, larger and more grandiose than the others, situated above an altar. The alcoves are encrusted in black diamond, making the alabaster forms stand out in stark contrast. Exotic flowers and gifts made of gold lay at their feet. I drift down the aisle where two rows of pews are centered. I recognize these two as Urhlon and Aerill in fae form. Aerill wears nothing more than a drape around her hips, a crown of stars, and a necklace of the moon phases. Her mate is imposing and stern-faced in the alcove beside her, wearing nothing but a crown of suns.

"The gods." He sidles up to me.

"I gathered." I slide into the first pew, and Jace follows.

"That one there"—he points to the adjacent wall—"that's Silva. Mother of Witches."

I glance over at her shrine. Her alcove is painted with the five elements. Silva stands tall and proud—a crown of laurel leaves around her head. Her face is the portrait of serenity.

"I haven't prayed in a long time. I only really remember to do it when something bad is about to happen. But that's not really fair, is it?" I smile sadly.

"At solstice," I continue, staring at my hands, "when I denied Aerill, she told me never to call on the gods again. That they wouldn't listen. Which sucks because if there was ever a time to pray, it would be now. I don't know if I can do this. The shock of this new world, of magic, hasn't even worn off yet. I feel like I'm going in blind." I let out a long, slow sigh, the sound like air leaving a tire.

We grow quiet, and I can feel his eyes studying me. Then he says, "You're ready."

"I'm a baby witch. I've barely even scraped the surface of my magic."

He shifts, angling himself to face me in the pew. "You'll have time to master your magic. After you bond Prophyria."

"And if I fail? If I die before I have the chance?"

It's the first time I've allowed myself to voice these fears out loud. I've had blinders on, refusing to admit to myself that what I'm about to do is life or death. Jace wraps his hand around mine, his eyes a searing gold.

"You are not going to die. Do you hear me? "

"I don't trust myself."

My words are barely a whisper. It's what I've felt every day of my life for twenty-nine years. It's my darkest secret, one I've never admitted aloud. Jace's face is stern.

"You've trained for this. I've trained you for this." He slides an inch closer. "If you can't trust yourself, then trust me. You can do this."

"I keep waiting for that moment." I slide my eyes toward the likeness of Silva. "Where I do something truly amazing with my magic, some kind of huge feat that confirms it."

"Confirms what?" he says softly.

"Confirms that I'm really…a witch."

He curls his fingers beneath my chin and slides my face to look at his head-on. "You're more than that. You're a Blackblood."

"I'm coming with you." Zadyn sets his jaw, folding his arms over his chest as I shove a spare change of clothes into the thick gray sack.

"No, Zadyn, it's going to be dangerous."

"Exactly why I should be there."

"I don't need you to protect me," I point out mildly. His eyes track me as I cross to the armoire and slip my arms through a tight-fitted leather doublet.

He scoffs, coming to lean against the wood. "That's literally the job description of a familiar."

"I can take care of myself, I promise." I fasten the tiny buttons up the center of the jacket and slide my hands into the leather padded fingerless gloves.

"I don't doubt that, but?— "

I cut him off, holding up my hand. "Zadyn. I can't focus if I'm worried about you."

"There's no reason to worry about me. I'm a trained fighter. I fought in wars before you were even born. And having a shifter at your disposal can never hurt."

"I believe you." I place a steadying hand on his chest. "But I need to do this alone."

"Alone with Jace," he specifies mildly. I shake my head.

"It has nothing to do with that. I promise you." I stare up into those kind, familiar eyes. "Besides, you have an order from the king as emissary, remember?"

He rolls his eyes.

"Meeting the King of Vod at the border and escorting his party to the castle doesn't even rank on my list of priorities right now. Not when you're about to risk your life." He rubs his temple with one hand, closing his eyes momentarily.

"If you truly believe I was born for this, then what's the risk?" I stare up at him, and he sighs, sliding his hand over mine, resting above his heart.

"You know I believe in you." He shakes his head, his rich caramel hair catching on his dark lashes. I reach up and untangle them.

"I do."

A knock at my door makes me jump. Jace enters, wearing fighting leathers similar to mine and a low-slung belt of weapons. His eyes slide between us.

"It's time," he says.

Nodding, I snatch the bag off my bed. Zadyn catches my arm as I pass and hauls me to his chest. I slam into his solid form, the smell of bergamot and cedar washing over me. My arms wrap around his back and hold tight. He pulls away after a moment and turns me toward the door, toward Jace.

"Look out for her," Zadyn says, his voice rough .

"With my life." Jace dips his head and holds the door open for me.

We step out onto the lawn, the sun high in the sky. Jace turns to face me.

"Remember the plan. If you feel the shadows slipping, we go to one of the checkpoints we discussed. We don't have to make the walk in one go."

"Right." I envision the map Jace showed me yesterday with the circled pinpoints.

He hauls his bag over his head to rest across his chest and holds out his arms to me. I step into them.

"You're shaking," he notes.

"I know," I say more sharply than I intend. "I'm nervous."

"You're not alone. I'll be with you every step of the way."

"Almost every step," I counter.

"Oh, shut up," he says, pulling me tighter into him. I wrap my arms around his waist and take a deep, steadying breath. Feeling the vibration of the ground beneath me, the hum of magic prickling my limbs, I summon the shadows. They snake around us until we are devoured in darkness.

We hold fast to each other as the winds toss us and tug us in every direction. I feel the sweat beading on my forehead as I strain to hold the shadows in place. A little longer. I can hold out a few more seconds. I fight to concentrate, but my limbs start to feel heavy, lethargic.

"Serena," Jace says in the voice of the captain, "that's enough. You're fading fast."

I can't answer. I can't risk breaking my focus. My head lolls back, and Jace catches it in his leather-gloved hands.

"Serena, checkpoint. Now!" he barks, grasping at my face .

I call to mind the checkpoint closest to the island. I can make it. I know I can. I focus on the map in my head—on the red dot.

The shadows shift as soon as my mind does. I squeeze Jace for support, and he holds me upright against him as my limbs start to fall asleep.

"Serena," he growls my name, his fingers digging into my skin. "Stay with me."

Solid ground meets my feet the second before I lose all muscle control and drop like a ragdoll. Jace is there, easing me to the ground in his arms. He kneels with my back draped across his thighs, his arms bracketing my waist.

"Hey, hey!" he shouts, panic rising in his tone. "Stay with me, little witch. Come on." He holds my face, shaking me lightly. It takes a moment before I can speak. My hands and arms regain feeling before anything else, and I lift my hand to Jace's wrist. He scans over me, concern marring his angelic face.

"Talk to me," he whispers, shaking his head. Dark hair spills across his forehead. "Say something."

"I could have made it," I croak. He lets out a long breath.

"Stubborn little witch," he murmurs, his thumb skimming over my cheek. I try to sit up and am hit with a wave of dizziness as I clutch my head.

"Easy." Jace's hands are at my back.

I turn from him sharply, crawling on all fours to put some distance between us. I only make it a foot away before I vomit across the rough stone beneath me. Jace scrambles toward me, pulling my low ponytail out of the way as I heave and heave until the dizziness subsides.

When I'm certain there is nothing left to throw up, I drag myself a few feet away from my mess and collapse face-first onto the cool stone. The uneven surface digs into my cheek, but I couldn't care less .

"Come on," Jace says, attempting to lift me.

"No," I croak breathlessly. "Just let me rest here for a second."

"Alright."

My eyes drift shut, and Jace runs his fingers over my head, stroking down the ponytail along my neck and back repeatedly. Calm slowly eddies over me as I relax into his touch.

"You should have some water," he says after a long time. I manage a small nod. I push myself to my elbows as Jace fishes a canteen out of his pack and unscrews the cap. He lifts the canteen to my lips, and I take in a mouthful, pushing his hand back momentarily so I can spit the water onto the stone, clearing the foul taste from my mouth.

Much better , I sigh.

I take the canteen from his hands and sip slowly, regaining my strength.

Wiping my mouth on the back of my glove, I glance around, extending the canteen back to him. "Where are we?"

"The third checkpoint."

"Damnit," I swear, flopping onto my back. He leans over me, resting one hand on the other side of my waist.

"Do you know how hard it is for a novice to shadow two people? What you just did takes years to master. We're three-quarters of the way there. We can set up camp here for the afternoon while you regain your strength. See how you feel later."

I nod in agreement.

Jace pulls a large tarp from the gray sack and unfolds it as I prop myself up on my palms. He stretches it out and takes a few steps back.

The tarp rises and expands like a balloon, forming four corners and a steep middle point. The tent stands perfectly erect as Jace turns back to me proudly .

"Nice," I compliment. The corner of his mouth pulls up. I glance around at the strange sand-less beach surrounding us. Crystal blue water kissed with white foam crashes against tall, jagged rocks. Behind us is nothing but flat, dark gray rock as far as the eye can see. Nothing else.

"These are the Outlands?" I ask, taking another sip of water. Above us is an expansive sky of grayish blue. Cloudless. The kind of sky that heralds a brewing storm. Jace nods in confirmation.

"We're on the Eastern border of Aeix. They call this Stone Beach."

"Fitting," I say dryly, watching Jace pull a small bedroll out of his pack and spread it on the tent floor. The gentle wind sends small ripples through the sides of the material.

"I thought it would be a safe bet for a checkpoint. The surrounding land is all but abandoned."

"Why?"

"Harsh conditions. Nothing can grow here; it's all rock. Rock and water."

I get to my feet and take a few steps toward the tide.

"Don't go any further," he cautions, holding out a hand. I glance back at him, perplexed.

"The Naiads here are vicious and starved for flesh."

"Naiads?" I ask.

"A type of water nymph," he clarifies. "Don't worry, they won't come up past the shore. They need to be touching water at all times. Just stay away from the tide, and you'll be fine."

That doesn't sound too reassuring.

"Why would the Redbloods relocate here with nothing around for miles?"

"They went further south, toward the Mydlands, where the magic is more potent. The Outlands are all brutal desert and flat rock land like this. It's not an easy or comfortable journey for travelers passing through, which is what they wanted." Jace waves a hand, and the flap of the tent pulls back. Stepping inside, I realize it's more spacious than I thought. I sit cross-legged on the bedroll as Jace digs into his bag and extends an apple to me. I grimace, remembering how I puked my guts up a little while ago. He seems to realize it, too, as he stuffs the apple back into the bag and stretches out beside me.

"The island is just over this ocean." He nods his head in the direction of the crashing waves outside the tent.

I try to stifle a yawn, but it gets the better of me.

"Sleep."

"But—" I begin to protest, but he holds up a hand, gently quieting me.

"We're in no hurry, little witch. Slow and steady." I peer into his golden eyes, eyes I've known in other worlds, other lives. Heaving a sigh, I stretch out on my side and prop my head on my hand.

"Tell me a story." He gives me a look that says, do I look like I do stories?

"It will help me sleep. Come on. Indulge me."

"What kind of story, little witch?"

"Yours."

He falls silent, staring into his lap as if weighing my question. I want to trace his silhouette as he hangs his head. I want to draw him, to remember this sight. The sight of a hardened warrior carrying secret scars on his heart. Heavy scars.

What weight has he carried on those shoulders over his long life?

"How do your human stories begin?" He shifts his golden eyes to mine.

"Once upon a time," I provide with a small smile, which he returns.

"Right. Once upon a time, there lived a boy in a poor village outside the city of Baegar. His mother was a weaver; his father a skilled woodworker. Every morning, he and his son loaded up a wagon of his work along with his wife's wares to take to the market. He watched his father make trades for the things his family needed. Bread, meat, game pelts for the harsh winters. Ointment for his mother's hands when they would seize from overuse. Despite how poor they were, despite the one-roomed hovel they lived in, and how little they had, the boy never felt that he went without. He loved his family. They were happy."

I study Jace as he pauses, one hand massaging his other palm absentmindedly. He swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing quickly.

"One day, the boy and his father went into the village to trade at the market, only to find themselves in the middle of a raid. Soldiers from Vod had ransacked the town, busting down trade stands and gutting people in the streets. They broke into homes and looted what little valuables they could find. Took the women and set everything on fire."

Chills skitter down my arms as I listen.

"The boy and his father raced home through the streets, tripping over strewn bodies. When they arrived, the boy's mother was already dead. Her throat slit, her dress in tatters from where the soldiers... violated her. Her golden eyes, once so full of life, had gone cold and unseeing, staring up into nothing."

My hand flies to my mouth, horrified. Oh, Jace.

"The boy fell to his knees, clutching his mother on the slick floor. He and his father didn't hear the soldiers outside over their cries. Not before they shattered the window and tossed a flaming cloth dipped in alcohol inside. The curtains were the first to catch fire. Flames erupted across the liquor-soaked floor, devouring the walls. The wooden beams supporting the structure collapsed, trapping the boy between his father and his mother's blood-soaked body. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe. He struggled to push the beam as the flames grew closer, but the boy was too small. Too weak. He watched as his father turned purple beneath its weight, and his chest stilled. He would die too, the boy realized. And he would soon join his parents. The flames would hurt, but it would be over before he knew it, and then there would be no pain. Not anymore."

Jace's eyes grow glassy, but no tears fall as he clenches his fists around his drawn-up knees. The tendons in his arms bulge. I listen, barely breathing.

"Spots began to dance across his vision as he choked on thick smoke and swallowed ash. That's when a large male appeared in his vision, standing over him. He lifted the beam with ease and pulled the boy free before the flames swallowed him. He woke in an unfamiliar room, in a castle to the north. The Diamond Castle, his mother used to call it. The man sitting across from him, the same man that pulled him from the rubble, the man in a crown made of black diamond, leaned forward and said, ‘You're safe now.'"

Jace's fists slowly release, as if reliving the relief of his salvation.

"They healed his burns and scars. The king raised the boy. Gave him food, shelter, and clothes. He trained him until he could use a sword better than any of his men. Until he could ride faster. Until he was strong. Strong enough so that no one could hurt him again. So that no one could take away the things he loved ever again. In time, the boy began to show an affinity for air. He could send massive rocks flying across the training ring without ever lifting a finger. He could wield a sword without sparing a hand. And he hated it." Jace's disgust is fervent as his eyes burn into the floor.

"He hated his gift. It was so ironic that the gods blessed him with this ability, but only after he failed to save his parents. Where was his gift when he needed it most? He was useless."

Jace huffs a humorless laugh, shaking his head. I bite my lip, torn between throwing my arms around him or letting him finish his tragic story.

"When he was old enough, he fought in the king's armies and worked his way up the ranks. He grew to enjoy it. The bloodshed, the torture, the killing. Each battle, he would envision those Vod soldiers sneering and laughing outside his window as his family's home was burned to the ground. He pictured their faces as he massacred and mutilated his way through the battlefields. And only when he stood surrounded by bloody remains for miles did he remember that none of them belonged to his true enemy."

Darkness twists his beautiful mouth.

His words trail off, lingering in the heavy air. The thickness makes it hard to breathe, like standing at the top of a mountain when you're not used to the altitude. I wonder if Jace realizes he's manipulating the air around us to match his mood.

"They killed your family," I say softly. Jace shrugs.

"The pleasantries of war. The poor villages took the brunt of it. Raids like that were common among the slums." His voice is hard. I reach for him, and his eyes snap to me as if only now remembering I'm here.

"Jace," I whisper, laying my hand on his knee. "I had no idea."

Now I see why he is loyal to the king. Not only does he owe him his life, but he loves the king like a father.

I shake my head. "I'm so sorry?—"

"I didn't tell you this so you could pity me," he says without venom. I've never seen him look so open, so young.

"Pity is just about the last thing I feel right now." My eyes flicker over the strong planes of his face, the deep-set almond eyes and high cheekbones that give way to a chiseled jaw. His arms, strong and solid beneath his leather. His broad chest. The body of a warrior whose experience with death spans all the way back to childhood.

No wonder he is hardened. Closed-off. Who wouldn't be after such trauma?

"The story was supposed to put you to sleep." He stretches out beside me, mirroring my position, one hand propped under his head. "Now you'll probably have nightmares about the monster that I am." He toys with a lock of my hair, twisting it around his finger.

"You are not a monster." I grip his hand tightly, eliciting a look from him. "Do you hear me? You are a warrior."

He studies me for a moment before saying, "You really should try to rest."

I scoot closer to him, draping an arm over his waist. He goes rigid and for a moment I think he's going to fling my arm from his side. But instead, he pulls me closer against his chest.

I made a promise not to go down this road, but it's just sleep. It's just a friend comforting another friend alone in the wilderness.

I close my eyes and listen to the sound of his breathing. I am asleep within minutes.